Hat Trick! (13 page)

Yuvraj Singh scored the fastest 50 in a match at Durban between India and England. He smashed his half-century in only 12 balls. The innings included 6 sixes and 3 fours.

THERE
was a cry from all around. It wasn’t a shout of joy, more one of surprise. I turned to the field. Players from everywhere were rushing in to congratulate the bowler. I swallowed and stared. It was Richard Hadlee. He was tall, with black hair and a small moustache. His shirt sleeves were rolled up. An Australian batsman was walking slowly back to the gate. I looked at the scoreboard. We were eight for 175. Hadlee had taken every wicket to fall so far—all eight of them.

There weren’t many people about. Maybe the overcast and steamy conditions and the threat of rain had kept them away. Maybe they had a premonition about how the Test was going to unfold. I found a spot on a grassy bank and sat down. Like every other time I had travelled, I had arrived undetected. No one seemed the least bit interested in me having suddenly appeared, literally, from nowhere.

But the moment I had settled, I sensed that something wasn’t right. I turned sharply, aware of a presence not far away, and saw a hooded black figure almost floating over the grass. No one else seemed to have seen it.

I jumped to my feet and started walking quickly in the opposite direction. Surely the other spectators wouldn’t let anything happen to me? Unlike my dream, they were not disappearing or ghostly.

‘You cannot escape me,’ a voice rasped from just behind me.

It was time to leave. But my mind had gone blank.

‘Please help!’ I called, racing over to the nearest person. But he just looked at me and laughed. ‘Nothing I can do, mate.’

The guy next to him laughed too. ‘It’s only a game, little feller. Be the same when we bowl.’

My head was spinning as I lurched away and onto a concrete path. I turned around again, stumbled and fell. I hauled myself up, but not before a hand had reached out and grasped my shoulder.

‘I need help!’ the voice hissed.

I swung out with all my might. My hand hit something hard and a stab of pain sliced up my arm. I broke free of his clutches and veered off, away from the ground.

The poem. I gasped for breath. The
poem.
I desperately tried to recall two lines that would get me back to the safety of home but no words came to mind.

My dream had become real. We were away from the spectators now. Only a group of kids playing cricket were in sight. I came up against a fence and spun around. The figure was right behind me.

‘Stop,’ it whispered. ‘Stop running and listen.’

‘Help!’ I screamed.

A few kids turned to look at me. ‘What are you doin’?’ one of them called.

Suddenly the truth dawned on me. All they could see was a kid, all alone, backed up against the mesh fence, obviously looking like a complete idiot. The cloaked figure was invisible to them.

‘Is it a bee?’ another kid called, heading over to me.

I rolled to the left and started to run again, but had gone only a few metres when I was pulled back by a tremendous force.

I thrashed out again, this time more in anger and desperation. But the claw-like grip on my shirt wouldn’t let go. I felt the pain of sharp nails tearing at my stomach and froze in terror.

‘Help me, and I will leave you alone.’

I couldn’t look into the face of the figure that held me.

‘Don’t look, just listen,’ the voice hissed. I kept my head down. The hold on my shirt slackened and the pain from the scratches across my stomach eased.

‘I am a time traveller, like you. But something terrible happened. I died out of my time.’

Briefly I looked up. His face was partly shielded by
the hood covering it, but I saw enough to realise it was the face from my dream.

Slowly the words sank in. Died. Out of time. The words of the poem flooded back:

Be aware that time moves on—

Your time, this time; none short, or long.

‘I am in a lifeless zone of nothingness,’ the figure went on. ‘No one from here can help me. I am invisible to all except other travellers.’

But I had stopped listening.

The rushing noise began and quickly grew to a deafening roar. Something was tearing at me again. The grip of the hooded figure tightened and a searing pain ripped across my stomach. I swung my right arm out and it thudded into a box.

I found myself lying curled in a heap on the garage floor, shivering in fright. Slowly I opened my eyes. Apart from the upturned box, everything was as it should be.

‘C’mon, Toby. Hurry up!’

Nat had reappeared at the door. I looked up. She was holding her yellow plastic cricket bat.

‘Natalie, throw me the bat and run. Quickly!’ I whispered.

‘Toby, what’s—’

‘Just do it!’

She tossed the bat towards me and backed away. ‘Is it a spider?’

‘Yes!’ I shouted, raising the bat above my head and creeping over to the left side of the garage. Had he followed me back? Had I carried him through to my time? I stood there, frozen, counting every second that there was no movement.

