by Brett Lee
‘I think so. Let’s go around the back, just in case.’
We sneaked around behind the clubrooms. They were deserted. All the senior teams must have been playing away. The doors were locked.
‘It would have been easier if they were playing at home,’ I said.
‘Yeah, we could have just had a nose around, then left. So what now?’
‘There’s a window over there that’s open.’
I took a last look around, then hoisted myself up onto the ledge and slid the window open further. A curtain billowed in my face as the wind got hold of it. I pushed it away and looked inside.
‘It’s the main room. Here, pass me your bag.’
Georgie passed the bag up and a moment later we were standing in a long room with lots of chairs and tables, a bar and a pool table. There were heaps of photos, flags and premiership pennants on display as well as a trophy cabinet with some nice-looking silverware inside. The room was dark and smelt stale.
‘Look!’ Georgie was staring at a sign on a door next to the bar. ‘The President. Strictly No Admittance,’ she read.
‘You reckon that’s our Mr Smale?’
‘Gotta be,’ Georgie said. She tried the door. ‘Locked. Well, that’s hardly surprising. You want in?’
‘Into his office?’
‘Of course. Hang on.’ Georgie pulled out the most massive bunch of keys I’d ever seen. ‘Used to belong to Gran. Haven’t failed me yet.’ She started on the lock.
‘How many times have you used them?’ I asked, thinking this was a side to Georgie I didn’t know about.
‘Just the once.’
A lot of the keys fitted but none worked. We both turned when we heard some shouts from the other end of the room, outside the window.
‘Did you shut the window?’ I whispered.
‘Almost. Hey, wait…yes!’ I heard a click and Georgie pushed the office door open slightly. A second later, the window behind us slid open.
‘Quick!’ We scuttled into the office, and I eased the door closed as quietly as I could.
‘My bag!’
‘Forget it,’ I told her. Gently I pushed the button on the round door handle to relock the door. We both waited silently for the intruders to look around, then, we hoped, disappear again. For a while there was no sound, then we heard the hiss of a can being opened, followed by another. Georgie grimaced. A few moments later there was a click of balls.
‘They’re playing pool,’ I whispered.
Georgie came closer. ‘Seems like they haven’t bothered with the bag. Let’s have a quick look, then maybe sneak out this window.’
At first it looked like a normal office, but we soon noticed things that were surprising. On the desk there was a draft of a brochure with the heading ‘Tests in Time’ scrawled across the top. It was partially hidden beneath a Scorpions’ scorebook.
‘Weird clothes,’ I muttered, pointing to a long black coat and other items hanging on a rail inside a cupboard opposite the window.
‘Yeah, and look at this!’ Georgie had spotted some more papers. ‘It looks like some sort of price guide. Wow! $9000. You don’t think—’
We both froze as the phone on the desk started ringing. The clunk of balls outside stopped. After four rings there was a click and Mr Smale’s voice began speaking.
‘You’ve called the Scorpions’ head office. No one is in the office at present so we are unable to take your call. Leave your contact details and we will call you back shortly.’
There was another click and then a long beeping sound. Someone wasn’t leaving a message.
‘C’mon, we’ve seen enough, haven’t we?’ Georgie said.
‘And heard enough too…Ssh, listen!’
A car had pulled up outside. We both raced to the door. I opened it slightly and peered out. The room was empty—aside from two cans left on the edge of the pool table and a cue lying on the floor.
‘Someone’s coming in,’ I hissed at Georgie. Keys jangled outside the main door of the clubroom. Georgie darted out, grabbed her bag and shot back in. Again I closed the door quietly, pushing in the button of the lock. I followed Georgie over to the window.
‘It’s deadlocked!’ she whispered hysterically, shaking the locks.
‘Maybe it’s just a cleaner or—’
There was another jingle of keys, this time outside the office we were in.
Click.
We both bolted for the desk and scrambled to get a place beneath it. Too late.
‘What the blazes!’
‘We can explain,’ I stammered, edging around from behind the desk. ‘You see—’
‘I see two intruders in my office. How dare you! I wonder what the police will have to say about this? And your parents. How did you get in?’
