Mr Stoyle called an end to practice. Ben, as usual, was the only boy who had neither batted nor bowled. Today they were down to nine so there were no excuses. Joel and Jai Evans and Caleb Carney had told Mr Stoyle they were practising with the Bluebird Cricket Club adult high-performance squad, but Ben had seen them go surfing. He didn’t dob them in, because Joel, Jai and Caleb were the top three in the batting order. Mr Stoyle put an arm around Ben’s shoulder and said, ‘You know, a cricket team is only as good as its twelfth man. Whoever tells you it’s about the stars, they don’t know their cricket.’ This, Ben knew, was a direct jab at Gordon, who had confronted Stoyle a few weeks ago to ask why Ben should keep giving up his Saturdays and Monday and Thursday afternoons for this time-devouring game that he rarely got a turn to play. Mr Stoyle replied: ‘Ben is a key man in our team because he loves it.’ Boo-yah! Dad clean bowled by Stoyle, golden duck! But now he understood why Dad was being like this: he was hiding his embarrassment at not being able to offer Ben financial support. He was trying to turn Ben off cricket to cover this embarrassment. Ben felt terrible for not understanding until now.

The boys filtered from the park. Daniel, flicking his dark hair out of his eyes, collected his personal kit bag and dragged it by the wheels, joining Mr Stoyle for a confidential walk towards the teacher’s car. Daniel only lived a few blocks away, but as captain he was often chatting with Mr Stoyle about selections, tactics and higher-order issues such as Daniel’s pathway. Ben envied this intimacy, but it was a captain’s privilege; a man’s privilege: Daniel, his muscles and his beard were on the enviably far side of a post-pubertal transition that loomed before Ben like a high wall.

Ben picked up his gear: a second-hand kit, too-small gloves and box, borrowed pads and helmet, and no bat—how could you be a cricketer with no bat! He was still such a kid. There was no way he could ask Dad to buy him one. He slung the kit over his shoulder, with his school bag in the crook of his elbow, and made for the gate.

‘Eh, check this out.’