‘There are millions of bits of Grandad in here,’ I say, shaking the urn. ‘With the wind behind them, chances are at least one of the bits will end up in an English batsman’s eye.’
Pino thinks about this.
‘So he can’t see properly,’ says Pino.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘So he gets bowled,’ says Pino.
‘Exactly,’ I say.
‘So Australia wins,’ says Pino.
‘Spot on,’ I say.
He’s pretty smart for someone who doesn’t know much about cricket.
‘That is so stupid,’ says Pino.
I look at him.
Smart, but not very confident about the future.
I think it must come from talking to girls.
When we hurry out of the tunnel I look across at the scoreboard.
England only need six more runs.
‘Come on,’ I say to Pino. We run up the steps.
I reckon the highest part of the stadium will be the best place for scattering ashes. I can see big sliding windows behind the back row of seats. They’re open for ventilation, and a strong breeze is blowing through them and gusting towards us as we climb higher.
‘Anyway,’ pants Pino. ‘Why would your grandad want Australia to win? He was from England, wasn’t he? That’s like my dad wanting Italy to lose at soccer. My whole family would put their heads in the meat slicer before they’d want that.’
I explain about Grandad.
‘He wanted England to lose at everything,’ I say. ‘He hated the place because he had such an unhappy childhood there. His parents were very strict. He got bullied a lot by other boys. Girls thought he was a nerd.’
‘Sounds pretty normal,’ mutters Pino.
More applause from parts of the crowd. England have scored two more runs.
We reach the back row of seats.
‘Right,’ I say to Pino. ‘Go over there and do something that’ll make everybody look at you.’
Pino hesitates, uncertain.
‘People mustn’t see me scattering Grandad,’ I say. ‘It’s a serious crime, temporarily blinding a tail-ender batsman.’
Pino thinks about this.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘But if you get arrested, I’ll have to pretend I don’t know you. Or your grandad.’
‘Of course,’ I say quietly.
Pino goes along behind the seats.
Clutching Grandad to my chest, I loosen the lid of the urn and unscrew it with as little movement as possible and slip the lid into my back pocket.
‘What have you got there?’ says a voice.
I try and stuff Grandad out of sight as well, but my t-shirt’s not baggy enough.
‘We did that once,’ says the voice.
It’s a girl.
She’s about my age and she’s sitting at the end of the back row, staring at the urn and grinning.
I try to control my panic. I also try to remember if Australia has won any other test series because a tail-ender batsman got something in his eye.
‘Our cat Warnie died,’ says the girl. ‘He loved cricket, but he’d only ever seen it on telly, so we brought his ashes here for a first-hand squiz.’
I don’t know what to say. It’s the same as always. Whenever I try to have a conversation with a girl, my brain feels like Ricky Ponting has whacked it with his bat. Must be a gene I inherited from Grandad. The nerd gene. Actually I think I’m even more of a nerd than he was. At least Grandad ended up married. I’m probably going to end up on my own, babysitting Pino’s kids.
‘Pretty funny, eh,’ says the girl, still looking up at me. ‘Bringing ashes to see who wins the Ashes.’
She’s got the friendliest grin I’ve ever seen.
I open my mouth, trying to think of something to say to her that can’t be used against me later in court.
Before I can speak, a commotion starts up further along the row of seats. It’s Pino, yelling and clapping.
‘England sucks,’ he chants. ‘England sucks, England sucks, England sucks.’
Everyone, including the girl, turns to look at him.
I don’t waste a second.
‘Bye, Grandad,’ I whisper.
I grip Grandad in both hands and swing the urn in a big movement so all his ashes fly out into the wind. Which, I realise too late, isn’t blowing towards the pitch any more. It’s changed direction again. It’s blowing towards me, and towards the huge ventilation windows behind me.
Grandad swirls around the back of the stand for a few seconds, then disappears out through the windows.
Frantic, I dive after him, but it’s too late.
I stick my head through one of the open windows. I can just make out the dusty cloud that is Grandad, getting fainter by the second as he’s blown down into the busy street below.
