Spinner (19 page)

‘He shouldn't have been out today. It was a mistake.'

O'Toole smiled. ‘So many headlines, so few column inches.'

David left, glad to get away from O'Toole. He felt hot and took his cricket vest off as he walked up the stairs. His legs felt light and weak. He had to stop a moment at the fourth floor to rest before going up to the room on the fifth. He was sweating by the time he went down their corridor. He was trying to remember the room number. He didn't have a key. He sat down to wait for his uncle. The walls were dark and heavy.

David woke in the corner of the players' rooms. He was in a wicker chair with a blanket over him. There was a metal bowl on his lap that was clean but gave off the faintest smell of vomit. He remembered he had vomited a lot. He blinked and looked towards the glass viewing window. From where he was sitting all he could see was sky. Sky and Mr Johnson's back.

‘What's the score, Mr Johnson?'

‘Ah, back with us. Good. We're doing fairly well I think, although Richo is out. We were two for seventy-eight at lunch—young Bardsley and Two Bob are going along nicely.'

‘Good.' David thought he might have another nap.

‘Thank you for your support in the newspaper, by the way.'

Yes, thought David. There had been a meal with Mr
O'Toole. That's when David had started to feel sick. He remembered now.

Uncle Mike was in the hotel room. With towels. ‘Better out than in matey,' he'd said more than once. There was ice too. David was shivering and sweating, his hand was in the ice bucket, his face panting into towels.

He recalled waking another time when his uncle was carrying him from a taxi. ‘You'll be right, you'll be right, you'll be right,' over and over in a strange tight voice. Maybe this memory was a dream because his uncle had said, ‘Don't you bloody go, Ernie,' which can't have been right.

Mr Scully had been in the rooms. No one else. Scully and Michael had talked about crayfish and field hospitals, and Michael made jokes about Private Simpson and his donkey. ‘A tent is a bloody lousy battlement; the cloth doesn't keep the bombs out very well at all. Skin isn't much better, mind, for keeping the bombs out.' Mr Scully had spoken in an unusually gentle voice. ‘Hey, boyo, you got to leave that stuff over there. If you keep it with you, you'll go under.' David thought he was referring to the vomiting and promptly obliged.

His stomach ached now, but not with the stabbing pain he'd felt before. Now they were just sore. He felt thirsty. He opened his eyes and was about to call his uncle for water, but he was in the players' room again.

Mr Richardson dragged a chair over and sat next to him. ‘Right there, David?'

‘Yes sir. Much better. How we going?'

‘Jack Tanner's out and Ken's gone in. Young Bardsley is gutsing it out.'

David nodded, feeling at his own guts once again.

‘Your talk to Charlie O'Toole last night.'

‘Yes.'

‘Did he pay you?'

‘I don't know. I think he paid Uncle Mike. And the dinner.'

‘I'll talk to your uncle. It's not on, old chap. We give interviews for free.'

There was a groan and then applause. Richardson stood and looked out the window.

Mr Johnson turned. ‘Caught at gully.'

‘Damn.' Richardson walked to the door leading out and called, ‘You look after yourself Bill. Don't be a hero with that cheek.'

Mr Scully came in from the card room with some barley water. ‘See if you can keep that down.'

David took it and drank.

‘You remember what the doc said?'

David shook his head. ‘Thinks you got an allergy. To the crayfish or the prawns or to the bloody garlic. So don't eat 'em again.'

David nodded, handing back the empty glass.

‘Might want to stay away from that garlic stuff anyway, if you want to keep any mates. It's got a pong.'

‘Good show, Beardie,' called Johnson from his chair, as Andrew Bardsley came back in.

‘Short of me fifty,' he said, but he seemed happy. Richardson patted him on the back, and he smiled at David on his way past, saying, ‘Right there, cobber?'

‘Thanks, Mr Bardsley.'

Richardson came back. ‘Now about this interview. I've got to sort out some of the things you've said.'

‘What kind of things?'

‘Well, firstly, you really shouldn't wear your cricket gear
around in public. Kind of bad manners, really, at this level of the game.'

‘They were my best clothes. We were going to buy some street clothes this morning, but I got sick. I only had farm clothes.'

