Spinner (16 page)

But Dorrington was not done. He pointed a finger at Richardson. ‘I will protest this. It's not cricket.'

‘Oh get off, ya whinger,' yelled Hall.

David turned to see all the fieldsmen crowding around Calligan, and patting him on the back. He ran to join them, but couldn't find a way in past the big backs of the men.

‘Well Gov,' said Jackson, ‘that's used up that trick, I reckon.'

David saw it then. It had been a trick, putting him at silly mid-off. Dorington had been upset because he had not wanted to injure a boy.

Calligan turned to David. ‘I wouldn't have bowled with you there, David.'

David turned to Richardson to see if he agreed, but he was in conversation with the other players.

Only Jack Tanner was looking at him. He stood with his arms folded. ‘Playing with men, Master Donald.' He turned to join the other men's conversation without waiting for a reply from David.

Henry Longford, the English captain, was the next to the crease. His voice was quiet. ‘Good afternoon gentlemen.'

‘Afternoon, Henry,' said Richardson.

‘And welcome to the game, young Donald, is it?'

‘Yes, sir. Very pleased to meet you, Mr Longford.'

Longford laughed, but gently. ‘I bet you are, lad. And I'll tell you what. At the end of this Test, I'll give you my autograph if you like?'

Before David had a chance to say yes please, Richardson interrupted. ‘The collection of memorabilia can wait I think, David. Now, I might put you at mid-off.'

David ran to that position but didn't stay there for very long. Henry Longford proceeded to hunt him. O'Malley
maintained his tight defence and scored with occasional ones and twos, but Longford, after a few careful overs against Calligan and Hampton, started to hit the ball to wherever David was fielding. David would hear the crack and look to see this speeding red thing coming at him. He'd try diving and he'd try sliding, but to no avail. When Richardson moved David to different fielding positions, Longford would contrive to hit the ball at and near him again.

The laughter came like a hot wind, and then the jeers. It grew worse when David was moved near the boundary because he could hear the actual words that the people were yelling.

‘Dive kid.'

‘Get ya body behind the ball.'

‘Who'd you pay to get in here?'

‘Disgrace.'

‘Stupid.'

‘Ugly duckling.'

‘You are an outrage.'

‘Disgrace.'

‘Disgrace.'

David finally managed to stop a ball. He got to it, and heard cheers, although they were the slow, low kind. When Mr Johnson ran towards him to take his weak throw and throw it on to Mr Jackson behind the stumps, actual booing broke out, even though the relay throw made O'Malley have to dive to make his ground.

The sun was hot and the field shadeless. David ran many miles and mostly to retrieve Longford's hits from the boundary fence. He was constantly thirsty and the drink breaks came infrequently, even though they served barley
water when they did. He was sweating and flies kept finding his eyes to drink there or bite the back of his neck. His left heel felt like it was being rubbed by his new shoe, and the top of the spikes were starting to feel lumpy all along his soles.

Still the crowd jeered every time a ball came past him.

Calligan was taken out of the attack and replaced by McLeod, who bowled medium pace. David was finally moved to field just behind the bowler. It seemed an odd field placement to David as the bowler got most of the balls before they came to him. David hoped he could bowl soon, as he had lots of good ideas about bowling both O'Malley and Longford.

Longford brought up his fifty before stumps with a lofted drive over David's head to the boundary.

David turned to go and retrieve it, thankful that he could run slowly. As he got closer, the noise of the crowd got louder and their faces got bigger. He tried to focus only on the ball.

‘Get off, ya mug.'

‘Waste o' space.'

‘My ten year old can play better than you.'

The last one brought laughter, and it made David look up as he ran towards the ball. There were so many people laughing and pointing. They had hats. Most had drinks. Ladies had fans. Someone leaned down over the fence and picked up the ball. David held his hand out for it, but the teenager leaned back and tossed it towards the centre.

