It was the seniors’ cricket grand final. Tingo against Wingham – the first time the local team had ever made it through. Abbey helped pack the sandwiches and cold chook in the esky, along with the coleslaw they’d made the night before. Kim added butter and a loaf of sourdough from the freezer. It would defrost by lunchtime. A packet of Chocolate Royals. Some bananas, oranges and a sorry-looking bunch of grapes that Abbey had been picking at. A second esky held the drinks and ice. Two folding chairs leaned against the wall. Pity she didn’t have any more. Maybe Mel would bring some?
Kim closed the lid, and studied the esky like she had x-ray vision. Would there be enough food? Taj would be there as well. Maybe she should have made some extra sandwiches. Kim glanced at the clock. There might still be time.
‘Mum.’ Jake pelted into the kitchen, Dusty at his heels. ‘Ben’s here.’
Okay, no extra sandwiches. She pointed to the eskies. ‘Can you take one of those please?’
Jake picked up the heavier of the two in one easy motion. The physical aspect of life in Tingo had been good for him. He was stronger, with muscles that weren’t there a few months ago. Tanned and fit and brimming with confidence.
Jake put the esky back down. ‘Can Dusty come?’
‘I don’t think so, darling. It will be too crowded in the car.’
Since Taj had made the astonishing confession that Dusty was a dingo, she’d been loath to take him out in public in case somebody guessed. He didn’t come on the school run anymore, or to the store. He stayed out the back when visitors came. She was probably worrying about nothing. A Google image search for black and tan dingoes brought up multiple pictures of dogs that looked a lot like kelpies – and Dusty did too. However, she wanted to err on the side of caution.
‘Ben wouldn’t let him in his car anyway,’ said Abbey. ‘He hates Dusty.’ Jake glared at his sister, but held his tongue. ‘Why not ask Taj to bring him?’
Jake looked even more surly. ‘Is Taj coming today?’
‘Yep.’ Abbey was wearing her triumphant face. ‘That’s why we made corn beef and pickle sandwiches. They’re his favourite, aren’t they, Mum?’
‘Wayne Stevens rolled his quad bike and broke his collarbone,’ said Kim. ‘He can’t play. Taj is making up the numbers.’
‘Great,’ said Jake. ‘Now we’re bound to lose.’
‘Well?’ said Abbey. ‘Are you going to ask Taj to bring Dusty or not?’
Kim waited, hoping Jake would make the decision to leave the pup himself, so she wouldn’t have to weigh in. He pulled at his ear and looked out the window, as if the answer might be there. Since getting Dusty, his level of hostility towards Taj had gone down a notch. But not enough, Kim suspected, for Jake to ask him for a favour.
‘I guess he can stay here,’ said Jake at last. ‘Can he have a bone?’
Kim smiled. ‘The biggest, juiciest marrowbone I can find. He’ll hardly notice you’re gone.’
The back door swung open and Ben strolled in. He was Tingo’s top bowler and a handy bat – the sort of talented all-rounder that country sides dreamed of. Cricket clothes whiter than white, and perfectly pressed. He looked like the lead model in a laundry-powder ad campaign. Why didn’t Jake’s whites ever look like that?
‘Ready, folks?’ Ben flashed Kim a brilliant smile, and picked up an esky. ‘You want this in the car?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Bye, Dusty.’ Jake picked up the other esky and followed Ben out the door.
Dusty whined. Kim hugged his shiny black mane. Four months old now, and growing fast. Mel said the size of his feet meant he’d be bigger than the average kelpie. ‘Don’t grow too much more,’ whispered Kim. He whined again. ‘Cheer up. Let’s get you that bone.’ He trotted to the fridge, his whole body aquiver with anticipation. ‘You understand me perfectly, don’t you?’ Dusty pointed his nose to the roof and gave a funny, yodelling bark, making her laugh. And to think there was a time she didn’t want this little dingo.
Ben poked his head round the door. ‘Tie that mutt up and let’s get going. Will I pack these chairs?’