‘Oh, I see.' Richardson looked down. He blushed slightly.

‘The bastards,' yelled McLeod in through the door. ‘They've brought Tudor on against Bill.'

‘That's to scare him,' said David, ‘so he'll be worried that Tudor will hit his cheek again.'

‘Yes. Look, I have hurry up this talk we're having, and I shouldn't, but ... Now that I'm beginning to know you David, I think you're a stand-up sort of chap. But you're young. So, here is a rule for you. You can't just say what you think. Especially to a newspaperman. You mustn't. The umpires are angry with us, and Proctor's livid.'

‘Why?'

‘Well, you said Proctor was stupid.'

‘No I didn't.' David thought about it some more. No, he was sure he didn't say that, because he didn't think it was true. ‘I wouldn't.'

There crowd was started to sound concerned, and Richardson got up and moved to the window again. He watched the rest of the over before he came back to David.

‘Did you accuse the umpires of making mistakes?'

‘No, sir,' said David, then he added, ‘well, kind of yes, maybe. I said that I thought Mr Johnson wasn't out.'

‘You must not do that. We don't criticise the umpiring. Well, only in private, but never on the field and never in public. That is a rule.'

‘But that's not how I said it. Not like that. He was being mean.'

‘O'Toole?'

‘He's twisted things.'

‘Hmm. That's what I suspected. Good. I will explain and apologise to Mr Proctor, and to the umpires.'

‘I will.'

‘Not at all. My job. No more talk to any newsmen, even if your uncle says.'

There was a big groan out around the ground, then applause. ‘Baker's out,' said Johnson.

‘What's the score?' asked David.

‘Five for a hundred and forty something. Ken Hall looks like he's got his eye in though. Touch of Jack Tanner about him today.'

At lunch Australia were five for one hundred and fifty-seven. Their lead was less than eighty.

David went into the change rooms and had a shower while things were quiet. He felt sweaty and a little weak and wanted to wash the oniony smell from his skin.

He dressed in his cricket clothes. He put on his pads as he'd been shown. He found his new, longer-fingered gloves and his bat, then went outside to sit with the other players. The sun was so bright it made his eyes water and his forehead start sweating. He took some little breaths while he waited for it all to come back into focus.

He heard someone from the crowd yell, ‘Hey David, how stupid is Proctor?' There was a burst of laughter.

Someone else yelled, ‘Hey, Babe, how stupid are you?' More laughter, but some shushing.

David looked as people turned to look at him and the wave of chattering noise got louder.

A boy yelled, ‘Good on ya, Dave. Stick it up 'em all.'

A man, sweating awfully in a football jumper, yelled, ‘You think you're too good to talk to us for free do ya Donald?'

Ten Ton stood up and pointed at the man. ‘You can leave off, right? And Norwood couldn't play footy if they tried.' There was laughter around the man with the football jumper and he sat back down into the other people again.

Calligan said, ‘And that is the Members Stand. You certainly polarise opinions, Babe.'

Ten Ton sat back down.

‘Babe?' asked David.

‘O'Toole's headline was “Out of the mouth of babes.”'

‘“The wit and wisdom of David Donald, aged twelve,” was the subtitle,' added Tanner who was sitting near the back. David wasn't sure whether he heard pleasure in Tanner's voice.

‘He's sure taken a shine to you,' added Calligan.

There was applause as Hall scored a boundary. He was batting with McLeod. David looked to the scoreboard. Hall was fifty-eight. Jackson had made thirty-five before getting out to Proctor. David noticed that Proctor had taken most of the wickets.

Mr Calligan and Ten Ton seemed tense. His own legs started jiggling up and down too, as he looked out across the ground and thought about batting. When McLeod edged one of Proctor's deliveries to slip, Richardson called David inside.

Richardson had a cricket ball in his hand. ‘Show me your guard?'

David grabbed for his bat, dropping his gloves in the process. He bent for the gloves and managed to stick the handle of the bat into his stomach.

‘Gloves first,' said Johnson, who'd turned in his usual
seat. Tanner had moved to the door to look in. Bardsley and Jackson came to the card room door, fags hanging from their mouths.

David put his gloves on. Bardsley came out and bent down, and pulled David's gloves hard, back towards his elbows.

