A Time to Blossom

Tuesday: Scarborough Fair

Craig twisted round and freed his arm from Nat’s, then poked Nat gently on the end of his nose.

“Let go of me, Nat, it’ll soon be time to get up. It’s been light for ages.”

“I know, Boots, but you’re my prisoner. My little spoon. I’ve got you captive.”

“Only because I let you, Nat. I’d have you as my little spoon if I didn’t want to hurt your gravel rash. You’re a perfect Scaleyback. Come on, let go, it’ll be time for breakfast soon.”

“Scaleyback?”

“That’s right, Nat. Scaleyback. Just like a signaller.”

“I don’t get it, Boots.”

“Signallers in the army are always called ‘Scaleyback’, Nat.  It’s because in the old days, when their radios had big lead acid batteries that used to leak acid, they ended up with scars on their backs. Just like your gravel rash.”

“My scabs are healing up, Boots, they don’t hurt at all. So we can probably go mountain biking and kayaking tomorrow like your dad suggested. I’m up for it. But what is the plan for today?”

“Scarborough.”

“Scarborough?”

“Yup, Natters. Scarborough. Then cricket.”

“Am I supposed to understand that, Boots?”

“Scarborough is a town, Nat, over on the coast. The seaside. Beaches and sea. About an hour away. It’s brilliant. We always go there. It’s got a castle.” Craig paused, then added for effect, “They even have shops.”

Nat chuckled. “Okay then, we’ll go to Scarborough.

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…”

“What’s that, Craig?”

“It’s a song, Nat.”

“I know it’s a song, Deefer, but what song?”

“Scarborough Fair.”

“Oh, yes, I recall it. Simon and Garfunkel. So, it’s about a real place?”

“Scarborough is definitely real, Natty, and the song existed way before Simon and Garfunkel stole it. Hundreds of years, maybe.”

“You could have a good singing voice, Craig, if you had lessons. You’ve got a decent range, kind of low baritone to mid tenor. Proper training would really help you expand that, maybe even get the top tenor notes. Not that you’d ever rival Pavarotti, you’re definitely more a baritone than tenor, but you’d be pretty decent.”

 “I don’t bloody sing, Natters!”

“You did at the Air Museum, Craig. You were good too.”

“Just let go, Nat, I want to get up.  Gran will be here soon. She’ll rip your arms off if I shout for her…”

As if on cue there was a gentle knock at the bedroom door followed by Craig’s gran’s voice. “Time to think about getting up, boys. I’m assuming Craig is in there too, his bed is empty.”

“I’m here, gran,” laughed Craig. “You can come in, we’re decent.”

“Just get up, Craig. I wouldn’t mind a hand cooking breakfast. Nathan can have a lie in if he wants.”

“There you go, Nat,” laughed Craig. “It’s official. Nan likes you. I have to get up and cook breakfast but you can lie in and relax.”

* * *

It was just a few minutes before four o’clock when Craig and Nathan sprinted across the car park in Scarborough’s South Bay and almost slammed into the car.

“Just made it, dad,” gasped Craig. “Five minutes to, dead on the dot.”

“Only just. By about a second” grinned his dad. “You were very nearly late.”

“Rubbish dad, we had a whole second to spare.”

“Come on, jump in, we don’t want to be late for the cricket match. You can tell us what you’ve been up to all day on our way there.”

Craig and Nathan leapt into the back seat of the Polo and buckled up as Craig’s dad started the car and headed out of the car park.

“We’ve had a brilliant day,” said Nathan as Craig’s mum turned to hear what the two boys had been doing since they had arrived just after nine o’clock that morning.

“First off, we ran up to the castle to get a good view of the whole town,” said Nathan.

“I won,” said Craig. “Beat Nat to the top by about ten yards.”

“You ran all the way up to the top?” asked Craig’s mom. “I hope you were careful and didn’t knock anyone over in your rush.”

“We were, mom, and anyway, there was hardly anyone about that early in the morning.”

“I still can’t get over how old most things are in this country,” said Nathan. “The castle looks old, the leaflet said it was built in 1130, but before that there was a Viking fort there, and before that an Anglo-Saxon hill fort, and before that a Roman Signal Tower.”

“You should have seen it when the dinosaurs had their camp up there,” laughed Craig. “I think there are some old black and white photos of it somewhere online…”

“What did you do after looking round the castle?” asked Craig’s mom. “I hope you walked back down, that’s a steep path for running. We don’t want Nathan going back to America with even more injuries, his parents would never forgive us.”