He’s being scattered among people who don’t even know he’s there. People getting on with their busy lives. Squabbling about parking spaces. Laughing at other people who’ve dropped their shopping. Walking past a charity collector and ignoring her.
I can see bits of Grandad landing on a mother who is smacking her crying toddler. And on several big kids who are chasing after a small kid.
Instead of laying Grandad to rest on hallowed turf, I’ve dumped him in the middle of people doing nasty things.
Things that aren’t cricket.
Suddenly, behind me, the crowd roars and groans all at once.
I turn round.
England have scored a boundary.
Four runs.
Both English batsmen are standing with their arms in the air. Our players have slumped. Some are crouching with their heads in their hands. Others are sitting dejectedly on the grass as if they’ve just tried to talk to a girl and been laughed at.
We’ve lost.
England have won the match. And the whole test series. And the Ashes.
I turn back to the window. I can’t even see Grandad down in the street now. Not one single tiny bit of him.
‘Well,’ says Pino, coming over. ‘That was successful.’
‘Sorry, Grandad,’ I whisper.
We head towards the exit. Most of the departing crowd are looking unhappy. I bet they don’t feel as unhappy as me.
Losing a test series is bad, but not as bad as what I’ve done.
Pino isn’t looking happy either. There were groups of England fans up the back of the stand when he was chanting, and he’s worried about what they’ll do to him if they see him. He’s taken his England Sucks hanky off and stuffed it in his pocket.
We’re in the street now.
I look down, just in case there are any specks of Grandad on the footpath. It’s no good, my eyesight isn’t strong enough. Anyway, even if I did see some bits of ash, how would I know it was Grandad and not the remains of a cigarette or a cricket-loving cat?
‘Sorry, Grandad,’ I whisper again. ‘Sorry you ended up somewhere you didn’t want to be.’
Grandad always hated crowded streets. He was always worried someone would jostle him and he’d drop his shopping. And if someone squabbled with him about a parking spot, he’d always give in.
I look up from the footpath.
All around me, people are rubbing their eyes.
The mother who was smacking the toddler is rubbing hers while the toddler chuckles happily.
The big kids who were chasing the small kid are rubbing theirs while the small kid disappears into a side street.
The people who were laughing at the dropped shopping are rubbing theirs with both hands. One of them is dropping his shopping while he does it.
This is weird.
I should be feeling guilty, but instead I’m getting a strange feeling. A feeling that this is where Grandad wants to be. I can’t explain it. But the more I look around, the stronger I feel it.
Then I see something else.
‘Look,’ I say.
Pino ducks behind a bus shelter. He thinks I’ve seen some England fans. But that’s not what I’m
pointing at.
It’s the girl from the back row of the stand. She’s with a man who’s bent forward with his hands over his eyes.
‘Careful, Dad,’ she says. ‘Let me try and get it out.’
‘Gently, love,’ he replies. ‘It feels like grit.’
Before I have a chance to think what I’m doing, I grab the hanky from Pino’s pocket, lick the corner and go over to the girl and her father.
‘Um,’ I say. ‘Excuse me. My dad’s a demolition contractor and he works with dust all the time. This is something my grandad taught us.’
I gently hold one of the father’s eyes open with my thumb and forefinger, and dab away the tears with Pino’s hanky. A bit of the marker pen Pino used for the writing gets on the father’s eye socket, but I’m sure he won’t mind.
With the corner of the hanky I flick a couple of bits of Grandad out of the father’s eye. Then I do the other side.
Once the girl’s father can see again, he gives me a grateful look.
‘Thank you very much, young man,’ he says.
Oh no. Now he’s peering at me as if he’s seen me before but he’s not sure where.
I hope the girl won’t tell him. I hope she won’t say anything about bringing ashes to the Ashes and unpredictable wind changes. If the people in this street hear, they’ll lynch me.
She doesn’t.
‘Thanks,’ she says to me, grinning again. Then she steps very close and murmurs something else. ‘Next time you bring a member of your family to the cricket, give the rest of us some warning, OK?’
‘OK,’ I say.
She turns to Pino, who’s staring at us both, stunned.
‘What’s your friend’s name?’ she asks him.
