Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night (25 page)

He was also reminded of the nature of timing. Some players were almost effortless in their stroke-play, letting the ball come on to the bat and guiding their shots with a minimum amount of back-lift, while others took wild swings and hoped to God they made a connection. Once again, Sidney marvelled at the different ways in which people could strike a ball.

After six overs, two maidens and figures of 3 for 15, Horatio Walsh was given a rest. The less troublesome medium pace of the Whittlesford undertaker replaced him, and soon both Derek Jarvis and Andrew Redmond were able to pile on the runs. They formed an easy, confident partnership, and Sidney was delighted when the coroner reached his fifty after little more than an hour at the crease.

He was impressed by his application. A man couldn’t arrive on a pitch and expect to play well. There had to be preparation. Of course there were events within a game that one could not necessarily anticipate, and Dame Fortune would always play her part, but Sidney believed that, over a sustained passage of time, a man could make his own luck. The cricketing averages did not lie, and although there could be magical days when all the predictions were confounded, it was important to study the statistics and take a long view. As the old adage had it: a man’s form could be temporary; class was permanent.

Derek Jarvis had made a chanceless fifty but his innings was ended, as was so often the case after a milestone had been reached, by a lapse of concentration. After edging the ball down to third man, he looked behind and called for a run, only to be sent back by his captain with a shouted ‘NO!’ It was Andrew Redmond’s call, and Derek Jarvis was forced to turn round when he was already halfway down the wicket. A swift and accurate throw back to the keeper made sure that he was unable to make his ground and he was soon back in the pavilion. From a confident position of 140 for 3, Grantchester slumped. At half past three Andrew Redmond flashed at a ball that was short of a length and was caught at point. Grantchester had reached 188 for 8 and the last two wickets fell in quick succession. The innings ended when Zafar Ali, their Indian spinner, was out for a duck, his middle stump ripped clean out of the ground by a snorter from Walsh.

Tea followed, and Sidney was pleased to see that Mrs Maguire had contributed two of her lardy cakes and was on hand to dispense the meat-paste sandwiches. Rosie Thomas, the grocer’s wife, doled out the tea from a large urn, while her daughter Annie offered homemade lemonade to the sweatier players after their exertions in the field.

It was an agreeable occasion, further enhanced by an impromptu visit from Leonard Graham, who had brought Dickens out for a walk and who required a quick consultation about parish matters. (One of the bellringers had fallen from a ladder and required a home visit; the churchwarden had forgotten to mow the verges at the front of the graveyard.) As the two men began their ‘quiet word’, Mrs Maguire intervened.

‘I hope you’ll keep that ruddy dog away from the food. You know what he’s like.’

‘I am sure he won’t do any harm, Mrs Maguire.’

‘Harm?’ their housekeeper replied. ‘That’s his middle name.’

As soon as her back was turned, Zafar Ali began feeding Dickens an egg sandwich.

‘Don’t encourage him!’ she shouted but Sidney’s dog was already sniffing around the lardy cakes and sidling up to any player who showed the slightest encouragement, giving them his most mournful ‘nobody ever feeds me’ look. It was extraordinary, Sidney recognised, how successful the Labrador’s patient and determined appeal could be. By the time he had finished he must have sampled everything the tea ladies had to offer.

Now it was Whittlesford’s turn to bat, and the two Redmond brothers, Andrew and Harding, opened the bowling. It was quite a family affair, Sidney noticed, since their sister Rosie was in charge of the catering, and her husband Geoffrey was fielding at deep mid-wicket. During the tea interval, Sidney also spotted that Rosie’s daughter Annie was on very friendly terms with Zafar Ali, a situation that appeared to create tension within the family. He only hoped that what looked like a burgeoning romance would not be cut short by prejudice.

