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!’

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.