‘Um…’ he says.
‘Mark Smalley,’ I say, amazed how easily the words come out.
‘I’m Alice,’ says the girl.
‘G’day Alice,’ I say.
‘Well, Mark,’ says Alice’s father. ‘If you end up being an eye doctor, let us know. We’ll be your first clients.’
‘Actually,’ I say, ‘I’m planning on being a Porsche dealer. Or a test cricketer.’
Alice doesn’t laugh, or mock, or chuck me one of those ‘as if’ looks. She just gives me another friendly smile.
‘See you around,’ she says, and I can see she means it.
‘Thanks again,’ says her father.
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say as they head into the crowd.
Pino seems to have lost the power of speech.
I, on the other hand, suddenly feel like I could rabbit on till midnight. With Alice or any one of the other five thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine girls leaving the cricket stadium.
But I don’t. What I want to say only needs two words.
‘Thanks, Grandad,’ I whisper.
101 Text Messages You Must Read Before You Die
DEAR RO HERE IT IS MY FIRST ONE WITHOUT YOUR HELP PRETTY GOOD EH JEEZ FINDING THE LETTERS TAKES AGES ANYWAY MY TEXT MESSAGE IS CAN I HAVE A CUP OF TEA PLEASE LOVE DAD
RO ARE YOU THERE
DAD TO RO BUNG THE KETTLE ON
COME ON RO ITS THIRSTY WORK HERE IN THE ORCHARD NOW WEVE DECIDED TO GO ORGANIC AND STOP USING SPRAYS AND I HAVE TO YELL AT THE BUGS TO GET OFF THE APPLES
RO WAKE UP IM DRYER THAN A WALLABYS WASHING OOPS DOPEY ME YOU CANT READ THIS IF YOURE STILL ASLEEP AND I DONT BLAME YOU IF YOU ARE AFTER WHAT THOSE CHEESE BRAINS DID TO YOU AT SCHOOL LAST NIGHT
DONT WORRY LOVE IM COMING UP TO THE HOUSE
GET OFF THAT APPLE YOU MONGREL
SORRY RO NOT YOU
OOPS JUST REMEMBERED WHAT YOU TOLD ME ABOUT KEEPING THE WORDS SHORT IN TXTS
TRBLE IS WHN I DO I CANT UNDRSTND WHT IM SAYNG ITS A CMPLT MNGRL
BACK TO BIG WORDS NO SWEAT IVE GOT STRONG THUMBS I CAN HANDLE IT I DONT KNOW HOW YOU KIDS CAN UNDERSTAND ABBRV ABBRIV SHORT WORDS
HEY IM GETTING FASTER AT THIS ALMOST AT THE HOUSE NOW IGNORE THIS IF YOURE STILL SNOOZING
YOURE NOT STILL SNOOZING WHERE ARE YOU LOVE YOUR BEDS EMPTY AND SO ARE YOUR JARMIES AND YOURE NOT IN THE SHOWER OR THE KITCHEN OR THE HALL CUPBOARD
I BET YOURE UP THE BACK PADDOCK GIVING THE LONG GRASS A WALLOPING AND PRETENDING ITS MR CHEESE BRAIN GLOSSOP GOOD GIRL HE DESERVES TO HAVE HIS EDGES TRIMMED AFTER WHAT HE DID TO US LAST NIGHT
THE MONGREL
THIS CROOK MOBILE RECEPTION IN THE BUSH IS A PAIN IN THE APPLES I MEAN IF A BLOKE WANTS TO RING UP HIS DAUGHTER BY VOICE TO SEE IF SHES OK HE CANT YEAH I KNOW TEXTS ARE BEST FOR YOU RO BUT IT STILL GETS UP MY NOSE