‘That's how ya throw,' yelled a man in a white shirt with red tie.

‘Hey mate, put on some whites and get out there.' More laughter.

‘Get back to the game, dopey,' yelled a blond-haired man in a blue shirt.

‘Dopey, that's a good one.'

‘Dopey Donald, yeah.'

A lady in a green and white floral dress said, ‘Only a mother could love that one.'

There was more laughter, and David finally turned back to the game. Richardson was clapping over his head. They'd been waiting for him. He trotted back, his mouth dry and his stomach like a hole in the world where there was nothing, just things falling through to China.

Finally, the day's play was over. England were one for sixty-eight, a good start. David looked up at the scoreboard. Longford had made fifty-five and O'Malley ten. Calligan, Hampton, McLeod had all bowled. Richardson had bowled a few overs of medium pace. Even Hall had bowled an over of his own part-time leg spin, although David couldn't really remember him doing it. He looked at the name Donald on the scoreboard, where nothing was recorded.

He tried to move closer to his team so he could go off with them, but Longford came over. ‘Nothing personal, lad. If your team choose to sacrifice a pawn for novelty, then so be it.'

‘I don't understand, Mr Longford.'

The English captain turned back to look into David's eyes. The look was so deep and searching that it made David look down. The English captain crouched to meet David's eyes again.

‘Why are you here?'

‘I'm a really good bowler, sir.'

‘It's not some trick?'

‘I don't know, Mr Longford. If it is, I don't know what the
trick is.' David took moment before he added, ‘I believe I can bowl you out.'

Longford smiled, and nodded ever so slightly. He stood but bent forward, offering his hand. ‘Well good luck in that, David, and I hope you'll wish me good luck in trying to belt you out of the park.'

‘Yes, sir,' said David. ‘Of course. That's the game.'

‘Indeed it is, Mr Donald. Exactly that. I look forward to our contest.' Longford joined O'Malley, who was waiting near the fence for his captain.

‘What did he say to you?' asked Paul Hampton coming up.

‘Sorry, I think, for making me run so much.'

‘Too bloody right. Made your life a misery. Mind you, if we'd bowled better, maybe he couldn't hit it wherever he liked.'

‘He's nice. I like him.'

‘Steady on lad. He's the enemy. I'm only half joking too.'

‘Do you think Mr Richardson will give me a bowl, Ten Ton?'

‘You can ask.'

David did, as they were nearing the gate into their rooms. It was a good time to, as he could already start to hear ‘Dopey Donald' and ‘Disgrace' amongst the clapping, and ‘Good start lads.'

‘I know how to get those two out, Mr Richardson.'

‘Good.'

‘Can I have a bowl tomorrow?'

‘We'll see. When the ball is older.'

‘It doesn't need to be old.'

‘We'll see.'

David's Uncle Michael was waiting in the rooms with Mr Scully when they came up. David felt a rush of relief to see him there.

Tanner said, ‘Players only I thought.'

Mr Scully looked serious. ‘Just this once, Mr Tanner.' He looked over to Richardson, ‘Mr Donald here has suggested a discreet exit might be the go, boss. Lotta press. An' a lot of ... um ... iffy punters, if you take my meaning.'

‘Of course,' said Richardson. ‘Tomorrow, David.'

David saw that his uncle had his street clothes and bag. He turned to say goodbye to the team, but they'd already gone into the change rooms to take their showers and change their clothes. Mr Scully had some bottles of beer that he grabbed up and took in.

The viewing room and the card room were empty.

‘So matey, your first Test,' said his Uncle Mike.

David looked at his uncle's smile, but didn't share it. He felt like crying.

Michael grabbed David around the shoulder and took him outside the players' rooms. They went down the corridor towards the back of the pavilion. David could hear the thuds and scrapes of people leaving the grandstand above.

