want her to return. Not yet, anyway. I looked down at the open book that Jim was holding. The swirl of black and white was no different from last time.
‘The top of the page, Toby. Concentrate. Try to make the words settle. Force the letters to stop moving. Then say the word that appears.’
I shook my head and lifted my eyes to the top of the page. There was less black here, but still the swirly effect continued. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing, but as I thought of asking Jim, I sensed the page settling. I hadn’t looked at a Wisden page yet for as long as this. For a moment, I thought I could make out a word. Then it went washy again.
‘Keep at it, Toby. Keep going,’ Jim urged.
Another word drifted in, then away, but this time I could read the word. ‘South.’ I didn’t dare look down the page, where I still sensed a flurry of black marks swishing and surging like ants in cream.
‘What can you see, Toby? Can you read to me?’
‘S-S-South Africa,’ I stammered, peering into the mess. ‘Oh, hang on. It’s a date, June, I think, and there’s a…’
Someone was speaking.
Something about a glass of water…
I looked up. A roar surrounded me. I stood, transfixed.
Utterly confused.
I thumped myself, to feel my own body, and swung around. I was surrounded by people, but noone was paying me the slightest attention. There was no carpet beneath me. Just grey concrete.
The bright light was glaring. There was a gasp from the crowd and then applause. I couldn’t help myself. I looked out towards the players. Someone had just belted a four.
I took another glance around me. There was a lot of noise and chatter. I noticed some empty seats about 10 metres away. Nervously I walked to them and sat down. I felt as if everyone should be looking at me, but when I turned to check, people were just concentrating on the cricket.
I checked the scoreboard. Australia were batting. South Africa were in the field. I was in England, in the year 1999, watching the World Cup semi-final! Steve Waugh and Michael Bevan were in. The score was 4 for 86. Bevan was on six and Steve Waugh was on 13. I suddenly realised that no one here knew what was going to happen. They didn’t know that they were going to see one of the most exciting finishes to a cricket game ever—well, that’s what Dad and I thought.
I opened my mouth to speak, then quickly closed it again. Maybe now wasn’t the right time to be showing off my knowledge.
I looked around at the people beside me.
‘They’re struggling, aren’t they?’ A lady was speaking to me from two seats away. She was the first person who appeared to have noticed me.
I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
‘You alright then, love?’ she asked. She had an English accent.
I nodded.
‘Where are you from then?’
‘Australia.’ The word came out a bit garbled, but she’d heard me.
‘Oooh, really? Well, you’d better hope that Bevan and Waugh put on a partnership, otherwise you’re done for.’
Someone started talking to her and she turned away. I turned back to the cricket. I felt calmer when I was watching it. I took a few deep breaths then closed and opened my eyes a few times. Nothing changed.
A surge of excitement and exhilaration charged through me. Jim was right. I had travelled in time. I really was here at the World Cup! It was the most awesome and spectacular thing imaginable.
But then a thought occurred to me. How long had I been away? Was the time I was spending here the same as the time that Jim and Georgie were spending at the library?
I decided to give it one more over. That couldn’t hurt. Allan Donald was bowling and Bevan was facing. He didn’t look in any hurry to score. But that was okay. He actually let the third ball go through to the keeper, but he scored a run off the second-last ball and then Steve Waugh scored a single off the last.
‘Not your seat, I don’t think, lad.’
I turned around. A couple of men were standing
Learning to Kill: Stories