Mr Smale moved over to the phone and picked up the receiver.
‘W-we had something we wanted to say…’ Georgie’s voice petered out.
‘What?’ He scowled at us.
The situation was hopeless. My stomach lurched.
‘It’s about the scorecard,’ I said.
He paused, put the phone down and looked at me. ‘Well?’
‘We just thought you would be interested in it. Maybe you are the best person to have it.’
‘I wasn’t born yesterday,’ he stormed. ‘What were you doing here?’
Then the phone rang again. Instinctively we both made a move towards the door.
‘Stop!’ he roared.
The phone rang four times like last time and then Mr Smale’s message came on. He smiled unpleasantly and his voice echoed around the room, louder now that he’d turned up the volume. But this time there was no click after the single beep.
‘Phillip? Jim here. I’m afraid there are a number of matters we need to discuss, including your involvement with the library—’ Mr Smale pressed a button on the phone, activating the speaker.
‘Well, that suits me fine, old man. You see, my time there is finished, but for one task that you will help me with. Say hello to some friends of yours.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Jim said in his quiet voice.
‘Speak!’ Mr Smale shouted at us.
‘Hello, Jim,’ I said tentatively.
‘Toby?’
‘Y-yes.’
‘What’s this about?’
‘Your friend Toby is actually a thief,’ Smale replied. ‘He and his young lady friend broke into my office here, Jim. Now, I will lay no charges and forget this entire episode if you come over to the Scorpions’ clubrooms and hand me the scorecard.’
I could hear Jim breathing into the phone.
‘Are you all right, Toby?’ he asked.
An idea occurred to me.
‘Yes, Jim. I’m fine. But I think you’d better do as Mr Smale says. Bring the scorecard. It’s in the Wisden you placed the scorecard behind originally. Do you remember?’
There was another pause.
‘I think I do, Toby. Yes.’
‘And don’t think about ringing the police, Jim,’ warned Smale. He pressed another button to end the call.
‘Well,’ he said, turning to us, ‘and what have we in the bag, eh?’ Striding over, he wrenched it out of Georgie’s hands. His eyes narrowed. ‘How quaint.’
Georgie grabbed some of the clothes and shoved them into her pockets. ‘Well, that’s just it. You see, we thought—’
‘Oh, don’t try your lame excuses on me,’ he cried, throwing up his arms dramatically. He grabbed the bag again and this time we all heard the jangle of keys. He pulled out the massive bunch and threw them onto the table. ‘Well, we are little detectives, aren’t we? Now sit over there by the wall and keep your traps shut.’
The first men’s international Twenty20 match was played between Australia and New Zealand on 17 February 2005 at Eden Park in Auckland, New Zealand. Australia won by 44 runs.
19 Trapped!
GEORGIE and I sat there for what seemed like ages, occasionally making eye contact but not daring to talk.
The one time I leaned over to whisper something, Mr Smale looked up and pushed his chair back as if to come over and tackle me, so I shut my mouth.
A taxi pulled up. Mr Smale walked over to the window.
‘Good. The old man has arrived. You can tell him that if he’s thinking about involving the police or anyone else, then you’ll have your own criminal behaviour to explain.’ He pointed towards a small security camera in the corner of the ceiling. Then he left the room to go and meet Jim.
After a minute or two of silence, Georgie asked, ‘What now?’
‘Listen, I’m hoping Jim’s brought—’
‘Enough!’ Mr Smale strode back into the room. Jim shuffled slowly behind him.
‘I’m so sorry, Toby. And Georgie. This is—’
‘Save it for later, Jim. Just hand me the scorecard,’ Mr Smale said crisply.
Jim looked at me, then turned to Mr Smale. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing, Phillip. This is something more powerful than you could possibly imagine.’
‘What do you know about power, old man? Sitting up there in your tower of dust and relics. Just GIVE ME THE SCORECARD!’ Smale was shaking, his face burning with anger.
There was silence for a moment. Then Jim said softly, ‘I don’t have the scorecard.’
Mr Smale smashed his fist onto the table, then moved threateningly towards Jim.
‘Toby!’ Georgie squealed, turning to me.
