your little piece of paper here,’ I said, waving it in his face.
He grabbed the paper from me, pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, and squeezed in another sentence.
As soon as I have seen Dean Jones in hospital, we can leave.
‘No.’ As soon as I said it I knew I didn’t really mean it. I think Rahul did too.
‘What did you say?’ he asked, flabbergasted.
‘Oh, well, okay,’ I said, shaking my head. I thought for a moment that he was about to hug me. Instead he stuck out his hand. I took it.
‘You won’t regret this. I promise.’
We decided that I would stay the night at Rahul’son Sunday. Dad would drive me over to his place late in the afternoon. We would say that we wanted to put in a good couple of hours on our cricket projects as Mr Pasquali would be checking on our progress on Monday morning. We felt sure there wouldn’t be a problem.
‘You’re lucky, Rahul. I found some old Wisden s in Dad’s garage last weekend. I’m pretty sure he had the 1988 one.’
‘Fantastic. You won’t forget it, will you?’
‘I’ll try not to.’
Monday—afternoon
Nat had set the hallway up for a monster game of indoor cricket. She had bundled together 25 pairs of socks, all different shapes, sizes and colours. The game was simple, but heaps of fun. She would throw the socks at me as hard as she could. The wicket was an open door behind me. I had to belt the socks with the bat. The scoring was simple.
Having 25 pairs of socks was great—25 deliveries. It meant she had raided all available drawers in the house and that I was a good chance to make my 50—as long as Mum didn’t catch us first. If I got my 50 I would definitely be giving Nat a bat.
‘Nat, you want a hit?’ I asked her. I’d made 67, but had been bowled once and caught once. I was happy with 47.
‘Only if you bowl under-arm.’
‘No probs.’ We gathered up the socks and I thought of Ally, the catcher in softball, as I pinged the socks at Nat, who was swinging the bat like a softballer.
After dinner I put through a call to Ivo at the hospital. He sounded pretty flat.
‘How are you feeling, Ivo?’
‘I’ve been better. But Mum says I’m over the worst.’
‘So will you be in there long?’
‘Probably another couple of days. I’ve got some internal bleeding, which they want to monitor or something. They had to operate too.’
I didn’t want to ask about the actual crash. I was assuming that no one else was hurt.
‘Watch out for driveways, Toby.’ Ivo’s voice was quiet.
‘You were on your bike?’
‘Yup. Remember that day in the gym when I had that headache?’
I nodded.
‘I was riding home and could hardly see, my headache was so bad, then this car rammed into me.’
‘Geez. They probably weren’t even looking.’
‘I think we both weren’t.’ There was a pause.
‘The cricket’s going well. We’ve got a one-dayer coming up this weekend.’
‘Oh, cool. They’re the best, aren’t they? When you can go home with a result. Hang on.’ I heard Ivo talking to someone. ‘I’d better go, Toby. Thanks for ringing.’
I liked Ivo. And I felt sorry for him, stuck in a hospital bed. Still, it sounded as if it wouldn’t be too long before he was back with us playing cricket. I wondered if Ally would be willing to give up her wicket keeping to him.
I rang the hospital again and this time asked for Jim, but he wasn’t available to talk.
‘Is he okay?’ I asked.
‘Who’s calling?’ said a bossy voice.
‘His grandson,’ I lied.
‘Well, you ask your mum or dad to ring.’
Maybe it was time to try a new one. A new fib, that is.
Wednesday—afternoon
We had our library session on Wednesday. Rahul told us all, including Mr Pasquali, more about his interviews. The one with Dean Jones had been by phone. Even Scott Craven was listening, though he pretended to be working. Gavin Bourke was so interested that he started asking a question—before Scott gave him a not-so-gentle whack in the ribs.
‘Go
He grabbed the paper from me, pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, and squeezed in another sentence.
As soon as I have seen Dean Jones in hospital, we can leave.
‘No.’ As soon as I said it I knew I didn’t really mean it. I think Rahul did too.
‘What did you say?’ he asked, flabbergasted.
‘Oh, well, okay,’ I said, shaking my head. I thought for a moment that he was about to hug me. Instead he stuck out his hand. I took it.
‘You won’t regret this. I promise.’
We decided that I would stay the night at Rahul’son Sunday. Dad would drive me over to his place late in the afternoon. We would say that we wanted to put in a good couple of hours on our cricket projects as Mr Pasquali would be checking on our progress on Monday morning. We felt sure there wouldn’t be a problem.
‘You’re lucky, Rahul. I found some old Wisden s in Dad’s garage last weekend. I’m pretty sure he had the 1988 one.’
‘Fantastic. You won’t forget it, will you?’
‘I’ll try not to.’
Monday—afternoon
Nat had set the hallway up for a monster game of indoor cricket. She had bundled together 25 pairs of socks, all different shapes, sizes and colours. The game was simple, but heaps of fun. She would throw the socks at me as hard as she could. The wicket was an open door behind me. I had to belt the socks with the bat. The scoring was simple.
Having 25 pairs of socks was great—25 deliveries. It meant she had raided all available drawers in the house and that I was a good chance to make my 50—as long as Mum didn’t catch us first. If I got my 50 I would definitely be giving Nat a bat.
‘Nat, you want a hit?’ I asked her. I’d made 67, but had been bowled once and caught once. I was happy with 47.
‘Only if you bowl under-arm.’
‘No probs.’ We gathered up the socks and I thought of Ally, the catcher in softball, as I pinged the socks at Nat, who was swinging the bat like a softballer.
After dinner I put through a call to Ivo at the hospital. He sounded pretty flat.
‘How are you feeling, Ivo?’
‘I’ve been better. But Mum says I’m over the worst.’
‘So will you be in there long?’
‘Probably another couple of days. I’ve got some internal bleeding, which they want to monitor or something. They had to operate too.’
I didn’t want to ask about the actual crash. I was assuming that no one else was hurt.
‘Watch out for driveways, Toby.’ Ivo’s voice was quiet.
‘You were on your bike?’
‘Yup. Remember that day in the gym when I had that headache?’
I nodded.
‘I was riding home and could hardly see, my headache was so bad, then this car rammed into me.’
‘Geez. They probably weren’t even looking.’
‘I think we both weren’t.’ There was a pause.
‘The cricket’s going well. We’ve got a one-dayer coming up this weekend.’
‘Oh, cool. They’re the best, aren’t they? When you can go home with a result. Hang on.’ I heard Ivo talking to someone. ‘I’d better go, Toby. Thanks for ringing.’
I liked Ivo. And I felt sorry for him, stuck in a hospital bed. Still, it sounded as if it wouldn’t be too long before he was back with us playing cricket. I wondered if Ally would be willing to give up her wicket keeping to him.
I rang the hospital again and this time asked for Jim, but he wasn’t available to talk.
‘Is he okay?’ I asked.
‘Who’s calling?’ said a bossy voice.
‘His grandson,’ I lied.
‘Well, you ask your mum or dad to ring.’
Maybe it was time to try a new one. A new fib, that is.
Wednesday—afternoon
We had our library session on Wednesday. Rahul told us all, including Mr Pasquali, more about his interviews. The one with Dean Jones had been by phone. Even Scott Craven was listening, though he pretended to be working. Gavin Bourke was so interested that he started asking a question—before Scott gave him a not-so-gentle whack in the ribs.
‘Go
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