The pup shot out the back of his own accord. Kim took him a bone, almost as big as he was. Such a pity Ben didn’t like Dusty. Maybe with time that would change.
Ben cruised round the sports ground for a minute or two, then nosed the LandCruiser into the guardrail. ‘You’ll get a good view of the pitch from here.’
Jake jumped out and hauled Ben’s sports bag from the back. ‘Can I carry this for you?’
‘Sure thing, champ.’ Ben did an Aussie salute, waving a crowd of sticky bush flies from his face. It was shaping up to be a scorcher, one of those hot, humid days that sometimes turned up in late March, summer’s last hurrah. Ben turned to Abbey and fished a few dollars from his pocket. ‘Here you go, sweetheart. They sell chips and cold drinks at the canteen, that’s as long as your mum doesn’t mind.’
Abbey’s angelic face creased into a frown. She put her hands on her hips, and drew her seven-year-old self up to full height. ‘No, thank you, Ben.’ It was as good a cold shoulder as Kim had seen.
Ben shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. Come on, Jake.’ The pair of them headed off towards the change rooms.
Kim sighed. Jake didn’t like Taj. Abbey didn’t like Ben. Ben didn’t like Dusty. Why on earth couldn’t everybody get along?
A honk from behind. Mel, trying to squeeze her car in beside them, without much success. At last she gave up, reversed out, and parked under a spreading peppercorn tree. What a lifesaver. Kim wasn’t much of a cricket fan. Without Mel, it would be a very long day.
A carnival atmosphere was developing as more and more cars entered the ground. The rural fireys ran a sausage sizzle. The brownies had a fairy floss cart, which proved endlessly fascinating to Abbey and Nikki. The high school sold half-melted paddle pops from a rattling freezer on the sports club verandah. People with cans of drink sat in their cars or on their bonnets. Watching the game. Tooting their horns when a player made a good shot or went out. Cheering at every run.
It seemed like the entire population of both towns had turned out to spur on their teams. Men and women, young and old – they were all there. And, to her surprise, Kim was enjoying herself. She thought back to the trivia night, just a few short months ago. First time in a room full of strangers for two years and she’d been terrified. What a long way she’d come. Although she wasn’t surrounded by strangers, not anymore. Every second person greeted her, called her by name. The cricket club was tightly woven into the social fabric of the community and she loved feeling that she belonged. Kim spotted Jake with Todd on the far side of the ground. The boys had put the greatest possible distance between them and their mothers.
Mel arrived with cans of Fanta for the girls and two beers. Kim stared at her friend’s stylish, slim-fit jeans. At her black, tucked-in shirt, bearing the RM Williams longhorn emblem on the pocket, and revealing an enviable waist. At the swept-back hair with copper highlights. Plain Mel was turning into a hot item. ‘Look at you.’ Mel reddened, her face a charming mix of pleasure and embarrassment. ‘What about that hat?’ Mel’s fingers reached for the brim of her brand-new, white Akubra. ‘And those.’ Kim pointed to Mel’s dark-red, calf-length, embossed-leather boots.
‘Cowgirl boots,’ said Mel, a little shyly. ‘Ariat. I’ve always wanted a pair, but Geoff didn’t like them.’ She smiled. ‘I guess now I can do what I like.’
‘I guess you can,’ said Kim. Together they burst out laughing.
Horns honked, and a Tingo player walked from the field, a picture of dejection. ‘Just in time.’ Mel handed Kim a beer, and cracked her own. She moved her camp chair into a patch of afternoon shade and settled down to watch. ‘Ben’s up next.’
It was turning into an entertaining match, and Kim was looking forward to Ben’s innings. He strolled out to the pitch, emerald-green courtesy of artificial turf, a tall, confident figure, owning the field. His clothes somehow remained blindingly white, despite a morning’s bowling. Except for a red stain on his trousers. Mel groaned. ‘How hot is he? I wouldn’t mind being his cricket ball. Did you see the way he polished it when he was bowling? Rubbing it up and down his pants . . .’
