Spinner (15 page)

Terry Johnson came in. Before David could get up and get out of his way, Johnson spoke. ‘Are you tough enough to do this, son?'

‘I don't know.'

‘We'll find out, I suppose. Think about this though. You can't do worse in here with them, or out there, against the Poms, than I'm doing right now. We're all secretly scared, and each of us is alone. So, suck it up, do the business and don't wear your heart on your sleeve.'

David nodded.

Johnson left the change room.

It was exactly what his grandad would have said. No one's going to do you any favours. Stop snivelling. Just bowl well, and everything else will look after itself. David nodded again. He wished he could be bowling instead of sitting in these rooms with nothing to do. If he could bowl, then he could forget everything else. He could disappear into the world of bowling where everything was big, and clear and possible.

David saw dusk on the farm. He saw the grey light fading in the sky by the shed. He began to conjure a setting sun, the first glimmers of midgies gathering to dance. He shook the picture in his mind away. He patted his hands on his knees, just as his grandad always did after lunch. It was time to get back to work.

Richardson and Tanner were on their way out to the middle and David's plate was gone when he sat back down on his seat near the card room door. Mr Johnson looked around from his letter and David nodded to him. Hampton came out with another plate of food.

‘You all right there, Davey?'

‘Yes, sir. Right as rain.'

‘Thought you might have the runs, but not the kind they put on the score book.'

‘No. Um, no?'

‘Happens to the best batsmen. Not me, mind, cos I can't
bat worth a farthing.'

‘Me neither,' said David.

‘Me neither, apparently,' said Johnson.

Hampton burst out laughing. ‘He's back. Hey, Chalkie's back.'

A little while after lunch they all went out in the players' area to watch and applaud Tanner's fifty. He was out soon after, when he skied one from Proctor and was caught for fifty-four runs.

When Hall got out for seven, David felt guilty about being secretly glad. Richardson got his fifty, then McLeod got out for eighteen. George Jackson hung around without scoring much, but supporting Richardson to eighty before he was bowled by Tudor. When Baker went out to bat, Calligan came in to get his pads on.

There was a huge gasp from the crowd, and David followed the others to look out on the ground. Baker was lying at one end of the pitch surrounded by English players. Richardson was signalling the dressing room. Scully and the twelfth man, Don Bidman, ran out. The radio said that Tudor had bowled a lifter, which had caught the Australian wicketkeeper in the face, much like the delivery in the previous Test that had put Turner in hospital.

‘That Tudor's a right bloody killer,' growled Maud McLeod.

Baker was being helped from the ground, retired hurt. Calligan headed out. Hampton already had his pads on. There was shouting and muttering and movement all round.

David went in the dressing room to put his pads on, but had to sit on the toilet first. He hoped the chicken was not
off, as he also felt a bit sick. When he came out to put his pads on, they had Mr Baker lying on a bench, and were wiping at his face. There was a lot of blood. David had difficulty tying his pads behind his legs.

Mr Scully leaned over Baker, saying, ‘The doc's on 'is way, Tinker. 'Aven't I told you that little secret about ducking?'

Baker gave a half-hearted groan.

Mr Scully suddenly turned to David. ‘Hand us a couple more towels will ya, Nipper? And then better get out of here, eh?'

David handed over the towels and looked down at Mr Baker. He had a gash high on his cheek, but the bleeding was slow. His cheek was already swelling around the wound.

‘I can't tie my pads on, and I can't get this glove over my sore finger, Mr Scully.'

Mr Scully's laughter was birdlike, coming through his nose in a kind of high pitching snort. ‘Hear that, Tink. Kid can't put his own pads on. And apparently, he has a sore finger. On the first day of his first Test. You think you got problems, eh.'

‘I'm sorry, Mr Scully.'

A well-dressed man came in carrying doctor's bag.

Richardson came in too. The doctor turned to him. ‘Nice knock, Mr Richardson.'

‘Thank you. How is Bill?'

‘Just about to look now.' The doctor bent over the wicketkeeper.

‘How'd you go then, Gov?' Scully asked the captain.

‘Got bowled. Ten Ton and Legal are out there now. Tudor's got his tail feathers up again.'