‘I’ve got it!’ I yelled, pulling the scorecard in its plastic sleeve out of my pocket. Everyone froze. Jim was looking pale, leaning on the desk for support. I held the scorecard out for Mr Smale.
‘But first let Jim walk over to us,’ I said.
Mr Smale nodded reluctantly. Slowly Jim straightened up and tottered over to our side of the room.
‘Georgie, take Jim and get out of here,’ I said. ‘Now!’ I still held the card out in front of me. Georgie slowly picked up her bag, took Jim’s arm and walked with him out of the office.
‘Now give me the card!’ Smale said tensely.
I bolted for the door. But Smale was there before me. In a flash he was around the table and had lunged at me, catching my legs and tripping me.
‘Toby!’ Georgie yelled from outside. ‘Just give him the stupid card and let’s get out of here.’
I kicked out with both feet, but his grip was tight. I was being dragged away from the door. I clung onto the card, stretching my arms out to keep it away from him.
Suddenly a tremendous weight fell on me. I gasped for air. I couldn’t believe it—it was Scott Craven! He got up and raised his fist. As I flung up my arm to protect my face, Mr Smale swiped at the card, knocking it out of my hand.
‘Now go—all of you!’ he shouted, pushing me and Scott out of the office and slamming the door shut.
Georgie and Jim were near the main door. I was halfway across the clubroom when Scott’s elbow crashed into the back of my head. The force of his blow knocked me to the floor.
‘We’ve been standing outside the door there, hearin’ about your scorecard. And waitin’ for payback time, scumhead,’ Scott sneered, close to my face.
‘You want me to hold him down?’ Gavin said, strolling forwards.
‘Georgie!’ I yelled.
‘Ya girlfriend’s not gonna save you, Jones.’ Craven dragged me to my feet and threw me against the wall. ‘But first, you’re gonna tell me what all this scorecard crap is about.’
‘Leave him alone, Scott,’ Georgie yelled from the doorway.
‘Get her,’ he snarled at Gavin. But Georgie hoisted her bag and Gavin ran straight into a swinging blow across the side of the head. He swore as Scott laughed. In Georgie’s other hand was the Wisden Jim had brought: the 1931 edition.
‘Stop this!’ Jim called, his voice quivering. ‘Please.’
Scott’s grip loosened slightly. I tried to move away, but he still clutched me firmly.
‘This is none of your business, old man,’ Scott snarled.
‘Oh, but it is,’ Jim said, walking slowly towards Scott and me. ‘You see, it was me—’
‘Don’t, Jim!’ Georgie called, moving forwards, fearful of Jim getting caught up in the struggle. Gavin had recovered and charged at her. I struck out again at Scott, aiming a kick at his shins. He yelled in pain and his grip slackened. This time I broke free, gave him a shove and ran towards Gavin, who looked as though he was about to belt Georgie.
‘Run for it, Jim!’ I yelled. ‘We’re right behind you!’
‘The Wisden, Toby. Quick!’ Georgie called.
She threw the book at me. I caught it. I didn’t want to leave them but it was the only way I was going to find the correct spot in the Wisden. Scott was still nursing his bruised shin, lying near the pool table as I dashed to the main door. I slammed it behind me and searched desperately for the Leeds Test match.
It was easier than I thought. There were other marks on the page—perhaps someone’s notes about the game. I noticed that I could see these markings clearly. With one finger glued to where I thought the dates of the Test match were written, I entered the clubrooms again.
The Wisden closed onto my finger as I hurled myself at Gavin, who was sitting on top of Georgie. I pushed Gavin aside and helped Georgie to her feet. Jim had managed to grab Scott’s attention and neither appeared interested in the rest of us.
I called to Jim and he turned slightly. I sensed Scott’s attention was distracted as I headed towards them. I flicked the book open with one hand and concentrated on the spot where my fingernail had scored a small scratch.
I reached out for Jim’s hand as the number 11 crystallised on the page. The Wisden wobbled in my left hand as I fought to hold the heavy book steady. It was the date of the first day’s play. Bradman’s day. I squeezed Jim’s hand more tightly.