“Oh, after the castle, we went down to the harbour and went for a ride in a speedboat. Just out into the bay and back.”

“I though me and your mom saw you out on a speedboat,” said Craig’s dad. “About eleven am? We were in the harbour café having a cup of tea. I said it looked like you two, perched right at the very front as it bounced over the waves. Nathan’s hair is very distinctive even at a distance.”

“Yeah, that would have been us, dad,” said Craig. “We got a soaking. Dried out quick though.”

“The speed boat captain was telling us about the tuna fishing here,” said Nathan. “He said the tuna fish were starting to come back again now the stocks of herring and mackerel they eat are being conserved and building up again. My pop loves to go tuna fishing.”

“Yes, dad,” added Craig. “The guy said that in the 1930s people from all round the world used to come to Scarborough for big game fishing. I never knew that. Some tuna over 700 lbs were caught! One towed a fisherman in his boat for over seven hours before another boat tied up alongside and helped land it. Biggest tuna I ever caught was when a tin rolled off the kitchen table…”

“If they do come back, really big tuna, maybe pop will come over and have a go at catching one,” said Nathan. “I could show him round.”

Craig smirked. “Native guide now, are we?”

As Craig’s parents laughed at the comment, Nathan continued. “Then we went for fish and chips for lunch when we got back from the speedboat, and after that Craig insisted we went to look at some shrapnel marks on the walls of the Grand Hotel where the German Navy shelled it in World War One.”

“Sounds like a definite ‘no stone left unturned’ guided tour,” laughed Craig’s dad. “Did he show you where he fell over into a puddle at the age of three?”

“Dad!” laughed Craig.

“No, I think we skipped that bit,” smiled Nathan.

“Well, it sounds like you had an enjoyable day, Nathan. And no more cuts and bruises,” said Craig’s mom.

“We even went shopping,” said Craig. “I bought Nat a tea towel with the cricket explanation on it. Nat, show mum the tea towel I bought you. You know the one, dad.”

Craig’s dad grinned as Nathan opened a paper bag and took a tea towel out and held it up to read out the words printed on it.

“You have two sides, one out in the field and one in. Each man that's in the side that's in goes out, and when he's out he comes in and the next man goes in until he's out. When they are all out, the side that's out comes in and the side that’s been in goes out and tries to get those coming in, out. Sometimes you get men still in and not out.

When a man goes out to go in, the men who are out try to get him out, and when he is out he goes in and the next man in goes out and goes in. There are two men called umpires who stay all out all the time and they decide when the men who are in are out.

When both sides have been in and all the men have out, and both sides have been out twice after all the men have been in, including those who are not out, that is the end of the game!”

“Yup, sums it up perfectly,” said Craig’s dad. “Stick to that Nathan and you’ll be fine. You’ll like cricket. It’s like baseball, except not at all like baseball. We’ll soon teach you.”

“You’ll definitely like cricket,” said Craig. “It’s a village match, gran and grandad’s village team against a team from over Dalby way. Grandad’s going to be an umpire, and me and dad will be playing for the village. You’ll be playing too if we can get you a place. There’s always a place for somebody who’s young and fit. Most of the village players are old codgers…”

“Craig!” scolded Craig’s mom. “They aren’t old codgers.”

“Total bunch of coffin dodgers, most of ‘em, mom,” asserted Craig.

* * *

“Beat you again,” said Craig as both he and Nat tumbled through the door of the cricket pavilion and into the central room where several of the villagers were preparing sandwiches and pots of tea. “Hi Gran, those sandwiches look good!”

Craig grabbed a couple of sandwiches from a plate, pulling back his hand quickly to avoid his gran’s attempts to hit him with a spatula, and handed a sandwich to Nathan. “Taste good too,” he grinned. “Come on, Nat, let’s go find grandad and see what the plan is. He’s probably out on the pitch talking to the visiting team, I saw plenty of them milling around out there.” Nathan smiled at Craig’s gran, thanked her for the sandwich and then followed Craig outside onto the pitch.

“Hi grandad,” said Craig, strolling up to where his grandad was chatting to a couple of other men as they inspected the wicket.

“Hello Craig, that’s good timing. This is Mr Braithwaite and Mr Sutcliffe, from the Dalby team. Mr Braithwaite is their captain. I’ve just been offering to lend you and Nathan to him if you want a match. They’re short of a couple of players. Your dad is playing for us, but as you and Nathan aren’t from our village, you’d make good neutral players for Dalby. That’s reet, isn’t it, Mr Braithwaite?”

