At first the pace of the match was fast. Seb Harwich, riddled with nerves, made a hash of his first two overs, allowing Brockhurst’s openers to score two fours and a six before they’d been on the pitch fifteen minutes. But, as the morning wore on, things settled down. To Fittlescombe’s unconcealed delight, Charlie Kingham, Brockhurst’s odious captain, was caught out by their harmless church organist Frank Bannister. Despite this, by the time Harry Hotham, one of the umpires, called a break for lunch, Brockhurst had racked up a creditable but by no means unbeatable 282 for 6. Two of their wickets had fallen LBW to an ecstatic Seb Harwich and another player had been caught leg-side by Will Nutley off the bowling of Tim Wright.
This being a village match, the players, spectators and press all ate lunch together in the large hospitality tent in Gabe Baxter’s field. A hand-drawn sign outside the marquee announced that neither cameras nor microphones were allowed inside, so that the players could relax and unwind. With Fittlescombe in to bat immediately after lunch, however, there could be no relaxing for Will Nutley. Thirsty after the morning’s efforts – by noon the sun was blistering down at close to ninety degrees – he drank two large pint glasses of lemon barley water, but even the thought of food made him feel nauseous.
‘You must eat something.’ Penny Harwich appeared at his shoulder by the buffet table. Her own plate was piled high with coronation chicken, potato salad and an enormous tomato stuffed with rice. Will wondered how on earth she managed to stay so rail-thin, then thought about how stressful it must have been for her when Emma and Seb’s dad pushed off, answering his own question. ‘Terrific catch, by the way. Poor old Johnny Usbourne! He looked as if he’d swallowed a wasp, walking off the field.’
‘Thanks.’ Will smiled. ‘I was lucky, though. It was a great ball from Tim.’
He’s always so self-effacing, thought Penny, putting two bread rolls on Will’s plate despite his protests. He never takes credit for anything.
As she thought it, she overheard Piers Renton-Chambers regaling Laura Tiverton with some boring parliamentary story.
‘Of course I would never say so myself, but they do say that my maiden speech in the Commons was one of the best in the last century,’ Piers boasted. Laura nodded, her eyes glazed. ‘But then perhaps that was to be expected. Being president of the Union at Oxford gave me plenty of opportunity to hone my skills as an orator. I doubt making the speech at a village cricket match will be too much of a challenge, ha ha ha!’
Penny winced. She knew Piers only talked himself up out of nerves, but it was excruciating to listen to. With his chest puffed out and an incipient double chin wobbling with laughter above his pompous silk cravat, he somehow looked shorter, balder and altogether less attractive than ever. Catching her watching him, he looked up and gave a cheery wave. Penny returned it guiltily. He’s a terribly nice man, she told herself, like a naughty child repeating a teacher’s lines. I must try to be less shallow.
Turning back to Will, she was surprised to find he had wandered off. She saw him making a beeline for Emma, who was standing by the Pimm’s table on the far side of the room, looking ridiculously lovely, then stopping dead when Santiago de la Cruz approached her.
Both Will and Penny were too far away to hear what was said between the two of them. But the body language, on both sides, spoke volumes. Despite herself, Emma’s face had lit up when Santiago came over. When he rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, her whole frame had arched towards him in a ballet of attraction and desire. But then something he said had offended her. Penny watched Santiago’s head fall apologetically. Like Will, she saw Emma recoil, as if stung by a bee, then turn haughtily on her heel and stalk off. Unable to stop himself, Will followed her. Penny watched him go, but her eyes kept returning to Santiago, standing where Emma had left him. Running his hands through his thick black hair, he stamped on the ground like a petulant child. He looked both frustrated and exhausted. Like Piers, Santiago sensed Penny watching and looked up suddenly. Unlike with Piers, however, there was no friendliness in his reaction. He stared at her for a moment, frowned deeply, and walked away.