‘You don't want them loose.' He pulled the little belt at the wrist. ‘And no flaps or buckles out either, or the ball might hit them.' He tucked the flaps back behind David's hands.

David sneezed as the smoke from Bardsley's cigarette went up his nose.

Bardsley stepped back, not much happy with what he saw. He shrugged.

David took his guard stance, bat down, facing Richardson.

‘Grip the bat tighter,' said Johnson.

‘My finger hurts.'

‘Turn your body to face Chalkie,' said Richardson.

‘But keep your bat facing Richo,' said Bardsley.

‘Feet further apart,' said Jackson.

‘Not that far,' said Richardson. ‘Here it comes.'

David was so busy twisting and getting his feet in position that he didn't actually see the ball get thrown. Even so, it was so slow, that David suddenly lifted his bat, managing to scoop it up at the ceiling, where it came down right at him. He threw his arms up just in time to ward off the ball, sending that bat towards the card room door. Jackson ducked back in as David's bat hit the door jam with a woody crack. It fell to the wooden floor with more thuds and bangs.

David stood looking at the men. Tanner was the first to
laugh. The other men joined in. Even Mr Johnson.

‘I wasn't ready,' said David, blushing and angry.

‘Strewth,' said Jackson, ‘thought I was gunna lose an eye.'

‘So, out of fielding and batting, fielding would be your strength then,' said Richardson with a grin.

Tanner shook his head. Jackson bent down to find his cigarette.

David glared at Mr Richardson and he stopped smiling. ‘Beardie, toss the kid a couple of balls. Help him get his eye in.'

‘You can't send him out there. He'll get killed.' It was Jack Tanner.

‘This isn't the time, Jack,' said Richardson. Then he looked around at the other men and finally David. ‘If he can just hang around for a few balls, just maybe Ned can farm the strike and get his hundred. If we can get up to near two hundred and fifty ahead, we can put some pressure on these blokes. For the first time.'

David nodded.

Richardson turned to look at Jack Tanner. Tanner said, ‘My mistake, John. I spoke out of turn.'

They both nodded.

Richardson said, ‘David, if the ball is bowled anywhere short of halfway, you just hit the deck. Don't even try.'

Bardsley threw a couple of balls to David and gave him some pointers, until Calligan was bowled for eleven. ‘Better sit outside and get your eyes used to the sunlight, mate.'

David went outside to watch Ten Ton. Slowly all the seats outside began to fill. David looked around. The whole team was outside watching Ten Ton and Hall bat. Even Mr Johnson had come outside.

‘You just have to block it, David,' said Bardsley.

‘Just do what Ned says,' said McLeod.

‘If you're not sure, duck away,' said Baker.

Ken Hall had reached ninety-two runs when Ten Ton fended a ball off his throat to silly mid-on. It was the fifth ball of Tudor's over.

David remained sitting on his bench until someone pushed him up. He went out the small white picket gate, aware of the distant noise of a million bees. He walked out towards Ten Ton who smiled and said something but David still couldn't hear past the buzz. He got halfway to the wicket, then stopped. The English team had gathered in a group after dismissing Ten Ton. They'd all turned and were looking at him. David couldn't move. They were big men, all dressed in white, with unreadable faces. Tudor pounded the cricket ball from hand to hand like it was dough. Ostler whispered to Proctor who nodded. Windsor smiled with nothing like welcome. And still the buzzing in his ears. Hall was coming towards him, speaking. David made himself breathe. He took some slower breaths and finally the buzzing started to fade.

Hall reached him. ‘So you came out eh, mate?'

‘Yes, Mr Hall.'

‘Right. Good on ya. Now if you can last out the over, I'll have a real crack next one, and try and keep them off ya. Right?'

‘Yes, sir.'

Hall turned and David followed. Hall turned back to see him, and pointed. ‘That end.'

The Englishmen started to go back to their fielding positions, but talked loud enough for David to hear.

‘There he is, Mr Proctor. That's the genius who said you
were nothing but raw speed with no skill.'

‘Oh aye,' said Proctor and grimly watched David pass.

Morgan got back behind his stumps and called, ‘Personally, Mr Wisden, I think you've been doing a first class job.'