“Aye, that’ll do for us young Craig, if you’re wanting to play. Your pal too. Any good, are you?”

Craig beamed. “I’m a pretty good all-rounder, bat a bit, but a decent wicket keeper and I can bowl. Mainly medium pace but a bit of spin too. Stick me anywhere except opening batsman and I’ll be fine.”

“And your pal?”

“Oh, Nathan. He’s not got a clue. He’s American, but he plays a bit of baseball - that’s like rounders - so he might be a good fielder and he can probably swing a bat. Put him in at number eleven.”

“Reet tha ar’, young Craig. If tha goes and gets changed we’ll sithee on’t pitch in ‘afe an ‘our,” said Mr. Sutcliffe.

“Come on, Nat, let’s go get changed. We’ll be in the ‘Visitors’ room in the pavilion. Grab another sarnie on the way back through. Gran won’t mind.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later Craig and Nathan had changed into whites and were heading back outside, sneakily helping themselves to another sandwich as they passed by the now heavily laden trestle tables near the door. Craig had borrowed a bat and ball with the intention of giving Nathan some practice before the match began.

“Come on, Nat, over here, round the side of the pavilion. I’ll show you how to hold the bat and do a couple of different strokes, then bowl at you so you get a feel for the game.”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my little cousin Craig,” came a voice from behind them as they were about to turn down the side of the pavilion. Craig turned around to see his cousin Jacob and a couple of other guys of similar age, about twenty, wandering over to them.

“Oh, hi Jake. We were going to come and see you later this week. And hey, less of the little, I’m just about as tall as you now.”

Jake and his two friends crowded in on Craig and Nat, all of them now out of sight of the players beginning to gather on the veranda of the pavilion.

“This is Nathan, Jake. He’s from America. Staying with us for a holiday for a week. Nat, this is my cousin Jake.”

“So, do we get to hear the real story of why you got kicked out of America?” asked Jake. He turned to his two friends and smirked. “Craig here had quite a time of it over there. Even had pictures online for a couple of days. Three cheerleaders, wasn’t it, Craig? All in an orgy together? That’s part of the story I heard anyway.”

Craig blushed. “No Jake, not quite like that. It was all a misunderstanding. Anyway, looks like me and Nat are playing against you tonight. We’ve been loaned to the Dalby team. They were short of a couple of players. Dad’s playing with your side though, so you stand a bit of a chance.”

Jake was smirking at his friends again, stepping forward, pushing between Nathan and Craig. “Yeah, playing for the opposition. Bit of a traitor to the village, Craig. We don’t like that. Do we guys?”

“Nah, can’t stand traitors in our village.”

Craig was still smiling but Nathan noticed he’d turned square to Jake, had his eyes firmly locked with Jake’s.

“It’s just a game Jake, the village will probably still win even with me and Nat playing for Dalby. Have you seen how old most of them are? That’s partly why me and Nat are playing for them.  Evening up the odds a bit. Here, take the bat, Nat, you’ll need it in a minute for some practice. Nat’s not played cricket before, Jake. I was going to show him a sweep shot and stuff like that before we begin. You three want to slip field for us for a few minutes? Get some practice in?”

Craig passed the bat nonchalantly to Nat, but without taking his eyes off Jake.

“I hear that Dalby aren’t the only other side you bat for, Craig. Both of you.” He nodded towards Nat and then smirked at both his friends. “Seems my little cousin bats for both sides, guys. Bit more than just friends, aren’t you?”

Jake’s friends exchanged glances as Craig stepped slightly sideways, putting himself between the three of them and Nathan. Nathen stepped in close to his shoulder, still smiling at Jake and his friends.

“Two bum-boys?” said the stockier of Jake’s friends.

“You two, like together?” said the other. “Like gay-boys?”

“Yes,” said Nat icily. “Just like that. Why, are you two jealous that I grabbed him first?”

“Jealous?” exploded the guy, stepping forward towards Nat but finding Craig blocking him. “Jealous?”

“It’s understandable,” said Nat quietly. “I’d be jealous.”

Craig had his left hand stretched protectively across his chest, his right pushing outwards, gently steering the guy back from Nat, back towards Jake. “Maybe you’d like to go get some sandwiches, Jake. Guys,” said Craig. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“That’s probably pretty sound advice, Jake.”