Whittlesford made a confident start, reaching thirty without loss and, after watching their assured opening pair, Sidney fully expected them to win the game. However, nothing in cricket was ever predictable. Andrew Redmond took a few quick wickets, the game began to ebb and flow, and Whittlesford reached their hundred. Zafar Ali came on for some trademark leg-spin, licking his fingers before gripping the ball and flipping it out of the back of his hand, deceiving Whittlesford’s captain with a well-disguised googly that dislodged his leg bail, and soon the game was more evenly poised. At 160 for 6, the visitors began to take back the initiative but Grantchester were not out of it yet. A loud shout of ‘CATCH IT’ woke Sidney from a momentary loss of concentration, as the Whittlesford batsman skied a slog-shot to deep mid-wicket. Geoffrey Thomas ran to a position underneath it, steadied his stance as it reached the top of its trajectory, cupped his hands in expectation . . . and dropped it.

Sidney was reminded how quickly the game could change. He couldn’t switch off, even for a second, because, in cricket, no matter how long the game felt or how dull the passage of play, a chance could come off every ball. The fielder had to wait for the moment: expecting it, trusting that it would come eventually, and then seize it. So much depended on whether that chance was taken or dropped, and those quick, unpredictable flashes of action could influence the outcome of the whole match. It was a game that, like many a crime, balanced patience with opportunity.

The Whittlesford captain edged a streaky four through the slips off the fast bowling of Gary Bell, and then cut for two. Whittlesford required four more runs to win with three wickets in hand. They were coasting. At the end of the over, Sidney walked over from short-leg and took his position at the Gresham Road end. He then checked the six pebbles in his right pocket, ready to transfer them, a ball at a time, to its opposite side.

The sun was lower, and shadows had begun to lengthen over the boundary. This would be the last over. Andrew Redmond asked for the ball, inspected it, rubbed it against his thigh and threw it to his spin bowler.

Grantchester’s only hope lay in the fact that Whittlesford’s star opening batsman, who had scored seventy-three runs, was stranded at the opposite end, and Zafar was bowling to their number nine. The batsman took a swing at the first delivery and missed it completely. He was determined to win the game in style, and his partner walked down the pitch to urge patience. A quick single was all that was required and the better player would be on strike.

Andrew Redmond was fielding at mid on and the players threw him the ball between each delivery. He had a little routine going now, inspecting the ball, rubbing it on his cricket whites, and then handing it to the bowler. The Whittlesford number nine defended the second delivery of the over with a simple prod to short extra cover, but there was no run. Zafar’s third ball offered plenty of temptation in the flight, and with a rush of blood to the head, the Whittlesford man skipped down the pitch to meet it, was deceived by the spin, missed the ball entirely and was well out of his crease when stumped by the wicket keeper.

The new batsman arrived and took guard. Andrew Redmond rubbed the ball on his thigh once more before throwing it to Zafar, who licked his fingers before applying them to the seam of the ball. He walked to the end of his short run, turned, and delivered a quicker ball to the batsman’s feet which span sharply through the gap between bat and pad and lifted the bail of the off-stump.

Jubilation! Zafar was on a hat trick, and, with only one wicket remaining, Grantchester had more than a chance of victory. Whittlesford needed four runs to win and there were two balls left. The new man at the crease was Horatio Walsh, the West Indian fast bowler. Because he was a left-handed bat, Sidney wondered whether Zafar might opt to bowl round the wicket but the canny Indian was more concerned with moving the position of his fielders.

Zafar smiled as he contemplated a delivery that might bamboozle Horatio Walsh. The two men were, perhaps, amused at the irony of the situation, complicit foreigners able to decide the fortunes of an English village cricket match between them: it was four runs on one side and a single wicket on the other.

If their roles had been reversed Zafar knew that Horatio would bowl fast and straight as he had done in the first innings, an in-swinging yorker straight to the feet. Zafar was a spinner, but that meant that he probably had a few more tricks up his sleeve. Would he bowl a straight leg-spinner and perhaps get an LBW? Or would he try a googly, anticipating Horatio’s expectation of a leg-spinning ball and delivering the exact opposite, hoping for a little nick that would go through to the keeper or edge to a fielder in close? The bowler needed to guess how well his opponent could read the grip in his hand or spot the flick of his wrist. Would Horatio dance down the pitch and attempt to meet the ball before it span; or would he stay in his crease and watch it carefully, defending with a straight bat? Zafar needed to decide whether Horatio was going to be adventurous or cautious. If cautious, then he would give the delivery plenty of air in the flight; if adventurous, he would give the ball more zip, expecting it to fizz off the wicket.