Slowly, one step at a time, I retreated, my eyes darting about. The bat was still raised when I bumped into the door. I squeezed myself through the doorway and out into the early morning sunshine. Perspiration dripped from me onto the square of cement I stood on. I closed my eyes.

‘Toby! Did you get it?’

Dad burst out the back door and raced towards me. Suddenly he stopped, then came the rest of the way like he was walking over glass. ‘Got to be quiet when spiders are around. Is it a biggy?’ Dad had always had a thing about spiders. He was actually pretty scared of them.

I swallowed, then nodded.

‘Right. Okay, let’s be sensible about this. Can you walk?’

‘Dad!’

‘Right. Now come on.’ Dad motioned with his arm for me to follow him as he started walking backwards towards the house.

‘Did you get a good look?’

‘Dad, I need to tell you—’

‘I think perhaps we should leave this one to the experts.’

‘Yep, but—’

‘Wait on, Tobes. Let me grab some equipment first.’

I opened my mouth to speak but Dad waved me away and headed into the laundry.

Inside, Natalie was sitting on the stairs, chin in her hand.

‘I haven’t forgotten, Nats.’

‘Breakfast, Toby,’ Mum called from the kitchen.

‘Coming, Mum. I’ve just—’

‘Actually, that wasn’t an invitation. More of a command.’

I sat at the table and started buttering a slice of toast. I wolfed it down, along with some orange juice, then got up again.

‘Where are you going now?’ Nat called.

‘Just to check I shut the garage door.’

‘But—’

‘In case the big, hairy spider comes into the house.’

‘Oh, okay.’

I slipped back outside and dashed over to the garage. I had to go back and check that I hadn’t been followed.

I snibbed the door locked before realising that a small pile of magazines under Dad’s soldering bench was on fire, smouldering and smoking. Somehow, they must have caught alight. Instinctively, I put up one hand to cover my mouth and thrashed about with the other to clear the smoke in front of me. For a few moments it worked. I took a step forwards,
desperately hoping I was the only one in there. It was hard to see. I grabbed an old curtain lying on the far side of the garage and rushed towards the flames, but the material caught under my feet and I tripped and crashed to the floor.

I lay there, vaguely aware that I needed to get up and out. But my body wouldn’t move. How long had I been lying there? Then I noticed the petrol cans for the mower. The fire was spreading along the boxes of old magazines and books, and flames were licking up the wooden walls—and the door!

My eyes fell on the open 1987
Wisden
. I edged my body towards it and opened the book to the dogeared page—the Test match from Brisbane. The swirl of words was faster than ever. The smoke was getting thicker and I was finding it difficult to breathe, even down low against the floor.

Just then a box of tools crashed down from a ledge above, smashing into the floor just metres away from me. There was a shriek from outside.

I stared at the swirling page, willing it to settle. I closed my eyes then opened them. Nothing had changed. The noise from the flames and the heat and smoke were overbearing. Someone was screaming and banging on the door outside. I trained my eyes on one section of the page. It blurred. Wiping away tears, I tried again. I feared the garage was about to explode.

I looked down, willing a word—any word—to appear. Surely that was one! I followed it till it slowed, and finally stopped. I clung to the
Wisden
, clutching
it to my chest. With a scream I curled instinctively to protect myself from the flames that were about to engulf me.

A moment later I was rolling on damp moist grass. The relief from the heat was bliss.

I looked around. Same day, same Test match, but the ground was deserted. It was dark and thick grey clouds hung overhead. I turned to look at the scoreboard. I had arrived at the end of the first day’s play. Australia were four for 146.

I fell back on the wet grass.

I knew that Mum and Dad would be desperate with the garage alight. They wouldn’t be able to get near it and they would assume I was in there. Natalie would have told them. Their cries for me would be frantic.

Two lines of the poem and I could be back there. But should I go now and risk being burnt alive? Or should I wait, praying that neither would risk their life by racing into the fire to find me?

Maybe I could travel back to a different place? Same time, but somewhere else, like the other side of the house? But it seemed too risky. I decided to count to 300, then say two lines of the poem to get me back. I had the
Wisden
. I would just have to get out quickly.

I stared across at the grandstand opposite me and started counting. One, two, three…I matched a seat for each number, row after row, until I had got to the front row. I tried to keep the pace even: 184, 185…

I got to 231 and couldn’t wait any longer. I spoke aloud the two lines that had been competing for space in my head ever since I’d started to count. I could have chosen any of them—Jim had forced me to learn the whole poem by heart.