The voice was Craig’s dad’s.

“Oh, hi Uncle Mark,” said Jake as he span round towards Craig’s dad. “We were just saying ‘Hello’ to Craig and his, err, friend here, weren’t we guys?”

“Yes, so I heard. Maybe you’d better run along for the team brief, it’ll be starting in just a minute or two. Wouldn’t want to miss that, would you, Jake?”

“No, we’ll be off. See you later, Craig. Nat.”

Craig’s dad stood silently by Craig for a moment and watched as Jake and his friends wandered off back around to the front of the pavilion. As they disappeared from view he turned towards Craig and Nat.

“You two okay?”

“Yes, we’re fine dad. You didn’t need to get involved. Jake was just fooling around. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I think I did need to intervene, Craig. For the team’s sake. Can’t risk losing three of our players before the match even begins.”

Craig and Nat both burst out laughing but Craig’s dad remained serious. “You don’t need to fight every battle alone, Craig.”

* * *

Nat needs to keep his wits about him and concentrate. Jake isn’t just trying to intimidate him with his bowling, he’s actually trying to hit him.  That last one was a real corker of a bouncer, pitched short and rearing up right at Nat’s head. Nat’s fast, he saw it coming and managed to get his head out of the way, but it was close. Jake’s taking this personally. It’s not just that we’re gay, though that has a part in it. Nat catching Jake out off my bowling is behind it too. That really embarrassed him. Jake’s got it in for both of us.

Jake can bowl at me, bodyline bowl, all he likes, I can cope with it. I know cricket. I’m nearly as good at bowling as I am at keeping wicket. When a bowler starts his run up to bowl against me, I can tell from his stride, from his stance, from the way he’s holding the ball, what kind of delivery to expect. Spin. Pace. A googly. A bouncer. It gives me that extra second or so that I need to modify my stance, to get my bat in the right place, to decide whether to play the ball or step away from it. Nat doesn’t know that. He just sees Jake running in and hurling the ball down the wicket. It’s almost on him before he can make his mind up if it’s going to hit the wicket, or him, or just pass harmlessly by. He has hardly any time to react. That’s why I told him to straight bat everything. Just step forward, cover the wicket with his bat, play everything down. Always keep the bat angled back so the ball can’t run up the bat and hit him. Nat listened to my advice for once. We only got to practice for a couple of minutes before the game started but he has got that stroke sorted.

I didn’t get a chance to tell Nat how to deal with bouncers. I should have done, but then to be honest I wasn’t expecting anybody to bowl bouncers. Well, not loads of them. You just don’t chuck loads of bouncers down the wicket in a village game. Even in proper County cricket they limit bouncers to just a couple every now and then. Nat’s having to rely on his reaction speed. I don’t think the pitcher is allowed to aim directly at the batsman in baseball, which is the nearest thing Nat knows to cricket. The first bouncer really took him by surprise. It was only due to instinct that he avoided it, pulled his head away and let it sail past him. He looked as if he thought it was just a fluke. Like as if the ball had pitched up awkwardly from a bump in the wicket or something. He’s not thinking that now. He knows Jake is out to hurt him if he can.

Where’s the bloody helmet? I signalled to the pavilion ages ago for them to send out a helmet for Nat. They must have one. I know nobody in the village team wore one in their innings but then they weren’t facing an onslaught of fast bowling pitched short. I didn’t bowl any bouncers against them. Just medium pace and a bit of spin. That was sufficient to get me a few wickets, Jake’s included. I just aimed straight down the centre for middle wicket for two or three in row, let them take a single off me each time, then sneaked in an out-turner to catch them off guard, let them get an edge on it and give the slips a chance of a catch.  They did too. Nat was fielding in the slips – Mr Braithwaite put him there, reckoning his age would give him fast reaction times, and Nat did say he had plenty of catching practice. Apparently Nat and the guys do lots of ‘pitch and catch’ with Shane, helping him train and try and get a position in the baseball team back at college. 

Nat took two catches in the slips, and one right out on the boundary too when he got shifted to deep square leg to counter dad. Dad had hit a couple of fours right out to square leg when he was batting, so Dalby re-arranged the field and then Nat stormed along the boundary like a cheetah on speed to pluck a catch out of the air and sent dad back to the pavilion. Dad was on 23 from just three overs when Nat caught him. It was the highest score from anybody in our village team. The village got 117 from their 20 overs, which isn’t too shabby a score. Jake only had 3 runs on the board when he edged a ball from me to the slips and Nat caught him.