Where the corridor met the other passage they went left, instead of right towards the door out of the pavilion. Michael opened a green door and looked around before guiding David in. He turned on an electric light to reveal a table with a thin mattress on top. There were old bottles on a shelf and an empty bathtub. Their bags sat by the table.

‘New digs. A storeroom that they are going to turn into a players' aches and pains room, I'd say. Or maybe make it a doctor's room on game days.'

‘Why can't we go back to the hotel?'

Michael checked outside once more before closing the door. ‘Maybe later, when everyone has gone.'

David nodded. ‘They don't like me do they?'

Michael turned serious, almost angry. ‘They have no idea. They know nothing. Tomorrow, you can show them just how good you are, mate. Show the whole world what you can do. Then we can bore it up 'em. Bore it up all of 'em.'

David didn't share his uncle's anger. But ... what if Mr
Richardson never let him bowl?

Michael opened his bag and started bringing things out. ‘I got a couple of pork pies. Some brandy for me. Some water. They give you lunch?'

‘Meat and salad. As much as you wanted. Cups of tea too with lots of sugar.'

‘Livin' it up then. Best seats in the place too, sitting out there with Paul Hampton.'

‘He looks after me. He's got a wife and two girls and another baby coming.'

‘How's your finger?'

‘Gone down a bit. But not right.' David bit into one of the pies and started chewing.

His uncle took a gulp of his brandy, then smiled. Something new was coming. David could tell by the smile. David kept eating, and waited.

‘Do you think you can bowl out Longford first ball?'

‘First ball!'

His uncle nodded.

David thought. He and Grandad had discussed many plans for Longford. Before now, before today, he might have said yes, but now he thought no. ‘No, sir. I think after our talk today, he'll have a look at me for a few balls. Maybe longer.'

‘What talk? It looked like he was punishing you in the field.'

‘He came up after. He wasn't angry like Dorrington. I think the way to get Longford out is to have him caught behind, playing across the line, if I can cramp him up a bit, but I think he'll wait to see what kinds of balls I've got.'

‘You can't trap him leg before.'

‘Not first ball.'

His uncle grunted and looked around the room, searching. David waited. If his uncle wanted to tell him more he would, and in the meantime, the pork pie was delicious.

Michael reached into his pocket and brought out a pound note. He laid it on the table, flat and looked down on it, as if it were a Bible and he were about to do a nightly prayer. Perhaps he was going to perform a magic trick. ‘That's it. That's all I got left. We're broke.'

‘Is that really why we're sleeping here?'

His uncle looked caught out, then a little hurt. ‘One day of fame and you've already become distrustful.' He smiled and waited to see if David would too, but when David didn't, he went on. ‘One of the reasons, but only one. The others are still good reasons.'

‘They gave you lots of money. The Australian Cricket Board. You showed me.'

‘Expenses, David. Business expenses.' He looked uncomfortable enough for David to wonder again about Ashleigh Hobbs' accident, and then, as though Michael could see what he was thinking, he said, ‘Last night I took Mr Livingston and Mr Biggins to supper, and while they ate fine food and drank expensive drinks, I put your case. Talked the leg off a couple of chairs and spent most of our money doing it.'

David was relieved. He reasoned that this meant his Uncle Mike couldn't have been off fighting Hobbs. Not if he were with the Australian Cricket Board men.

‘We won a little bit this afternoon when you walked on the field, then lost most of the rest when you didn't bowl.' He looked down at the pound again, a little sadly. David wondered whether the sad look was pretended.

‘They are going to let you bowl, aren't they?'

‘I don't know, sir.'

‘You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him think.'

‘Drink,' said David.

‘Don't mind if I do,' said Michael, and winked as he raised his bottle.

David smiled.

Michael smiled with him, but turned back to the pound. ‘This isn't a bad amount for a juicy bet. A crazy long shot, name-your-odds kind of one-off. I'm pretty sure I could get a few blokes to give me a hundred to one on you bowling Longford out first ball. You see?'