‘Stop it.’ Kim stifled a laugh. ‘The girls will hear you.’
Ben was coming in to bat at number six. Tingo were chasing a score of 127, and still needed eighty runs. Not too hard a target, and they had Ben to thank for that. He’d kept Wingham’s two star openers quiet with his showy spinners, and then bowled them both out. Tingo had its hopes pinned on him coming through for them as a batsman as well.
Ben started off well, batting with easy precision, taking the score to sixty-five and putting on a show. Jake and Todd came back to the car when they were hungry. They sat on the bonnet, eating oranges and watching the game.
Jake cheered and horns honked as Ben hit a six and held his bat aloft. The next shot wasn’t so pretty. The ball went up in the air, and seemed to hang, teasing them all. But when it finally plunged to earth, the Wingham fielder dropped an easy catch.
‘He’s leading a charmed life,’ said Mel. ‘At this rate, Tingo will win before we finish our beers.’
But it wasn’t to be. The next ball was spun to leg stump. Ben faced it squarely and made a huge swing, a slog sweep, going down on one knee in dramatic fashion. Once again, the ball hovered in mid-air. This time, however, it fell straight into a fielder’s hands. Ben was out.
‘Oh no.’ Kim looked at the scoreboard, but it hadn’t been updated since lunch. ‘Where does that leave us?’
For an admitted scatterbrain, Mel was a surprisingly accurate score-keeper. ‘We’re forty-five runs down, with five batsmen to go. But to be honest, we don’t have any good ones left.’
‘What about Taj?’
‘I don’t know. He’s never played before, but he was handy in the field this morning. Maybe he can bat a bit. He’ll come on last, so hopefully we won’t need him.’
They hadn’t seen much of Taj during the day. He hadn’t joined them for lunch. He’d brought the girls back to the car a few times, and stayed once for a cold drink. Jake had been rude, asking him if he’d played cricket before, helpfully reciting the rules in a sarcastic voice that made Todd laugh. Kim had told Jake off, and Taj politely ignored him.
The next batsman was up, and the crowd were paying attention. This was the pointy end of the game. People stopped chatting in the shade, stopped buying sausages in bread and cans of drink. They wandered back to the sidelines, to their chairs and cars, and settled in for the final chapters.
The score crept up to 103, before disaster struck. The Wingham bowler was on fire. He took a hat trick, sending one batsman after another back to the change room without scoring.
Ben arrived back at the car, swigging a lemonade, and they all congratulated him on his innings. ‘What about that six?’ said Jake with a grin. ‘You were fantastic. We’ll win, won’t we?’
Ben frowned. ‘Two wickets left. We should be okay if Nick can keep the strike.’
Nick did just that, taking six from one over.
Drinks came on, and Tingo still needed seventeen runs. The first delivery of the next over was fast and straight. Too fast. Nick’s middle stump cartwheeled away. Horns blared and cheers went up from the Wingham side of the ground. ‘That’s it,’ said Ben, ‘We’re screwed.’ Jake’s face fell.
‘It’s up to Taj now,’ whispered Mel.
Taj wandered out to the middle wearing borrowed cricket whites. He looked different, more civilised. Kim found herself wondering if the polo shirt hid his tattoo, or whether the top still showed through the open neck.
‘Think he knows which end to hold the bat?’ said Ben.
Taj took guard and the field closed in. Kim flinched as he faced a bouncer. Who said cricket was safer than football? He ducked, and regained his balance. The next ball was full and wide. He planted his foot, swung hard towards mid-off – and missed.
The crowd groaned. ‘That wasn’t a bad shot,’ said Mel. ‘He was unlucky.’
Next he met a ball like the one that undid Nick. With a classic straight drive he sent it back over the head of the bowler. It went for six and Tingo cheered. It wasn’t over yet. Eleven needed.