But every word that boasts ahead

Means lives unhinged, broken, dead.

The heat was overwhelming. I stayed low and crawled towards the door. My hand bumped something hard. The 1987
Wisden
. I picked it up and, without another thought, jumped to my feet and lurched towards the door which had been smashed open. I staggered out and rolled to the ground.

‘Toby! Oh, my God, Toby!’

I looked up into Mum’s panic-stricken face.

‘Mum?’

‘Oh God, Toby,’ she sobbed, kneeling beside me. I saw Natalie behind her, sobbing and shouting for Dad.

I closed my stinging eyes and listened to the sound of sirens approaching. I held onto the book firmly. I’d saved Dad’s
Wisden
.

Tuesday—afternoon

I
spent the whole day at home. We all did. It was amazing how quickly the fire brigade got on top of the fire, though there wasn’t much left of the garage except charred wood and various unrecognisable items.

Official-looking people came throughout the day to inspect the remains and talk to Mum and Dad. I pretty much kept to myself. Mum’s instructions. My throat stung, my arm ached and Dad put drops into my eyes every few hours. But I would have taken
triple
the pain if I knew I’d never see the spooky guy in the black cloak again.

It was nice having the whole family at home for the day. We played Scrabble and Monopoly, made milkshakes and went through an entire loaf of raisin toast. Mum started crying at one stage, saying we needed a good burning every month to bring us together, though Dad told me later it was the thought
of having to play ‘Test Match’ doubles for an hour after dinner.

Wednesday—afternoon

Georgie, Rahul, Jay, Jimbo and I had planned another visit to the MCG. For the others, the excitement was going to the ground itself, but I was hoping to see Jim in the cricket library again.

Jay and Georgie had been to the library before, but had not time-travelled. They were probably my closest friends. Georgie lived just up the street from us and her mum was a good friend of my parents. We had known each other for years and had spent hours together playing games and mucking around. Georgie was almost as passionate about cricket as me. Jay loved cricket too, but he wasn’t stir-fry crazy about it like I was.

Rahul had also been to the library. He’d time-travelled with me from there. He was a gentle guy who kept to himself a bit more than the others, but the travelling had changed him.

And Jimbo—who was also like Rahul in that he kept to himself and didn’t seem to care much about having friends—had time-travelled too. It was with Jimbo that I had seen the hooded figure for the first time. Now that Jimbo was going to be a part of the Riverwall Cricket Team and playing games on Saturdays he was spending more time with us all.

We met outside the MCG as arranged. I pulled the card that Jim had given me from my pocket and
showed it to a man wearing a colourful striped jacket.

‘It’s okay,’ I told my friends, noticing their surprised faces. ‘This little card is our ticket into the whole members’ stand.’

The man nodded. ‘Come along, I’ll take you there myself.’

We set off up a long ramp. Huge pictures of footballers and enormous wooden boards with famous names written in gold covered the corridor walls. Every now and then we caught a glimpse of the oval itself. Finally, we reached the library door, with Georgie and Rahul arriving half a minute behind Jay and me.

‘Where’s Jimbo?’ I asked.

He arrived a few moments later, his eyes sparkling and a look of wonder on his face.

I hadn’t brought so many friends to see Jim before. He always appeared happy to see us when we arrived, though.

‘Hello, Toby!’ he called, putting his glasses down on the large oval table and getting up. ‘And Georgie. How are you?’

Jim seemed in good spirits and not at all put out that there were five kids there. The same guy with glasses who I’d seen a number of times, but who I didn’t think actually worked there, was sitting in his usual chair. His head was down and he had two
Wisden
s open on either side of him. He didn’t pay us any attention.

‘Now sit down here and tell me of your adventures.’

‘We don’t have adventures, Jim,’ Georgie said. ‘Well, except for Toby, that is,’ she added.

Jim raised his eyebrows. ‘Adventures, Toby?’

Georgie, of course, knew about the garage incident, and I’d rung up Rahul, but the others hadn’t heard. So I spent the next 10 minutes going through the drama of the fire, leaving out the hooded figure and the bit of time travel that happened in between. But I think Jim sensed there were gaps in the story.

‘How did the fire start?’ he asked.

‘Dad left his soldering iron on and I think it must have dripped onto some old magazines.’

‘No one else was with you?’ Jim asked quietly.