‘Mum, there you are!’ Sebby came bounding over, as excited and enthusiastic as a Labrador puppy. ‘Do you want to come outside and eat with us? Gabe and Laura have picnic chairs and a sun umbrella and everything. George wants to do some last-minute strategizing for our innings, but family members are allowed to join.’
‘Of course, darling. Lead the way.’
Penny followed her son out into the sunshine. This is Seb’s day, she reminded herself, wishing her heart weren’t so heavy with anxiety about Emma and her tangled love life.
*****
‘Hey.’
Will caught up with Emma outside, under a sycamore tree. She was focusing intently on her phone, apparently reading text messages and typing out hurried, irritated replies.
‘Oh, hi. It’s you.’ Her face and voice both softened a little when she saw him. ‘How are you feeling? You’re first in to bat, aren’t you?’
Will nodded. ‘I feel fine,’ he lied. He wasn’t about to tell Emma how terrified he was of facing Santiago de la Cruz from the bowler’s end, or for what reasons. ‘Are you having a good day?’
Emma shrugged. ‘So-so.’ This was a lie, too, and Will knew it. For a moment he stood there just looking at her. She was only feet away from him, yet the distance between them was like a chasm.
Slightly further up the hill, Gabe Baxter and the rest of the Fittlescombe team were lunching together. Emma’s brother and mother were with them, although just at that moment Penny stood up and set off back towards the hospitality tent alone. Emma and Will watched her go.
‘You should join them, shouldn’t you?’ said Emma, looking at the others.
‘I suppose so.’
‘Go on, then.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘I have a couple of calls to make, anyway. I’ll see you at tea.’ She floated past him like an angel, beautiful but utterly unobtainable – from a different world.
With a heavy heart, Will trudged back up the bank.
*****
‘Ah, good, there you are.’ Piers grabbed Penny by the elbow just as she was approaching the marquee. She’d come back down in search of Emma, just to check that everything was OK after her run-in with Santiago earlier, but Piers cornered her first. ‘Have you seen that daughter of yours? One of the BBC chappies thought it might be a nice idea if we presented the cup together.’
Penny looked blank. ‘You and Emma? Why?’
‘Well, you know, a pretty face and all that. Two celebrities better than one.’
‘Celebrities?’ Penny giggled. ‘You’re hardly that, are you?’
Piers didn’t appear to see the funny side. ‘Emma could hand the cup to me,’ he said stiffly. ‘Then I could make a little speech and give it to the winning captain. Anyway, have you seen her?’
‘No,’ said Penny. ‘And play’s about to restart. I’d better get back to our places. I don’t want to miss Seb, or Will.’
‘All right,’ said Piers. ‘I expect she’ll turn up at the pitch once Fittlescombe start their innings. Tell her I’m looking for her, would you?’
He scuttled off. Penny realized in that moment with absolute certainly that, whatever her future held, it did not involve Piers Renton-Chambers. Oddly, she felt quite glowing with relief.
*****
Ten minutes later the crowds roared as Fittlescombe came out to bat. Will Nutley and Dylan Pritchard Jones were the opening pair, with Johnny Usbourne bowling the first overs for Brockhurst. Presumably, the idea was to wheel out Santiago de la Cruz later, once Will and his partner had begun to tire, and let the annihilation begin. No one, least of all the event’s organizers, wanted to short-change the press by having the home team bowled out before tea. But few doubted the end result would be a whitewash, with a comfortable victory for Brockhurst.
Ignoring the cheers, a grim-faced Will walked out of the pavilion like a World War One soldier about to go over the top. Pass
ing Emma and Penny as he walked onto the field, he was about to acknowledge Emma when he heard her turning on her mother, hissing like a rattlesnake.
‘You make me sick!’ Emma was snarling. ‘You’re just an ugly, desperate old slapper. No wonder Dad left. He couldn’t stand the sight of you, and nor can I.’
Both her language and her tone were so ugly and violent, Will felt the hairs on his forearms stand on end. As he walked towards his crease, he looked over his shoulder and caught sight of poor Penny Harwich’s face. Stricken, mortified and close to tears, she was trying to reason with Emma. But the latter shrieked back at her, her beautiful features contorted with hatred and rage.