GIVE THAT BACK PADDOCK AN EXTRA WHACK FROM ME LOVE BUT SEND ME A TEXT FIRST SO I KNOW YOURE OK
HANG ON IM UP ON THE ROOF NOW AND I CAN SEE THE BACK PADDOCK AND YOURE NOT THERE
ALSO YOURE NOT IN THE FRONT PADDOCK OR THE SIDE PADDOCK OR THE PACKING SHED
OH NO THE TRACTOR ISNT IN THE PACKING SHED EITHER
RO URGENT URGENT URGENT WHEREVER YOU ARE STOP DRIVING THE TRACTOR NOW AND TURN THE ENGINE OFF COMPLETELY AND GET AWAY FROM IT I KNOW YOURE ALLOWED TO DRIVE IT BUT THIS IS DIFFERENT SEE NEXT MESSAGE
DANGER FUEL TANK LEAKING
ITS FROM WHEN I ACCIDENTLY BACKED INTO THAT FOOTY CLUB BUS AFTER THEY LAUGHED AT YOU FOR SPEAKING WITH YOUR HANDS
OK I SHOULD HAVE GOT IT FIXED BUT I HAVENT HAD TIME WHAT WITH HELPING YOU PRACTISE FOR THE SCHOOL DEBATE AND LEARNING ORGANIC APPLE GROWING METHODS SO I PATCHED IT UP BUT IF THE CHEWY GIVES WAY IT COULD BE A BIT DANGEROUS
VERY DANGEROUS
THE TRACTOR COULD BLOW UP LOVE
TURN THE ENGINE OFF NOW RO OH JEEZ WHY ARENT YOU ANSWERING MY MESSAGES
IM ON THE GROUND WITH MY EAR IN THE DIRT TRYING TO HEAR WHICH DIRECTION YOUVE GONE BUT I CANT HEAR ANY ENGINE VIBRATIONS CAUSE THE GRASSHOPPERS ARE TOO LOUD
IF YOUVE TAKEN THE TRACTOR OVER TO NEXT DOORS ORCHARD TO PULL SCARY FACES AT THEIR INSECTS I WONT BE CROSS
RO TALK TO ME TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE TELL ME YOUVE DITCHED THE TRACTOR PLEASE
IM RUSHING ROUND THE HOUSE LIKE A MANIAC SEEING IF YOU LEFT A NOTE BUT THERE ISNT ONE IN THE KITCHEN OR THE LOUNGE OR TIED TO THE DOG WHY DO YOU CHOOSE A DIFFERENT PLACE EACH TIME
FOUND IT I SHOULD HAVE LOOKED ON THE TOILET DOOR FIRST OFF OK LETS SEE WHERE YOU ARE
OH JEEZ RO NO NO NO TAKING THE TRACTOR TO TOWN IS TOO FAR LISTEN ITS A BIT TECHNICAL BUT IF THE CHEWY OVERHEATS AND FUEL SPLASHES ONTO THE INTAKE MANIFOLD YOURE HISTORY
IM IN THE TRUCK IM COMING AFTER YOU
NO IM NOT THE TRUCK WONT START
IM SURE I PUT THOSE NEW SPARK PLUGS IN THE BATHROOM CABINET DID YOU MOVE THEM
FOUND THEM MY FAULT THEY WERE IN MY SOCK DRAWER
IM COMING AFTER YOU YOUR TYRE TRACKS IN THE DRIVEWAY LOOK FRESH SO I HOPE YOURE NOT TOO FAR AHEAD STOP DRIVING RO PLEASE
WICH WAY DID YOU GO MAIN ROAD OR BAK WAY SORRY ABOUT THE SPELING IM TEXTING ONE HANDED I REKON THE BAC WAY CAUSE YOUR A KID AND KIDS DRIVING TRACTRS ON MAIN RODS STIK OUT LIKE MOTHS BALLS
THATS BETTER STEERING WITH MY KNEES NOW BOTH HANDS FOR TEXTING RO ANSWER ME BUT FIRST PLEASE STOP THE TRACTOR AND RUN
OH NO ITS JUST HIT ME WHY YOURE NOT ANSWERING AND WHY YOU DON’T WANT TO STOP DRIVING INTO TOWN
REVENGE
LISTEN RO I AGREE WHAT THAT CHEESE BRAIN GLOSSOP DID LAST NIGHT WAS A CROOK THING