‘I thought I’d carried him back,’ I said. ‘Remember you said that I’d only see him if I carried?’ The words were rushing out. ‘But I didn’t carry, Jim. Not the first time I travelled—’

‘What are you talking about?’ Jay interrupted. I looked at Jim; I’d told him before about this evil, freaky guy. Jim nodded.

‘Tell them, Toby,’ he said.

The other kids were looking at me intently. Even the guy in glasses over by the secret door (it was a door into another part of the library that looked like a plain wall on this side) had looked up, his head to one side.

I looked at Jim. ‘Are you sure?’

Jim nodded.

‘Okay, here goes.’

Everyone leaned forwards. It had always bothered me that some of my friends, like Rahul and Jimbo, knew heaps more about the time travel because they’d actually gone with me. I looked around at the curious faces. It would be good to put my friends in the picture. But there wasn’t anyone else I wanted to let know. Not yet, anyway.

‘You’ve heard a few things lately about weird things going on with
Wisden
s, Jim here, time travel and stuff,’ I began.

I paused and looked across at the guy with the two
Wisden
s. He was staring at me. He held my gaze a moment, then yawned and bent back down to his books. I lowered my voice.

‘You see, Jim and I, we have this…um, this ability to use
Wisden
s to travel back to cricket matches of the past.’ I was talking to Jay, but the others seemed to be listening. ‘And now, a couple of times, I’ve met this really spooky guy wearing a long, black cloak. But he’s not like us, you know—not human. He’s…well…’

No one moved. I looked across at Jimbo. Our eyes met. For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to say anything. Then he spoke.

‘It’s true. I went too—back in time. I saw my dad. It’s because of Toby’s time travel that I’m going to be playing this weekend. And I saw this spooky guy too. It was really scary.’

For a moment no one said anything.

Then: ‘You sure, Jimbo?’ Jay asked.

‘Yep.’

I looked at Jim, then nodded in the direction of the guy sitting a few metres away.

‘Phillip, would you like to check that box that came in this morning?’ Jim called over to the man.

‘Yes, Jim. A pleasure.’

It was the first time I’d heard the man speak. He took his glasses off, closed the
Wisden
s and moved to the other side of the library. He was just an average-looking guy, not much older than Dad, though there was something almost
too
nice about him. I couldn’t help feeling his politeness was masking something else. Still, he couldn’t be all bad if he helped look after old cricket books.

Jim leaned forward. ‘Now, this figure spoke to you?’ he asked.

I nodded. ‘He wants me to save him. Something about him dying out of time and being in a timeless zone.’

‘Toby, are you serious?’ Georgie looked from me to Jim.

‘Yes!’ I said firmly. ‘Georgie, this is for real. I promise.’

‘I’ve travelled too, Georgie,’ Rahul said quietly.

‘You as well? What about me, Toby? When do I go?’ Jay asked.

‘Maybe soon, Jay.’

‘Good, because it all sounds like a major put-on, if you ask me.’

I knew Jay would be the hardest to convince, but that wasn’t really my job. I couldn’t control what he thought. I shrugged. ‘That’s cool, Jay. It would to me too,’ I said, trying to make my voice sound light.

‘I mean, come on. You really expect—’

‘This is
not
a game,’ Jim said firmly, interrupting Jay. He sighed, then shook his head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, Jay.’ He took another deep breath. ‘Toby, this figure you speak of must be desperate if he has got to you while you were not carrying.’

‘But what does he want?’ I asked.

Jim thought for a moment. ‘I think he wants his life back, Toby.’

‘And how is Toby expected to organise that?’ Georgie asked, sounding exasperated.

‘I have heard of such people, trapped outside their own time. But I’ve never known of an actual encounter before. I wonder…’

‘What, Jim?’ I breathed.

‘Perhaps he has got to you because of your age,’ Jim said, and sighed. ‘I’m not sure. But not everything we encounter that is awful to look at means us harm. Try and listen to him, Toby. Find out what he wants.’

‘Hey!’ Jimbo called, changing the mood. He jumped out of his chair. I turned to see what he was looking at. Someone had come through the secret door. Jimbo walked over to it to take a closer look, and the others followed.

‘Toby,’ Jim leaned forwards slightly, ‘I might not always be here when you come, so I want you to have
this. It’s a small thing but I think you will agree it will open a door to many adventures.’

Jim had pulled a small key from his jacket pocket and was holding it out to me.

‘For the cupboard where the
Wisden
s are kept?’

He nodded, smiling.

I took the key from him and looked at it for a moment before closing my hand around it.

