Hat Trick! by Brett Lee Page B

of guy to make up stuff like that.’
    ‘Rahul told you?’ I was stunned.
    ‘Not as such. But like I said, I’ve heard things. You know how you do.’
    I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, but somehow, if there was anyone who would know what was going on without appearing to—or even seeming interested—it was probably Jimbo.
    ‘Anyway, I rang up my grandfather and found out that Dad’s game wasn’t far from the MCG itself. It was in a big park where there are heaps of ovals and grounds.’
    ‘Hmm. So we go back to the Test match, then try and get to the ground where your dad is playing. And then what?’ Two lines from the poem ran through my mind.
Don’t meddle, don’t talk, nor interfere
    With the lives of people you venture near.
    ‘Nothing. I just want to see and understand for myself why my father has made this decision. Then maybe I can accept it and we can get on better.’
    I thought of Rahul and his reaction to the Madras Test.
    ‘Jimbo, strange things happen when you travel through time. You sort of lose control. You might dosomething stupid. If you interfere with the past it can change things and stuff up the present.’
    Jimbo looked at me hard. ‘I can be trusted, Toby.’
    Jimbo rang his mum during lunchtime. He’d said she was a safer bet for getting permission for him to come round to my place.
    ‘Yeah?’ I asked as he put the phone down.
    He nodded.
    ‘Yeah. I think she was actually pretty pleased. Dad’s going to pick me up at nine o’clock. He’s working late. I think that helped. Should you ring up your parents?’
    ‘Nah, it’ll be fine. I’m always bringing home friends. They’re used to it.’
    I introduced Jimbo to Mum and Nat after school when they collected me. Mum seemed pleased that I was bringing home a new friend. She celebrated by stopping off for ice-creams on the way home.
    Nat had taken a fancy to Jimbo right from the outset, and I had to wait till she had given him the full tour of the house before we could get upstairs and onto the computer.
    ‘Can we do corridor cricket?’ Nat whispered to me at my bedroom door. ‘I’m gonna get every pair of socks in the house—you’ll see.’
    ‘Okay, Nat, but later, okay?’
    We logged into the best site on cricket that I knew. I had it bookmarked and often went there myself to check up on various games, especially the ones that Dad spoke about.
    Every game—Test match, World Cup, one-day international and any other official first-class game—was listed. Most of them had full scorecards and match reports and some of the later ones even had a commentary so you could read what happened, ball by ball.
    ‘Jimbo, what year did your grandpa say for that game with your dad?’
    ‘Not sure, but it was early ’80s and the Boxing Day Test was an Ashes one, which means—’
    ‘Yep. Australia–England,’ I said, excitedly. I scrolled down, searching for the December Tests played in Australia. I knew that 1982 was an Ashes series; since England only came out every four years, it would have to be that year.
    ‘Oh, my God, Jimbo.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘It’s the 1982 Boxing Test match. The one that Border and Thomson had their huge last-wicket partnership and nearly won the game for Australia. Better still, Dad’s got the Wisden down there in the garage.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘The Wisden . It’s what we need to get there. And the exact game is down there, in the 1984 Wisden !’
    We spent the next 10 minutes looking over the scorecard. I told Jimbo the story about the match that I still loved having Dad tell me.
    I was just up to the final morning when Dad called us down for dinner.
    ‘No worries. I’ll get him to finish the story. He won’t mind.’
    We raced downstairs and into the kitchen. Dad told the story during dinner. He went a bit overboard when he got to the part about everyone stopping what they were doing to listen and watch the game. This time he had parliament stopping and trains and buses coming