Jake’s running up again. Nat’s on the defence, square on to him, bat planted firmly in front of the wicket. I can tell Nat’s trying to figure out what’s going to happen. Will it go high, for his head, or is Jake trying another body shot? Jake’s released the ball. Maybe a fraction of a second late, it’s going to pitch up just about waist height. That’ll hurt if it catches Nat in the ribs. He needs to step back, let it pass clean over the wicket, not try and block or take a shot. Just let it go by.

Thwack!

Bloody hell! Nat’s hit it. Got a good solid hit on it, swept it down across towards gully.  The bloke there has only just realised it’s coming his way. It’s already bounced in front of him.

“RUN!”

Nat’s off the crease like a greased weasel, screeching past me as I head for the strike end. We’ll make a single easily. Could make two, but I don’t want that.

“Stay, Nat, STAY!”

That’s good. I’ve got strike now. I’ve got a chance for a quick word with Nat whilst the ball’s out of play and Jake is returning to the start of his run up.

“Just stay there, Nat. I’ll take the strike. Only run if I shout you. We won’t go for singles yet, that’ll only put you back in the firing line. Just listen for my call. Got that?”

Nat’s nodding. He’s got it. Three balls left this over.

Jake’s taken a couple of extra steps back, lengthened his run up to bowl against me. It’s not going to help him. It’ll probably do the opposite, if he’s not used to taking those extra steps when he runs in he’s going to be releasing the ball differently from what he normally does.

I was right. That’s going to be way short, pitching higher. No danger. It’s sailing right over my head. I dropped the bat as the wicket keeper and long stop exchange glances, deciding who is going to chase after it, cupped my hands to my eyes like I was holding a pair of binoculars, peered up into the sky. Jake’s got the message. The umpire is trying not to smirk too.  Me and Nat could have run a single off that, and as we’re only on 87 for Dalby with just five more overs to go an extra run is always useful. That would have put Nat back in the firing line again, so it’s best I stay here. Me and Nat are batting at six and seven: Mr Sutcliffe moved Nat up the order from eleven when he saw how fast he can run.

Two more balls left this over. Jake’s shortened his run this time. It’s still going to be fast, but I think I know where it’s going. He’s going to try and tempt me to take a swipe at a ball on my leg side, then he’ll come back at me with a bouncer for the final ball of the over. I can read him like a book. He’s not being subtle. He’s out to get me if he can and it’s clouding his tactics.

Thwack!

“RUN, Nat, run. Two!”

We can do this. It’s a good solid hit to square leg, but it’s one of the younger guys from the village that’s fielding there. He’ll get on top of the ball pretty quickly. It’s a safe single but me and Nat are fast. We’ll get the two. Nat’s already turning, heading back past me. The ball’s on its way back to my end, to the wicket keeper, but I’m going to get home. My bat’s over the crease. Safe.

“Good run, Nat, we got a two there.”

Nat’s smiling. I wonder if he knows this is the last ball of the over? I’m not sure if he even knows what an over is. He was struggling with all the fielding positions. I think he thought we were taking the mickey out of him when he got instructions to go to mid-on, then mid-off, then silly point or fine leg. We ended up just saying ‘back a bit, now go left, now back some more. Stay there.’  I wonder if they have positions like that for baseball?

Jake’s gone back to his usual run up this time for the final ball of his over. Everything about him says he’s going to send me a bouncer. The look on his face. The way his arm is circling as he turns around to start his run. Jake just can’t do subtle.

I was right, here it comes. He’s short again: it was intended to go up high towards my head but it’ll go a touch higher. I can get down under it. Follow it round. There wasn’t anybody down at long leg so if I can just ease it over the leg slip we can get at least two, maybe three runs off this. I don’t need to hit it hard, just re-direct it and let its momentum do the work.

Thwack.

“Run, Nat, RUN!”

They haven’t got a man at fine leg either. The nearest fielder to it is deep square leg and he’s just looking on, not moving. I said they were all old codgers! Nobody’s actually run for it. It’s a bloody four!

“Stay Nat, no need to run,” I shouted as the ball bobbled over the boundary rope. Well, that was an easy one. The Dalby team are applauding from the pavilion. A couple of the village team, the fielders, are applauding too. That’s what I like about cricket. People appreciate a good shot, or a good catch, or a good ball even if it’s counting against them. If they don’t plug that gap, and Jake continues to send me high balls, I might even be able to loft a six down there. That’d be cool, especially in front of Nat and dad.