David nodded. He wasn't sure how he felt about the betting. It seemed to lead them to win lots, then lose it all again, so was proving rather a short-term kind of a way of making ends meet.

Michael added, ‘It would have made a difference to your grandad. More of a stake to send something back.' Michael was looking at the pound, but not really. David could see that he was watching him with his eyes twisted up in a way David didn't like. ‘Can we work out a way of getting him out first ball, because I don't think I can get great odds for just getting him out some time? Got to be first ball—to make it sound like I'm being ridiculous. Then someone will want to teach me a lesson, and show everyone else just how ridiculous I'm being. There's no more desire to be instructive than in the Australian front bar. Or with a bookie in front of punters.'

‘I think I can get O'Malley out first ball.'

‘Oh.' Michael thought some. ‘That could work. Yeah. In some ways that might even be better, seeing as he's so
famous for his defence. Yep. Good.'

David asked, ‘Can I have this pie too?'

Michael gestured around the dingy room. ‘David, for you—anything.'

David ate the other pie. Michael went to the bath and tried the tap. Water gurgled out, rusty at first, but then clear. He watched the water as he sipped some more of his brandy.

Finally David said, ‘What if I don't get O'Malley out?'

‘What if the sun doesn't come up? Have a bath and get some sleep. Big day today, bigger one tomorrow.'

Michael left the little room and David took off his cricket clothes and climbed into the cold water of the bath. It felt good on his sore feet. He looked at his injured finger. It didn't seem too bad given all the fielding he'd had to do. His shoulders felt stiff. His neck too. David eased himself all the way into the bath until the cold water was up to his chin, and lay panting shallowly as he tried to find some part of his body that was not aching.

He dried himself on his dirty cricket shirt and lay on the mattress on the table, dragging one of his uncle's coats over him. He thought about the kind of field he should set for O'Malley. It would have to be very different for a first-baller. And he'd have to be able to let it really rip. Maybe he should be putting his finger in ice again.

David woke stiff. Uncle Mike was coming through the green door with a parcel and a cup of tea. He winked as David sat up on the table.

‘I can fix up your spleen for you, while I've got you on the table, son. Seeing as you're already open. Field hospital humour, that. Breakfast is served.'

He handed David the tea. It was warm and sweet. He undid the parcel. There was a cold sausage, and two boiled eggs and a thick sandwich of butter and jam.

‘Gotta keep your strength up.'

David got down from the table and started to dress.

Michael took up his own bag. ‘Now I have to get going, mate. Things to see and people to do. In about an hour, you have to go to the players' rooms. Have a wash and get ready for the cricket. Right?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘O'Malley with your first ball?'

‘Yes, sir.'

Michael left, without a backward glance.

David began to crack and peel the eggs. He knew better than to ask where his uncle had gotten the breakfast. He would have talked someone into giving them. It might have been in the cricket ground and in the kitchen there, but it was just as likely that his Uncle Mike would go into the surrounding streets and knock on doors and introduce himself and tell some stories about the war and then ask for breakfast.

He was as likely to say, as far as David had seen, that he needed the food for a cricket player who was playing his first game for Australia. Then he'd make them nearly believe it, and go too far with something completely unlikely, but they would so enjoy the way that Michael told it that they'd give him the food anyway.

David thought about truth. Some folk, like his grandad, put a great store in the truth of a thing, its fact-ness. Nell Parker too. Other people seemed not to care. Not deep down. They'd make a show of fighting for the facts, of making someone stick to the rules of truth, but really they
loved it being pushed further and further into ... what was the word? One of the Mr Pringles used to use it a lot. Preposterous. David had been watching the faces of the people his uncle told his lies to. When Michael's story moved to the preposterous, they'd fix him with a look, and they would both stop a moment while they looked each other in the eye. It was like a secret dare between Michael and his listener. Then Michael would nod and talk some more, and wrap the preposterous in more little details and kinds of facts. A beaming delight would come into their eyes and from then they'd all laugh and nod, as though it were all completely true and had been all along.