‘Georgie!’ I called, straining with concentration. Someone swore. I felt my hand clasped and a sudden painful blow in the chest. But Jim’s grip was firm.
20 Jim’s Dream
‘JIM! Wake up. Oh please, Jim.’
He lay on the grass, unmoving, the hint of a smile on his face, wisps of hair across his forehead. Georgie pushed them aside gently and called his name. Slowly Jim’s eyes opened.
‘My dear boy, you’ll be the death of me yet,’ he chuckled, trying to raise himself up. Georgie and I helped him back to his feet, but he was looking wobbly.
‘Tha all right?’ a voice called. Jim turned to the man who’d spoken, looked past him, quickly turned one way, then the other.
‘Oh, good Lord,’ he whispered, blinking in the sunshine. ‘Toby, what have you done?’
‘It’s 1930, Jim,’ I told him. ‘Leeds. Don Bradman…’
Jim walked as if he was in a dream, dazed and disbelieving. We took an arm each and walked with him slowly towards the oval.
‘Tha’ll be wantin’ the doc, lads, eh?’
We paid no attention to the man calling after us. Jim was shaking.
‘Jim, are you okay?’ I said.
Jim stopped and turned to face me. ‘Toby, my dear boy, we’ve done it. You’ve done it.’
A burst of applause came from the crowd below and Jim appeared to forget what he was saying. ‘Perhaps we could stay for a quick look?’
‘Jim, we can stay as long as you like.’
‘Toby!’ cried Georgie. ‘The bag didn’t come through, but I’ve got a couple of things. Look!’ She held up a cap, a pair of shorts, an old grey shirt and a small waistcoat. ‘C’mon!’
‘What?’
‘We need to change! Jim, we’ll be back in a tick.’
But I don’t think Jim heard. We found a bench in a small stand and Jim settled at the end of a row, staring open-mouthed at the game. His face had taken on a look of amazement and wonder—like a little boy. I had a quick look out to the pitch.
‘That’s Bradman at the non-striker’s end,’ I said.
‘Yes, and…’ Suddenly Jim’s voice changed. ‘Toby!’ he said urgently. ‘You’ve been here before. Who was
batting with Bradman?’
‘Woodfull.’
‘What was his score?’ Jim sounded anxious.
‘Um, I think he was on 18, or maybe 22. Not that many. Bradman was doing most of the scoring.’
Jim turned to look at the scoreboard. Woodfull was on 11.
‘Toby,’ he said. He sounded like the old Jim again—calm and in control. ‘We have ten minutes or so.’
‘But don’t we have a couple of hours?’
‘No. You can’t afford the risk of seeing yourself. Remember, you arrive again later this morning.’
‘But—’
‘Toby, the risk is too great. If you should see yourself within a small location, such as here, an irresistible force will bind your two bodies together, like magnets. It is a power greater than the power of time travel itself. There is no escaping it.’
I thought of the man I’d saved at the station. A powerful force had been dragging him towards the tracks. And then suddenly it dawned on me. Maybe the man had been on the train speeding through the station too, and so the man I’d saved had been drawn to the train as it sped past. But instead of meeting each other, he’d been dragged beneath the train and killed.
‘Toby, are you okay? You’ve gone white,’ Georgie said. I ignored her.
‘Jim, what happens if you do meet your other self?’ I asked in a croaky voice.
Georgie looked nervously from me to Jim, then back again. ‘Toby, you haven’t—’
‘No, he hasn’t,’ Jim said quickly. ‘Yet. Two bodies desperate to become one…? I am not entirely sure myself.’
There was a roar from the crowd and we turned to look. Bradman had just belted another four.
‘C’mon, Toby,’ Georgie pleaded. ‘Let’s go now. There’s obviously not much time.’ She turned and jogged away.
‘Georgie, we have to be careful, remember?’ I yelled, running after her. ‘Back in a tick, Jim,’ I called.
‘Toby, remember the words of the poem,’ Jim shouted. He turned back to the cricket as more applause broke out. This time the bowler had got one past the bat. I put my head down and raced after Georgie, brushing past a kid running from the opposite direction.
