Ben was worried about his dad, and how their family troubles might impact on his ambition to play for his country. He had seen Lou slipping packets of cash Dad’s way. He had heard an argument about money between his mother and Grandma Leonie. He saw Dog, of all people, leaving bills on the microwave. He knew there was something going on between his dad and Sam. His Grandma was in hospital, which had to be terribly expensive. It added up to nothing good. And Ben knew that to have any hope of playing for Australia, you needed the full ongoing support of your family until you were old enough to get an agent and sew up your corporate sponsorships. There was a pathway, but the first steps needed cashed-up parents.

The over was over, and Ben ran to fine leg at the other end, covering one hundred and fifty-five metres when nobody else had to change position by more than thirty. The batsmen were a right-/left-handed combination, so Ben also had to run sixty-two metres when the strike changed. If he forgot, he could rely on a bark from Mr Stoyle.

Mr Stoyle was a bit of a legend in the school, having played for the state back in the day. He had thick centre-parted blond hair and a sporty manner that could make Ben just about melt. His father said Mr Stoyle was a phony. He had looked up past state reps and, whaddaya know, no Stoyle. Ben knew that his father’s aim, in popping the coach’s bubble, was to help him feel better about the constant snubs. But Ben believed, like all the boys, in Mr Stoyle’s legendariness. He had played for the state. Just like Ben was going to play for the country.

‘Righto, bring it in!’