‘Like's the smell o' blood, that one,' said Scully.

‘Cracked cheekbone I'd say,' said the doctor. ‘Better get
you to hospital, Mr Baker.'

Scully said, ‘Ah, Gov...'

When Richardson looked, Scully nodded towards David.

David stood, one glove on his left hand and one of his pads hanging untied from below his knee. He bent quickly and grabbed up his new bat.

‘No,' said the captain. ‘You're here for your bowling, son. I'm not going to send you out.'

‘I'll bat, Mr Richardson,' said David.

Richardson looked at the doctor, who was no longer looking at his patient. He stood with his mouth hanging open, looking at David. He sat down on Baker's legs.

‘Ooii,' mumbled Baker.

The doctor jumped back up. ‘Sorry.'

Richardson pointed at the doctor. ‘What do you reckon, Doc?'

‘Oh, he'll be right tomorrow if we get the swelling down.'

‘The boy. I notice you looking a little bewildered at our tenth drop.'

‘He's on your team?'

‘That's right.'

David felt like he was the patient, being examined but otherwise ignored.

The doctor looked back to Richardson. ‘I don't know what to think.'

‘Hmm,' said Richardson.

McLeod stuck his head in the door and said, ‘Ten Ton's out.' He looked to David, who started to move again.

‘No,' said Richardson. ‘Let's have a bowl. I declare our first innings closed.' He moved past David and headed for the door.

‘Eight for a hundred and ninety-eight!' said McLeod.

‘Nice round figure,' said Richardson, pushing past.

David sat back down again and took off his glove and his pads and changed his shoes.

The other players came in and they changed shoes too. Hampton and Calligan took off their pads, Hampton throwing his bat into the corner with a loud crash of wood on wood. Mr Baker was taken out on a stretcher and received lots of digs and compliments. ‘Just a flesh wound, Bill,' said Tanner. ‘Get up a couple nurses, Tinker,' said Hall.

No one spoke to David. Even Paul Hampton didn't look his way.

Richardson came back, dusting his hands. ‘George, you've kept a bit, haven't you?'

‘Just in the counties, Gov,' said the older man.

‘Right. Until tomorrow, when Bill gets back. Very well. If we get a couple of wickets tonight, we might be able to put a bit of pressure on them—for a change. See how they like it.'

‘Sounds like a plan, boss,' said Hampton rolling his neck.

‘Last thing though,' said Richardson, before anyone had a chance to move. He looked to David, and everyone else did too. ‘When David comes out we're all going to cop a bit of stick.'

‘You got that right,' said Hall.

‘Not David's fault. He can bowl. And much better than Hobbs or Freddy Turner, in my estimation. That aside, choosing someone so young looks desperate. Yes, Ned, which it bloody is, I grant. We can't do much about what the crowd does. Just be ready for it and take it on the chin. But here's what I'm thinking. The Poms don't know yet. They'll start trying to hop into us. Get under our skin like they've
been doing all tour.' Richardson looked round at each man, and tapped his nose in the sign of knowing something. ‘We grin a secret grin, lads. We never answer back. We act like he's our secret weapon. Up our sleeve. You just wait, boyo. I'm holding a straight, but you are going to have to pay to see my cards. Got it?'

They were nodding. Some, like Calligan and Mr Johnson, liked the idea. Others weren't sure, but shrugged.

‘Let's go lads,' yelled Scully, clapping his hands. ‘This one's for the Tinker.'

They clomped out, David walking with them. He stayed in the middle, taking care where he put his feet, but keeping in step and within the mass of the men, until they filed through the gate onto the field. That's when players ran off in different directions and speeds to get themselves ready for the fielding part of the game. David started to trot after Paul Hampton, but realised that the big fast bowler needed to get ready too. He thought for a moment he might find Mr Johnson, but couldn't see him.

He stopped as the group of men separated to different parts of the field and he was alone. The ground was huge and the noises from the crowd became inescapable. It was as though the biggest flock of black cockatoos had just landed in the trees. Each bird made its own screaming call, but it was somehow understandable as a whole. The cheering and clapping had given way to a sudden silence, short but definite. Then came a ripple of consternation. There were clearly questions, even though David couldn't make out a single one. It was the tone of the hum around the ground. Pockets of laughter broke out, but there were angry calls, these over the top of the continuing bewildered murmur.