For the first time in his life, Will Nutley looked at Emma Harwich and thought, ‘You’re ugly.’ It was a bizarre feeling, and not a pleasant one, but there was no time to dwell on it. Before Will knew what was happening, Brockhurst estate agent and former number-one bowler Johnny Usbourne was running towards him, hand shielding the ball, eyes narrowed in concentration. Will had caught Johnny out earlier, second ball. It was clear from the bowler’s face that he was intent on revenge.
Will gripped the handle of his bat tightly. The battle had recommenced.
CLOSE OF PLAY
Years later, it would be remembered as the most exciting Swell Valley cricket match on record. Fittlescombe’s opening pair, Will Nutley and Dylan Pritchard Jones, scored ninety-eight in only ten overs before Dylan was run out controversially just before they reached their century partnership. Will’s next three partners, George Blythe, Tim Wright and young Seb Harwich, all went quite cheaply, when the arthritic Frank Bannister, the St Hilda’s Church organist, was brought in to bat. There were gasps from the crowd when Brockhurst announced that Frank would be the first Fittlescombe batsman to face the mighty bowling arm of the great Santiago de la Cruz. But, miraculously, the old man survived the two de la Cruz overs he faced before tea, keeping Fittlescombe in the game.
‘How do you feel, Santiago?’ The press swarmed down on Brockhurst’s star bowler like flies on a cowpat before the first cup of Earl Grey was poured. ‘Are you embarrassed to be outplayed by a seventy-year-old?’
‘Not at all.’ Santiago smiled smoothly, affording the reporters an excellent view of his perfectly straight white teeth. ‘This is what village cricket is all about. I’m honoured to be a part of it.’
‘And what about Will Nutley? How long before you expect his wicket to fall?’
‘I have no idea. Let’s wait and see, shall we?’
‘Do you still anticipate a win?’
Out of the corner of his eye, Santiago saw Penny walking out of the tent. She looked as if she’d been crying.
‘Excuse me. I have to go.’
Leaving the press standing open-mouthed by the cucumber sandwiches, Santiago hurried outside after her. ‘Are you OK?’
Penny bit her lip, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I’m fine.’
‘That’s not true,’ Santiago said gently. Walking up behind her, he pulled a perfectly pressed handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. Penny took it, blowing her nose loudly before stuffing it into her own pocket. ‘Is it Emma? You shouldn’t let her walk all over you, you know.’
Penny turned on him. ‘Oh? And what should I do? Play hard to get, like you do? Toy with her emotions? Use her?’
Santiago looked at her blankly. ‘I’m not playing hard to get.’
‘No? Well what are you playing at?’ Penny sounded utterly exasperated. ‘Do you know what she accused me of this afternoon?’
Santiago shook his head.
‘Of chasing after you. She thinks the reason you stood her up for dinner is because you and I are having an affair! I mean, have you ever heard of anything more ridiculous?’
Santiago looked at the ground. ‘This is my fault,’ he said quietly.
‘At least we can agree on something,’ Penny shot back.
‘I saw Emma earlier. I told her that she had misunderstood me. That I have no romantic interest in her. She didn’t take it well.’
Penny hesitated. This was good news, but she wasn’t entirely sure how to react to it.
‘Why did you flirt with her when she came over to your cottage the other day?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Santiago bluntly. ‘She flirted with me. I tried to shut her down.’
‘Well, why did you ask her out for dinner the other night? After the hospital?’
‘To talk about you.’
‘Me?’ Penny looked incredulous.
‘Yes. I knew how badly she was treating you, how hurt you were. I called to see how you were doing, and Emma answered. I thought maybe if I talked to Emma privately, I could get through to her. But then, afterwards, I realized how she might misconstrue it as a date. So I made up an excuse and cancelled.’
Penny took this in silently
‘So, all this business with Emma … was out of concern for me?’