I DONT MEAN SNEERING AT MY ORANGE AND PURPLE COWBOY SHIRT I MEAN CHUCKING A BRILLIANT DEBATER OFF THE TEAM JUST CAUSE SHE WAS BORN WITH HER VOICE MISSING AND SHE HAS TO DEBATE WITH HER HANDS
IT WASNT YOUR FAULT THAT AMANDA WAS BEING REALLY SLOW TELLING THE OTHER TEAM WHAT YOU WERE SAYING SO I HAD TO HELP OUT
OK I WAS A BIT LOUD AT FIRST BUT THATS CAUSE I WAS STANDING UP THE BACK OF THE HALL
I WAS ONLY TRYING TO HELP
WHERE ARE YOU RO STOP THE TRACTOR PLEASE
I CANT STAND THIS EVERY TIME I GO ROUND A CORNER I THINK IM GUNNA SEE A BIG CLOUD OF SMOKE AND A BLOWN UP TRACTOR AND A BLOWN UP DAUGHTER
OK I DID GET A BIT CARRIED AWAY LAST NIGHT BUT ONLY BECAUSE OF THE DEBATING TOPIC
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WHAT SORT OF DEBATING TOPIC IS WORDS SPEAK LOUDER THAN ACTIONS
WHAT AN INSULT
THERE YOU WERE SITTING ON THAT STAGE A TOP LIVING BREATHING EXAMPLE OF HOW ACTIONS ALWAYS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS AND THEY STILL RECKONED THEY HAD TO DEBATE IT
SO I SAW RED APPLES AND DID SOME THINGS I SHOULDNT HAVE
ITS LIKE CARLA TAMWORTH SAYS IN HER CLASSIC SONG ABOUT THE BLOKE WHO DOESNT WANT TO ADMIT HES GOT A BOIL ON HIS BUM SO HE SITS ALL DAY ON HIS HORSE IN AGONY
YOUVE GOT TO STAND UP FOR THE TRUTH
ID SING IT TO YOU IF YOU WERE HERE JEEZ YOU MUST BE A LONG WAY IN FRONT IM DRIVING LIKE A MANIAC
NO IM NOT RO DONT WORRY IVE GOT VERY SAFE KNEES
PLEASE RO WHY DONT YOU STOP AND TURN THE TRACTOR OFF AND LET ME CATCH UP WITH YOU SO I CAN APOLOGISE
IM SORRY I WENT UP ON STAGE LAST NIGHT AND MUCKED UP THE DEBATE
I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE THEY GOT THAT BRILLIANT THING YOU SAID ABOUT ACTIONS SPEAKING LOUDER THAN WORDS EG PARENTS WHO MIME COUNTRY AND WESTERN SONGS TO THEIR KIDS IN THE BATH
THAT WAS ONE OF THE BEST DEBATING ARGUMENTS IVE EVER HEARD AND THE ONLY REASON I SANG AT THAT POINT WAS TO GIVE THEM AN EXAMPLE
I WOULD HAVE NICKED OFF THEN LIKE MR GLOSSOP TOLD ME TO IF THAT CAPTAIN OF THE OTHER TEAM HADNT GOT PERSONAL
WHEN HE SAID AN EXAMPLE OF WORDS SPEAKING LOUDER THAN ACTIONS WAS PEOPLE WHO WORE DUMB BELT BUCKLES WITH THE WORDS LOVE AND DEATH ON THEM EVERYBODY IN THAT HALL KNEW HE WAS TALKING ABOUT ME BECAUSE GLOSSOP WAS WEARING BRACES
AS YOU KNOW I BOUGHT THAT SKELETON ON A HARLEY BUCKLE TO WEAR AT YOUR MUMS FUNERAL AND ITS VERY PRECIOUS TO ME SO I HAD TO DEBATE HIM BACK
IM SORRY IT GOT US CHUCKED OUT AND IM SORRY I SAID THAT STUPID THING DRIVING HOME ABOUT HOW SOMEONE SHOULD TOW GLOSSOPS FLASH NEW CAR INTO THE RIVER
I SHOULD NEVER HAVE SAID THOSE WORDS IN FRONT OF A PERSON WHOS SO TOP AT DOING ACTIONS