That’s the end of the over. I can go and talk to Nat for a minute or two whilst the fielders swap ends to get ready for the new bowler.

Jake’s got to walk past me to get to his fielding position.

“How do, Jake. Got something against the pigeons have you? You nearly knocked a couple of ‘em out of the sky last over.”

That’ll rattle him.

“Nat, just play a straight bat for the next few balls. It looks like they’re bringing on that chubby chap again for this over. He’s accurate, but not fast. No need to try and whack him all over the ground. Just block and block again. Don’t let him try and tempt you to lash out with something slightly off the line. He’ll probably deliberately send you something a bit wide now and again to try and get you to hit out and give somebody a catch. Got that?”

“Got that, Boots.”

The chubby chap’s not actually a bad bowler. He was probably quite good when he was younger and fitter. Even now, probably ten years and a couple of stone over his best, he’s accurate. We can’t afford to underestimate him. Nat needs to keep square, step forward and block. I’ve shown him how. He’s done it well a couple of times against Jake when he didn’t need to duck and dive out of the way of bouncers. Here goes…

No, Nat! Don’t step across the line. Keep square, keep your bat dead. What the bloody hell are you trying to do. Just dead bat it.

I don’t believe it! Nat’s just dropped to a knee and swung straight across the line of the ball, flicked it right through the gap at extra cover. There are two guys running after it, but we’ll get a run. The first fielder to it has fumbled it. Stopped the ball but didn’t pick it up cleanly.

“RUN, Nat! Another.”

Two runs. We just got two more runs! Nat’s on the board again. Three runs to his name. Mum needs to take a photo of the scoreboard with Nat’s name on it and a tally of runs by the side of it. That’d be good for him to show everybody in America. It’s put Nat back on strike too. Just bloody well play a dead bat now, Nat, don’t try showing off again.

Nat nearly did as he was told. For the next four balls he just blocked. Obviously, that’s not good for our scoring rate, especially with just four overs left after this one, but I don’t want him getting clattered. Cricket balls hurt.

That’s a slower ball, but spinning a bit. Nat needs to be careful with it: it might turn in, dodge his bat and strike the wicket. Nat’s falling for it, seen that’s its slower, is moving to try and hit it hard instead of just blocking it.

Thwack!

“RUN! Two, Nat!”

That was good. Nat had his eye in, wasn’t deceived by the spin, managed to connect with the ball and sent it neatly down past extra cover to get us a couple more runs. We’re keeping the score ticking over nicely. I don’t think we’re going to be able to catch up and pass the village’s 117, but we’re going to get something respectable. If we can get past the century that will do.  Okay, so I’d like to take a few risks and hit out a bit, maybe try and get a couple of fours per over, that would give us a real chance of winning, but it’s not a good idea. If I do that, there’s a good chance I’ll get out, Normally that’s acceptable in a 20 overs match: there’s still a few batsmen left to come in after me and try and maintain the scoring rate. Bit if I get out, that’s going to leave Nat out here on his own with nobody guiding him. Nobody shielding him from Jake’s bouncers. I’ve got to do a Boycott: stay in, take the sting out of the bowling. We’re twenty runs behind, and three overs to go. That’s a big ask with hostile bowling coming up for one of those overs.

Now we’ve changed ends, Jake is coming back on to bowl his fourth and last over. I’m taking strike. If I can keep strike for five balls, then it’ll matter less if I get out at the end of the over.  It’d leave Nathan without me, but Jake can’t bowl any more after this. Nat’ll be facing the other village bowlers and none of them are going to try and hurt him. Try to get him out for sure, but not actually looking to hit him deliberately. Come on Jake, I’m ready. Let’s see what you can do.

This is going wide on my leg side. Jake’s letting his frustration get the better of him. His accuracy is suffering as he tries to get more speed behind each ball. It’s not deliberately going down leg side, it’s just an error from him. I can sweep it down to that gap near long leg again. They haven’t plugged it. Two runs for definite.

Thwack!

Nat’s already running to me. He’s sharpened up, getting the hang of what we need to do. We’ve crossed and are heading back. The fielder is a bit slow, we’re going to get the two with no problem.

“Stay, Nat. NO! STAY!”

