Alice Henderson On Debut

Twelve

Nan's having an afternoon nap by the time I get to the nursing home, so I decide to raid the vending machine and try to rid my bad mood with chocolate. As I head back past the common room with a Bounty and two Milky Ways, I spy Old George sitting on a recliner, watching what looks like a replay of an old AFL match by himself. I wander over and sit down beside him. He's got his prosthetic leg lying on the floor beside the chair which Mum's not going to be happy about. He tells people he lost it in the war, though he never says which one. Mum said he lost it because he got gangrene in his foot and he didn't get it treated for so long, he had to get his leg cut off just below the knee. You never can tell when Old George is telling the truth or not, so you just always assume he's telling stories.

"What match are you watching?" I ask.

"One of Stuart's," he replies. "The one where he got eight majors and they still lost." He looks over to me. "That's a lot of chocolate, even for you," he says, raising an eyebrow.

I pass him a Milky Way, and we share a conspiratorial smile. He bumps his chocolate against mine and winks. I laugh and turn back to the TV. It's funny seeing old match footage. Especially back from the 80s and 90s. Their jerseys are so tight it's amazing they didn't burst out of them. I bite into my Bounty. "Is this when Stuart played for the Bears before the AFL?"

"Yeah," Old George says. You can tell how proud he is of his son. I've never met Stuart, but I've seen him plenty of times on Old George's video tapes. He watches them all the time. "Could've played in the big leagues if he really wanted to."

"Why didn't he?" I ask.

"Everyone told him he was too small. He believed them and he just gave up after he hurt his back. The things that boy could've done if he wanted to." Old George shakes his head and pauses the video.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Isn't the Test on?"

"It's rained out."

"Oh." Old George bites into his chocolate and chews for a bit. "How'd your game on the weekend go?"

I shrug.

"That good huh?"

"Better, actually. I hit a couple of sixes."

"That's great," Old George smiles. "What about Adam? How'd he go?"

I sigh. "I think I made him look bad."

"Oh. Not good."

"Not really. I didn't mean to. He just bowled the wrong balls is all."

Old George nods. "I see. I'm sure he'll get over it." He finishes his chocolate and hides the wrapper in his pocket.

"I'm not so sure he will."

"What makes you say that?"

"I got invited to a cricket camp by one of the scouts."

"Alice, that's fantastic. Well done!" Old George beams. "When is it?"

"Next week."

"Blimey, that's quick. Bet you're excited."

"Yeah. I can't wait," I reply.

"You don't sound excited," Old George says. "What's wrong?"

"What if I'm not good enough?"

"For camp?"

I nod.

Old George purses his lips and thinks for a minute. "Well," he says finally. "The scout saw you play, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"And he picked you based on that, so you must have some potential at least."

"I guess."

Old George pats me on the leg. "You'll be fine, Alice. Don't make the same mistake my Stuart did. Let other people be the doubters. Your job is to prove them wrong." He turns back to the TV. "Watch this bit. Stuart gets through a pretty tough spell here before he gets into his rhythm."

I turn back to the game and watch as Old George's son takes a battering from some pretty fierce tackles. Then, out of nowhere, he grabs the ball and dodges a couple of players before slotting the ball through the posts.

"He just had to bide his time," Old George says quietly. "That's what makes a great player, Alice. Knowing when it's your time."

I think about what Jazz said, about me proving how good I am if I only had the chance. Maybe the cricket camp will finally be my chance.