balls; dozing in striped deckchairs or perched on shooting sticks.
The sky was duck-egg blue, and only the gentlest of breezes shook the tall oaks and hornbeams that encircled the pitch; shivering in the leaves like the sound of distant applause.
Hearing a murmur of excitement from the people around him, Adam looked up in time to see the ball being fielded by a familiar-looking figure on the boundary and thrown back hard; fizzing into the player behind the stumps, who swept off the bails and clapped.
“Good work, Lee…”
Lee Bacon. One of the boys who had attacked Adam by the war memorial, and had paid so dearly for it in the woods. Adam breathed an enormous sigh of relief. At least they were still in one piece…
“This is bizarre, isn’t it?”
“Huh?” Adam looked up. He hadn’t seen Rachel arrive next to him. She was beaming.
“Apparently, the bowler’s got a square leg.”
“And a hell of a googly,” Adam said. “Whatever that is.”
Rachel giggled. “And I thought baseball was complicated.”
Adam turned away, distracted by the distant sound of a ball being hit. By the growing excitement, and then the alarm of the people around him.
“Catch it!”
“Watch it!”
“Look out…!”
Adam glanced up and saw the dark, speeding blur that could only be an extremely hard cricket ball hurtling down towards him. He heard Rachel scream, then others, and turned away the second before a hand reached out and caught the ball centimetres in front of his face.
There was a gasp from the crowd, then applause.
“Bravo!”
“Did you see that catch?”
“You should be out there playing,” somebody said.
Adam opened his eyes to see Rachel staring at a boy in a hooded sweatshirt. He was somewhere around their own age. The boy’s clothes were as dark as his hair and Adam thought he must have been boiling hot, but he seemed cool enough, moving the ball in his hands for a few seconds before throwing it back to a nearby fielder.
“Nice catch,” Rachel said.
The boy smiled and pushed his long hair back from his face.
“I’m Rachel.”
The boy nodded, as though hearing something he already knew.
Rachel pointed towards Adam. “This is my brother…”
Adam stepped forward and stuck out a hand. “Adam.”
The boy took Adam’s hand, though he seemed unsure exactly what he was supposed to do with it. “My name’s Gabriel,” he said.
The three children stood around a little awkwardly for a few seconds, until the crowd broke into ripples of gentle applause once again and the players began to leave the pitch.
“That’s tea,” someone said.
Granny Root buzzed around the room, skilfully manoeuvring her wheelchair between the tables, chatting with all and sundry, and dispensing tea from an enormous pot, which stood balanced on a tray in her lap.
The small pavilion was heaving; three long trestle tables accommodated the twenty-two men in white, as well as the umpires, scorers and assorted friends of the cricket club. There was a lively hubbub as players exchanged war stories, re-enacting heroic catches or memorable shots, while hungrily scoffing sandwiches and slurping tea.
Rachel, Adam and Gabriel stood in one corner of the room near the small bar. Rachel tried to make conversation with their new friend, but the boy wasn’t saying much. He seemed far more interested in eating, and was still reaching for food long after Rachel and Adam had eaten their fill.
“I don’t know where you put it all,” Adam said. It was a reasonable comment considering how slight and stick-thin the boy was. Adam couldn’t help wondering how long it had been since Gabriel had eaten a decent meal. The boy just stared back at him, half smiling, and continued to eat.
After about twenty minutes, the players began to drift away from the tables, preparing to continue with the match.Rachel, Adam and Gabriel were about to head back outside themselves when an elderly man with slicked back white hair got up from his table
The sky was duck-egg blue, and only the gentlest of breezes shook the tall oaks and hornbeams that encircled the pitch; shivering in the leaves like the sound of distant applause.
Hearing a murmur of excitement from the people around him, Adam looked up in time to see the ball being fielded by a familiar-looking figure on the boundary and thrown back hard; fizzing into the player behind the stumps, who swept off the bails and clapped.
“Good work, Lee…”
Lee Bacon. One of the boys who had attacked Adam by the war memorial, and had paid so dearly for it in the woods. Adam breathed an enormous sigh of relief. At least they were still in one piece…
“This is bizarre, isn’t it?”
“Huh?” Adam looked up. He hadn’t seen Rachel arrive next to him. She was beaming.
“Apparently, the bowler’s got a square leg.”
“And a hell of a googly,” Adam said. “Whatever that is.”
Rachel giggled. “And I thought baseball was complicated.”
Adam turned away, distracted by the distant sound of a ball being hit. By the growing excitement, and then the alarm of the people around him.
“Catch it!”
“Watch it!”
“Look out…!”
Adam glanced up and saw the dark, speeding blur that could only be an extremely hard cricket ball hurtling down towards him. He heard Rachel scream, then others, and turned away the second before a hand reached out and caught the ball centimetres in front of his face.
There was a gasp from the crowd, then applause.
“Bravo!”
“Did you see that catch?”
“You should be out there playing,” somebody said.
Adam opened his eyes to see Rachel staring at a boy in a hooded sweatshirt. He was somewhere around their own age. The boy’s clothes were as dark as his hair and Adam thought he must have been boiling hot, but he seemed cool enough, moving the ball in his hands for a few seconds before throwing it back to a nearby fielder.
“Nice catch,” Rachel said.
The boy smiled and pushed his long hair back from his face.
“I’m Rachel.”
The boy nodded, as though hearing something he already knew.
Rachel pointed towards Adam. “This is my brother…”
Adam stepped forward and stuck out a hand. “Adam.”
The boy took Adam’s hand, though he seemed unsure exactly what he was supposed to do with it. “My name’s Gabriel,” he said.
The three children stood around a little awkwardly for a few seconds, until the crowd broke into ripples of gentle applause once again and the players began to leave the pitch.
“That’s tea,” someone said.
Granny Root buzzed around the room, skilfully manoeuvring her wheelchair between the tables, chatting with all and sundry, and dispensing tea from an enormous pot, which stood balanced on a tray in her lap.
The small pavilion was heaving; three long trestle tables accommodated the twenty-two men in white, as well as the umpires, scorers and assorted friends of the cricket club. There was a lively hubbub as players exchanged war stories, re-enacting heroic catches or memorable shots, while hungrily scoffing sandwiches and slurping tea.
Rachel, Adam and Gabriel stood in one corner of the room near the small bar. Rachel tried to make conversation with their new friend, but the boy wasn’t saying much. He seemed far more interested in eating, and was still reaching for food long after Rachel and Adam had eaten their fill.
“I don’t know where you put it all,” Adam said. It was a reasonable comment considering how slight and stick-thin the boy was. Adam couldn’t help wondering how long it had been since Gabriel had eaten a decent meal. The boy just stared back at him, half smiling, and continued to eat.
After about twenty minutes, the players began to drift away from the tables, preparing to continue with the match.Rachel, Adam and Gabriel were about to head back outside themselves when an elderly man with slicked back white hair got up from his table
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