David didn't think he could live his life like that. You did need to count on some things. ‘What killed these chooks, Grandad?' ‘A fox.' ‘If you don't water these seedlings they will die.' ‘We need a bolt like this to fix the plough.' Good clean, knowable answers that did you some good. ‘How did my mother die, Grandad?' ‘I've told you. She drowned in the dam. Stop asking.'

David's father had died in the war. Everyone knew that. And his mother had drowned in the dam. But David saw now, while eating his jam sandwich, that there was something more to that too. It was the way people's eyes slid away when they mentioned it. Grandad. Mrs Pringle. Uncle Mike. He had not realised before what this look meant. Or maybe he didn't want to know more then, but he had his suspicions now. A truth could be a truth, but only because you didn't look at it closely enough. Or a fact is just a fact, whereas a truth is a bigger thing that makes facts look puny and stupid and beside the point.

Bardsley's innings, for instance. It was a fact that Bardsley got out for fifteen runs. On the scoresheet fifteen
runs would look like he failed. It's such a small number, especially held against say one hundred. Yet that fact of the fifteen didn't tell the true story—that he'd been hit and pummelled and struggled for a long time, and took the shine off the ball and helped get Australia off to the best start all series. Bardsley hadn't failed at all. He had done really well. That was the truth.

Then David thought about Dorrington's dismissal. The trick of putting David in danger at silly mid-off still bothered him. It seemed not so much an allowed misdirection or bait, like setting a certain kind of field or bowling certain kinds of deliveries to set up the batsman for the ball they never expected, as something that was unfair. Only David and Dorrington seemed to see it that way, and although David was uncomfortable about it, he was still uncertain whether it was a cheat.

Which made David think about his uncle.

‘I think my head is going to pop. Like a ripe melon,' he said to the empty little room. He resolved to think about cricket and how to get O'Malley out with his first ball, rather than all the other things in the world which he didn't understand and could do nothing about.

Scully was in the players' rooms reading the morning paper when David arrived carrying his bag. He immediately folded it up when he saw David.

‘You're early then?'

‘Yes, Mr Scully. Good morning.'

Mr Scully stood there, tapping the paper against his leg, and looking like he couldn't remember what his next job was.

‘Can I read the paper when you've finished, Mr Scully?'

‘No.' Mr Scully looked embarrassed. ‘Best not to read the papers, lad. Good or bad, it can affect a player's confidence. Lots of captains have said that. Why don't you go and get changed, and let me finish tidying up after you messy buggers.'

Mr Johnson was the first of the players to arrive, but had barely said hello to David, when Paul Hampton came in. ‘Where'd you get to last night?'

‘Me?'

‘Yes, you. I came round to your hotel to go out to dinner, but they said you'd checked out.'

‘Oh. Um ... moved.'

Calligan and McLeod came in together.

McLeod said, ‘Don't worry about it, David. Pressmen are bastards.'

David looked to McLeod, who was looking at Hampton, who was touching his lips with his finger.

‘I di'n mean nothing. Specially after Richo's talk last night. Good luck kid. Let's all get these Poms out.' He looked around to show willing.

Bill Baker came in with George Jackson and Ken Hall. His cheek was swollen and he had a couple of stitches.

‘Look what the cat dragged in,' said Jackson.

‘Bloody Les Darcy here wants another few rounds with Tudor,' said Hall, shaping as though he was going to punch Baker.

Jack Tanner came in looking as though he was about to go to a dance, he was so well dressed and his derby pushed down over one eye.

‘Two Bob. Swashbuckling, I hear.'

‘Amazing what nice things a journalist will say if you buy him a few drinks after a day's play,' said Tanner.

There were chuckles and grins.

‘Lot better than being an affront to the memory of cricketers all over the world,' said Hall.