George Jackson came past, walking slowly in his pads and slapping together his recently acquired wicketkeeper's gloves. ‘Come on lad. Don't you pay them no mind.'

‘What are they saying?'

‘What you have to remember is they've paid their two bob, so they think they own you for the day. You might be trying to win a game of cricket, but they expect a lot more for their money. See.'

‘No, sir.'

‘That's the shot. Stay out near the middle if you can.' He patted David on the back and moved off behind the stumps.

The crowd noise changed to polite clapping, and David turned to see the English openers making their way onto the field.

‘David, come here,' called Mr Richardson. When David went over, Richard explained, ‘Stand next to me and don't say anything to them. Not a word, do you understand. You're my secret weapon.'

David liked that idea and he stood next to Mr Richardson as the English opening batsmen, Dorrington and O'Malley, reached the pitch. David was anxious to see them. They were already legends of the game. Dorrington was a lefthander and free scoring. O'Malley scored very slowly but was hard to get out.

‘What's this then, John?' said one.

‘New player, William.'

‘New is right. Barely weaned,' said O'Malley. O'Malley turned his back and went to set his guard, but Dorrington seemed upset. ‘You can't play a lad. It's not right.'

Richardson smiled. Dorrington turned to Jackson behind the stumps. ‘This is some Australian joke, is it?' Jackson just
smiled. David thought it was a very good sneaky smile.

Dorrington turned to the umpires who David realised were also watching him closely. ‘Mr Wisden, surely this is some tactic of disrespect.'

Mr Wisden, David recalled, had umpired a number of Tests and other series. He'd even gone to England once. ‘Mr Fitzmorris and I have consulted on this since the team was announced this morning, Anthony. There is no age bar in the rules.'

‘They're desperate, Anthony. Let it go,' called O'Malley.

But Dorrington could not. Richardson placed David at silly mid-off, which David knew was one of the most dangerous positions in the field. It was called ‘silly' for a reason. He thought he saw Bardsley in slips giving a wink to Mr Richardson, but he couldn't be sure. He wondered if he should explain to his captain that he was not a very good catch.

Calligan had the new ball. Everyone took their positions in the field. There were five slips. David watched Dorrington take his guard. He was standing not six feet away from the English batsman who had scored five centuries against Australia and more than three thousand runs. David made himself take a deep breath, as if he were at the top of his own run, and forced himself to remember that everyone had their job to do and often a new player was sent to silly mid-off.

Dorrington suddenly backed away from his batting stance. ‘He's not even crouching down,' called Dorrington pointing at David. ‘He's likely to lose his block, if I get one on the on side.'

Calligan had pulled up halfway through his run in. He stood smiling at his captain.

‘You're quite right,' he called. ‘Can't have you injuring my bowler. Maud, get into David's position would you? David go over there to leg gully.'

David ran to the fielding position the other side of the pitch.

‘He's on the pitch!' yelled Dorrington.

David realised he'd stepped on the pitch. He should have gone around.

‘Warning, Mr Donald. Mr Richardson, that's a warning,' said the umpire, Mr Fitzmorris.

‘Sorry, Mr Fitzmorris. Sorry. I forgot.'

Dorrington was watching him, with his hand out, gesturing in protest. David took up his position, and only then became aware of the ripples of laughter coming across the ground.

‘Right circus, this is.'

O'Malley came down to talk to Dorrington. David was right there, behind the batsman, but close enough to hear. ‘Settle, Anthony. It must be gamesmanship. Don't be drawn in.'

Dorrington turned to look at David one more time. ‘Right. Right. I'm with you. Righteo,' he said to O'Malley, but he looked confused.

McLeod took a step closer to him from his new silly mid-off position. ‘You all right there Andrew?'

Dorrington took his guard, but David could see that he was shaping to favour the off side. This was not how he usually played. It was obvious he wanted to hit the ball at Maud McLeod, right where David had been fielding. Calligan must have seen it too, because he bowled a fast yorker which went under a wildly swinging bat to hit the base of Dorrington's leg stump. He was out.