Santiago nodded. ‘Concern and … something more.’ He looked Penny in the eyes. ‘Emma got angry with you today because she’s jealous. She knows how I feel about you. Of course, you find the idea of the two of us being together ridiculous. It is not so for me. You are very beautiful.’
‘I … but, I …’ Penny seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech. ‘I’m far too old for you!’ she blurted eventually.
‘Nonsense,’ said Santiago. ‘You are thirty-nine. I am thirty-two.’
‘I’m a housewife.’
‘So?’
‘You’re a playboy.’
‘Maybe I’m growing up.’
‘I can’t risk any more maybes,’ said Penny, wiping the smile off Santiago’s face. ‘Not after what happened with Paul. I need certainties.’
Santiago looked at her for a long time. ‘There are no certainties. Not with love.’
Kissing her softly on the hand, he walked away.
For at least five minutes, Penny stood rooted to the spot.
Santiago de la Cruz likes me.
He’s attracted to me.
He might even be in love with me.
Try as she might, she couldn’t reconcile any of the above statements with reality. Wandering aimlessly back towards the cricket pitch, her mind still in a fog of bewildered … something … happiness? – the feeling was so unfamiliar she found it hard to name – she saw Piers Renton-Chambers with Emma, deep in conversation. Then, to her horror, like watching a car crash in slow motion, she saw Piers lean forward and grab her daughter, kissing her forcefully on the lips. Penny opened her mouth to scream, call out, anything, but no sound came out. Instead she watched in silent shock as Emma drew back her leg and kneed Piers hard in the groin. Piers yelped in pain like a castrated dog, before collapsing in a heap on the grass.
‘Disgusting old letch,’ said Emma, storming off. She walked right past Penny without so much as a glance of acknowledgement, into the open arms of a Channel 4 camera crew, who wanted to interview her about her summer fashion choices.
So that’s why Piers spent so much time hanging around the house, thought Penny, the scales at last falling from her eyes. It wasn’t me he was interested in. It was Emma.
Had Seb realized it? Was that why he’d been so rude to Piers, so on edge whenever he came over?
And why was it that she, Penny, had no intuition? Never in a million years had it occurred to her that Piers might be after Emma, any more than it had crossed her mind that Santiago de la Cruz might be interested in her. Then again, her own husband had been as gay as a maypole for most of his adult life and she’d had no idea about that, either …
A voice over the Tannoy announced that play would resume in five minutes. There were only ten overs left, an hour’s play at most. Penny longed to go home, lock her bedroom door and lie in a dark room until any of this afternoon’s events and revelations made sense. But she couldn’t leave before the match was over. Seb would never forgive her.
Leaving Piers still writhing around on the grass like a turned-over beetle, she
walked back to the side of the pitch in a daze.
Frank Bannister was bowled out the moment play resumed, but after that Santiago de la Cruz’s form seemed to crumble utterly. It was bizarre, as if an invisible blindfold had been tied across his eyes, or some awful sudden-onset lethargy had taken over his limbs.
Meanwhile, Will Nutley was playing the game of his life, batting like a man possessed; not for Emma Harwich – after the ugliness he had seen at lunch, Will would never play for Emma again – but for himself. It was a joy to watch. Before long, Penny found herself swept up in the drama of the match, forgetting about Piers and Emma and everything else as she silently willed the home team to win.
The last over of the match began just as the sun was starting its long, slow slide towards the horizon. At 268 for 8, Fittlescombe needed 15 runs to win off the final 6 balls. Gabe Baxter was in to bat, but it was still Will Nutley, exhausted at more than 150 not out, on whom all Fittlescombe’s hopes rested.
You could have heard a pin drop around the pitch as Santiago began the run-up for the first ball. Suddenly, at long last, there it was, the pace and form and pinpoint accuracy that had made him famous. Bringing his right arm down to his side in one perfectly straight, smooth stroke, he released the ball. Bouncing just a few feet from Will and with a lethal top spin, it came within millimetres of the top of his wicket, so fast that Will barely saw a flash of red before it was over.