Kim watched Taj swing his bat in a sure, practiced stroke while waiting for the fielder. Her pulse quickened, and a quiver ran through her. Kim cleared her throat and glanced at Mel, afraid she would somehow guess.
Last ball of the over, short into Taj’s ribs. Kim’s hand flew to her mouth.
‘Yes!’ yelled Todd. ‘A leg bye.’ They scampered through for a run. ‘Ten to go.’
‘Idiots,’ Ben said, ‘Why did they take that run? Now when the bowlers change ends, Taj is on strike again.’
‘And you think that’s a bad thing, why?’ asked Mel.
The next ball thudded into Taj’s pads. An appeal of Howzat! The bowler spun around, imploring the umpire to raise his finger and give Taj out. A roar came from the crowd, then silence. Kim’s heart was in her mouth. It was as if the world, not just this match, turned on the outcome. The umpire’s hand started upward then halted. He shook his head, said something to the bowler, and clasped his hands once again behind his back.
The entire ground held its breath. The next ball was almost identical, just a touch more down the leg side. Taj was masterful, owning the pitch. With a deft flick of the wrists, he sent it for four. The crowd cheered and beeped their horns. Only six runs needed now.
‘Lucky edge,’ said Ben.
‘That was no edge,’ said Mel. ‘He can play. We can win this.’
The field scattered. Gone were the three slips and short leg. It was game on.
The next ball rose towards Taj’s throat. He stepped back, pivoted and sent it flying. The fielder at deep mid-wicket watched it sail over his head.
The umpire raised both hands. Six. Horns blared and Tingo erupted. Even Jake bounced up and down. They’d won. They’d beaten the favourites, and Taj was a hero. A flush of pleasure coloured Kim’s cheeks. That man was full of hidden talents. Was there anything Taj Kahn couldn’t do?
It was late when Ben brought them home from celebrations at the Tingo sports club. Abbey and Jake were finally in bed. Kim stood with Ben on the verandah, staring into the night, abuzz from too much champagne. Such a gorgeous evening, alive with nocturnal sounds, and the warm wind whispering through the branches of the firewheel tree. Ben was quieter than usual: serious, thoughtful. She studied his rugged face in profile.
They’d said goodbye in the kitchen some time before, yet still he lingered. There was no need for the outside light. The moon and stars blazed as they only did in the bush, patterning Ben’s shirt with shifting shadows. Kim was in no hurry for him to go. After a day of fun and friends, she wasn’t looking forward to being alone.
Ben turned to her, such a familiar face, handsome in the soft moonshine. He came close, closer still, until his tall figure blocked out the starry sky. All she could see was him. He swung her into the circle of his arms, and Kim’s head began to spin. The wine? Something more? Ben pressed his mouth to hers, coaxing, questing, his lips warm and sweet. She responded instinctively, swept up in the moment, reliving a hundred kisses with Connor on this very spot. Dizzy with remembering. It was only when Ben kissed the pulsing hollow of her throat, that she pulled away.
He drew her back, and she stiffened. ‘I’m not ready for this.’
A sigh escaped him. ‘I’ll just have to wait then.’
‘I might never be ready,’ she said. ‘Don’t wait.’
‘Let me make up my own mind.’ He took hold of her hand, stroked her palm with his thumb. ‘Let’s just see where we go. Okay?’
Her thoughts raced, searching for an answer. Where was the harm? She liked the feel of his fingers, the solid nearness of him. ‘Okay.’
He raised his eyes to heaven and whispered, ‘Thank you, God.’
She smiled. ‘You’re a good man, Ben Steele. Did anybody ever tell you that?’
‘Only all the time.’ He kissed her again, this time chastely on the cheek, before vaulting over the verandah rail.
‘Show-off!’
Twin blades of light pierced the dark, as he swung the car round and headed down the track. She stayed watching long after he’d disappeared from sight, thinking of all that had happened. Taj surprising them all, winning the match for Tingo in such style. Celebrating with their friends at the sports club. The warm sense of belonging. Ben kissing her, saying he’d wait. What a day it had been.