‘Toby, be extra careful though, especially if you travel. This figure may just be one of many.’

‘Jim, do excuse me.’

We both looked up. The guy called Phillip was standing at the door with a parcel wrapped in brown paper. He was holding it like it was some special prize. He looked at me briefly, then turned to Jim.

‘From England. Addressed to you. Shall I open it?’

Just as Jim was about to reply, the secret door opened again. Rahul and Jay appeared, grinning and waving their hands, accompanied by a tall young guy with an MCG badge on his shirt. He wasn’t looking as excited.

‘Phillip, you’re here,’ the guy said. ‘Can you give me a hand with some unloading downstairs?’

Jim took the parcel from Phillip, who looked disappointed that he wasn’t going to be the one to open it. When he’d left, we all crowded around Jim, curious to see what the parcel contained.

Slowly Jim undid the string around the package, unwrapped it carefully and took out what looked like
a very old book. We all noticed the change in Jim’s expression the moment he opened the cover.

‘Good Lord,’ he whispered.

‘What is it, Jim?’ Georgie asked.

‘Good Lord,’ he said again, not hearing her question.

‘Jim, what is it?’ I repeated.

Jim was licking his lips, looking excited but tense. He took off his glasses and looked at each of us in turn. Even Jay was leaning forwards expectantly. Jim’s eyes stopped on me. I held his gaze.

‘Toby, forgive me. You deserved to know this sooner perhaps than now.’

I smiled, not knowing what to say. We waited a few moments then Jim spoke again.

‘This book is a diary, written by my grandfather, James Oldfield. James was born in England in 1851. He grew up with a tremendous love for the game of cricket and was indeed a very good cricketer himself. Alas, he was not chosen to play for England in the First Test match in 1877.’

The secret door opened again and someone put down a box to keep it ajar. I don’t think Jim even noticed.

‘On James’s 30th birthday he was given a
Wisden
. One of the very earliest editions. An extraordinary thing happened. When he first opened the
Wisden
, a small scorecard dropped out and fell into his lap. On that scorecard was written a strange message.’

Jim closed his eyes and recited:

‘This one scorecard of thousands

Will in any
Wisden
book

Reveal the players’ names

And take you there to look.’

‘Well, of course James was a little surprised, and greatly sceptical, but when he placed the scorecard on the page of the
Wisden
showing the scores of that first Test match played between Australia and England in Melbourne, sure enough, the names mysteriously appeared on the scorecard that was completely blank a moment before.’

Jim shut the book and closed his eyes again.

‘Without a hint of warning, James was transported 10,500 miles across the world to Australia and that first Test here at the Melbourne Cricket Ground.’

Jim chuckled. ‘You can imagine the stares this overdressed Englishman got, stranded as he was in an Australian summer. He managed to see some of the cricket—cricket, I might say, that you would hardly recognise now. But of course he was horribly shaken and quite desperate to get home. The story goes that it took some convincing for him to finally understand and acknowledge just what had happened. Perhaps he thought he’d been drugged, or lapsed into some unconscious state, yet had somehow been taken to a game of cricket somewhere in England. Of course, he still held the scorecard in his hand and people around him were able to confirm the players actually out on the ground.

‘Eventually, he must have turned the scorecard over and read aloud the two lines written on the back.’

Jim smiled and looked at me.

‘Two hours is all the time

So before it’s up, read these lines.’

‘So did he get back safely?’ Rahul asked.

‘Oh yes, and he returned. Many times,’ Jim replied, smiling again. ‘James was so excited. He wanted to share his secret. And he did. Suddenly James was very popular. But he quickly realised his mistake. He suffered for his greed and loose tongue. Eventually he disappeared with his
Wisden
s and his precious scorecard to some remote part of England and the matter died down. But it took many years.’

‘What about the scorecard?’ Georgie asked. ‘Is it in the diary?’

Jim sighed. ‘Now, that’s an interesting possibility. But no, I doubt it very much. James discovered that he didn’t actually need the scorecard to time travel with the
Wisden
s. Just like you and I, Toby.’

‘But maybe he’s left some sort of clue about where it is?’ Jimbo said.

‘Yeah, like in the diary,’ Jay added.

‘Perhaps,’ Jim said. ‘But it is something best left alone. No good would—’

Jim was interrupted by a noise near the secret door. We all turned. Phillip was there, bending down
to pick up a book he’d dropped. No one had noticed him come in. He grunted, nodded briefly and walked straight past the table without even looking at the diary in front of Jim.