Nat’s not staying put. He’s started to go for a third run. Bugger, bugger, blast and damn! I’ve got to run too now. It’s going to be tight. Nat should have stayed put. A safe two is better than a risky three. A very risky three! I’m not going to make it to the crease. You freekin’ numbskull, Nat! The fielder is throwing to my end. Jake is moving in to take the catch and stump me. It’s going to be a run out. I’ve got to dive. Launch myself at the crease.

“Howzat??”

Jake’s just knocked the bails clean off the stumps. It was a good catch, I’ll give him that. Good throw too from the field. Bloody hell, this wicket is hard. I’ve just winded myself landing at full stretch on it. My bat is just over the crease. But was it in time?

I’m looking up at the umpire.

Everyone is looking at the umpire. Waiting for him to raise a finger and give me out.

I don’t think I was out. I think I just squeezed home. I need to stay in and carry on partnering Nat. Draw the fire away from him.

Jake is sure I’m out; he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat.

The umpire is shaking his head. “Not out.”

Not bloody out!

I was sure I was nearly out. Jake was sure he’d got me run out. Nat is looking like he hasn’t got a clue what’s going on. I’m going to scutch him for this when we’re done. I told him to stay put.

Nobody’s protesting the decision. Not even Jake. He must know that I made it home in the nick of time. He’s put the bails back on and started back to his run up point. And he’s bowling at Nat now. We might have got the extra run, but it’s left Nat on strike. Jake’ll be even more determined to try and get even now.

One of the fielders is moving. Somebody’s been sent down between fine and long leg, trying to fill the gap I’ve put my couple of fours into. Maybe they’re expecting Nat to try and do the same. At this late stage in the game, batsmen have nothing to risk by lashing out, trying to get a four or a six. It’s worth the risk in limited overs if you’ve got a decent batsman or two still to come in.

Jakes pounding in for his second delivery. Determination writ large across his face. It’s fast and accurate. Pitching up, swinging out a fraction. Nat’s twisting away from it.

“Ouch!”

I felt that for Nat. It hit him solid on his right shoulder. It missed his head. That’s what matters. Nat doesn’t look too hurt. He grimaced but he’s swinging his bat nonchalantly now. Trying to look as though he’s unconcerned. He’s going to have a real pearler of a bruise again tomorrow though. Stick with it Nat. Just keep ducking and twisting. Keep safe. Just four more balls to face from Jake, then it’s back to the easy stuff for the final two overs. Just keep your wits about you.

Nat’s taking position again on the crease for Jake’s third delivery. Somebody really ought to get a helmet out here for him. Jake’s striding in, a touch slower this time. All this fast bowling is taking it out of him too. What’s Nat playing at? He’s stepping back towards his off side, turning almost parallel to the ball instead of square on and dead batting it. This one’s not really a proper bouncer. Nat could have just killed it with a straight bat. Now he’s flicking at it like, well, he’s playing rounders!

Thwack!

“Run, Nat. RUN!“

He didn’t need telling. He’s already hurtling towards me. He’s just skied the ball straight down over Jake’s head towards long off. And there’s nobody at long off. They moved the guy who was there down towards fine leg to plug the gap I’ve been plundering. The guy from mid on is chasing it, starting to catch up with it now it’s bounced. It’s still rolling away though. We’re going to get a three. Which is brilliant: it adds to the score and leaves me on strike to face Jake. Puts Nat safe for a while. Bloody unorthodox stroke though. Swinging from the hip, just like he’s playing baseball.

Jake’s definitely losing his cool. This one is going to come right at me, hard and fast, waist height. But because I know that, can tell what he’s doing, I can turn it to my advantage. Drive it straight out past gully and towards the boundary.

Thwack!

Perfect! Dad’s the nearest fielder to that and he’s not going to keep it from getting to the boundary even though he’s sprinting his best. It’s bounced way past him. I’ll have to rub that in later. Tell him he’s getting too old.

“Stay, Nat. It’s a four.”

What’s that brought us to? Come on scoreboard, get a wiggle on. Put the numbers up. Yes, we’re at 107. 14 balls to go. Maybe it’s worth taking a risk or two. Jake’s only got two more deliveries then Nat is safe. Okay, the other bowlers might get him out but they aren’t trying to knock his head off.

The village team captain is not too happy either. He’s having a word with Jake. Probably realised that me and Nat have started to get the measure of him. If he’d been bowling sensibly, fast and accurate, we’d have been limited to the occasional single run. As it is, so long as we can keep out of the way of his bouncers, we can punish the errors he’s making with a three or even a four. We probably still won’t win the game, but we’re putting pressure on them, making it closer than they are comfortable with.