Andrew Redmond adjusted the field, adding a silly point and a short leg to the two slips and the wicket keeper. There were five men in close-catching positions, another at short extra cover, with the remaining fielders stationed at mid off, mid on, long leg and on the mid-wicket boundary. All the spectators were standing either directly outside the pavilion or at the edge of the ropes. This was Zafar’s chance to make local history. He could, perhaps, be the first Indian bowler to take a hat trick in England.

Sidney had raised his arm out to the left to hold up the game while fielders moved into their new positions. Andrew Redmond rubbed the ball against the side of his trousers one last time before handing it to his bowler.

Horatio Walsh walked down the pitch, gave it a little prod, smiled at Zafar Ali, and took guard. Sidney dropped his arm.

Zafar turned his back to the batsman, licked his fingers, and assumed his grip on the ball, shielding his right hand with his left so that no one could see the delivery he had in mind.

He turned. He looked the batsman in the eye. Then he ran.

He took seven steps.

He placed his left foot firmly on the ground, raised his right arm, and bowled. The ball span out of the back of his hand and into the air. It hovered in the trajectory, as if buoyed up by some invisible force, and then pitched on off-stump. The ball turned in towards the batsman. Horatio rocked on to the back foot and defended his off stump with a straight bat. But the ball swept past, keeping low off the seam, and hit him firmly on the right pad. Although his foot was quite far forward, it was dead in line with leg stump. There was the slightest of pauses. Zafar turned to Sidney and enquired: ‘How was that?’

The outcome of the game rested on a single decision. Sidney removed his right hand from behind his back. At first it looked as if he might be moving the fifth pebble from one pocket of his coat to another, but no. Slowly, but with calm authority, Sidney raised the finger of doom. The batsman was out LBW, Grantchester had won the game, and Zafar Ali had a hat trick to his name.

The players gathered round, shook each other by the hand and patted Zafar on the back in congratulation. Geoffrey Thomas, the captain’s brother-in-law who had dropped what might have been a crucial catch, was visibly relieved as his wife and daughter came to meet him.

His daughter Annie walked up to Zafar and touched his arm. ‘We’re so proud of you.’

Thomas restrained her enthusiasm. ‘That’s enough, thank you. He was only doing his job. Let’s get the beer out.’

Soon the players were lost in the kind of celebration and conviviality that, Sidney thought, only cricket can foster. He downed a glass of beer, thanked the cricketers for such a warm-hearted game and made his excuses to leave. He walked over and congratulated Zafar Ali once more.

‘Not a beer drinker?’ he asked.

‘I have a delicate stomach, I’m afraid. No alcohol. Mrs Thomas has kindly made me up a jug of lemonade.’

‘It looks good.’

‘Certainly your dog seems to think so. I put some in a bowl for him. I hope you don’t mind . . .’

‘Not at all.’

‘It’s a hot day. He looked thirsty.’

‘I hear you run a restaurant: is business going well?’

‘So far, so good. We stay open late and we are busy on Sundays. You English like your curry.’

‘I should pop in some time.’

‘You’d be very welcome. And thank you for the decision. I thought it might have been missing leg but I had to appeal.’

‘Not at all,’ Sidney replied. ‘I can assure you it was plumb.’

‘I wouldn’t want any favouritism.’

‘No,’ Sidney replied. ‘I try to avoid that. But it’s good to have you on our team. Might I see you at church one day?’

‘I am a Muslim, Canon Chambers.’

‘We are all children of Abraham,’ said Sidney. ‘I suppose if a man has God and cricket he doesn’t need much else . . .’

‘Except perhaps a wife . . .’ Zafar Ali finished his lemonade and poured out another glass. ‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’

‘No thank you. I’ve had a good beer and now I have my dog to walk. And we’d better not get on to the whole question of wives; unless, of course, you are thinking of getting married yourself?’