This one is dangerous. Fifth delivery from Jake and he’s reigned things in. Kept it tight and on target. I’ve can’t risk anything with this one. Just a square bat, knock it down and kill it. No risk to my wicket that way, but I didn’t score anything either.

Sixth and final delivery of the over from Jake. His last ball of the match too. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist no matter what the captain said to him. It’s pitching short gain, rearing up. I’m under it, reaching out, helping it on its way clean over the slips and on down towards old Ted out there at third man. Dad’s yelling at him to run for it but Ted’s no chance of getting to it before it reaches the boundary.

“Four, Nat. Stay put.”

Jake’s momentum has brought him halfway down the wicket. He’s not happy. I bloody well am.

“Bet you wish you were batting for our side too now, Jakey boy.”

The slip fielders are smirking. They heard. Nat heard too. He’s grinning as Jake slinks off towards his field position.

There’s somebody from the Dalby team coming out from the pavilion as the fielders change over position for the new over. Bringing Nat a bloody helmet. Talk about bolting the stable door after the horse has bolted. Freekin’ eejits! Nat’s looking bemused. Better late than never I suppose. He’s put it on though.

What’s dad doing? He’s already bowled a couple of overs, right at the start. I didn’t think he was going to bowl again. He bloody well is though. Nat’ll need to be sharp.  I mean, dad’s not going to bounce him, but he’ll not give nat an easy life. Dad plays to win.

Come on Nat, square bat to it. Just kill this first delivery dead. Dad’s going to test you out, I’m sure of it. Just something medium pace, but accurate as hell. You can’t afford to slip up.

Thought so. Straight down the centre, right at the middle stump. Nat’s got to play it, he can’t step back from it. Just block it, Nat.

Thwack.

“Run, Nat, we can get one.”  

Nat played that well. Just hit it with enough force to knock it back down the wicket towards dad, but with no speed to it. We’re off like hares. Crossed over and made the single before dad was able to scoop up the ball and fling it to the keeper. I was already home. That was actually a good shot from Nat. Probably a fluke, but it looked good.

Now it’s my turn. Dad’s going back a few paces, but not far. This isn’t going to be fast. Maybe he’s going to try spinning it. I think he is. He’s rubbing the ball against his trousers as he turns round to face me and begin his run. I bet he’s going to try and bowl me a googly. No problem. I can read you dad.

“HOWZATT???”

What the?? Where’s my wicket gone? My stumps are all over the place. The bails are tumbling through the air in slow motion. The wicket keeper is scooping the ball up, waving it in the air. The umpire’s finger is going up. I’m frikkin’ out! Dad’s just bowled me out. With a Yorker. How’d he manage that? I was sure he was going to send me a googly. It bloody looked like he was. Then it sort of twisted, swung inwards, stayed low after the bounce, crept right under my bat. Blew the stumps apart. A bloody Yorker! He conned me into thinking he was going to spin it, send me a googly, then hit me with a Yorker. The scheming rat!

Dad’s grinning. “Bye-bye, Craig. Toddle off back to the pavilion. Don’t scoff all the sandwiches when you get there.”

* * *

“Eyup, Mister Wreyt. Nice bit o’ bowlin’, that last ovver o’ thine. Cost us t’ match, but nice all t’ same. Reckon we wor just abaht to steal a win off thi’ until tha’ got our two lads aht. Just gettin’ in to their stride they wor, ‘ad your fast bowler tamed.”

Dad smiled at Mr Sutcliffe and helped himself to another sandwich.

“Had to do it, Mr Sutcliffe. You’re right, Craig and Nat were starting to look as though they might pull off a win for you. It was getting a bit too close for comfort. I hope we’ll be seeing Dalby here again next year in the league. Maybe you’ll get your revenge then.”

“Aye, we’ll be back. After them two lads ‘ad been bowled, our tailenders only managed three moor runs ‘tween ‘em. Still, 115 to 117 wor a good result. Tight match, Mister Wreyt, tight match.”

As Mr Sutcliffe turned away to speak to somebody else, dad wandered over to where me and Nat were helping ourselves to more of gran’s chocolate cake.

“Don’t say a word, dad. Not a word. I still don’t know how you did it. It looked like it was going to be a googly, it really did.”

“That was the point, son. You fell for it hook, line and sinker. Totally reeled you in. Doesn’t pay to think you’re too smart. The moment you start getting complacent, somebody’ll come along and kick your legs from under you.”