The Dead Travel Fast by Nick Brown Page A

boundary, now geographically as well as culturally peripheral to the rest of his teammates.
    He stood in the heat as the opening bowlers, both of whom looked pretty quick, got carted all over the field. To his relief no catch came his way, and all he had to do was retrieve the ball from beyond the boundary rope on half a dozen occasions. This suited him, he didn’t want to be humiliated in front of Alekka. He was looking into the crowd trying to see where she’d moved to when he heard his name shouted by a red faced Dougie.
    “Steve, replace Toggers at point, then take the next over at the marquee end.”
    Steve now felt very nervous. He’d watched while Toggers’s bowling had been smeared all over the field and Toggers, or The Togster as he referred to himself, looked like a candidate for both a coronary and sunstroke. Fielding close at point made the game seem too immediate, and he fumbled the only ball that came to him. At the end of the over he made his way to the wicket where, after asking him what field he wanted, Dougie took the decision himself by taking out the slip and pushing the field deep to such an extent that it felt like the umpire, the non-striking batsmen and Steve were contagious.
    He decided that instead of bowling the off-spin he had at school and university it might be safer to try and send down acouple of seam-up overs as accurately as he could and then retire to the safety of the boundary. He paced out a run then turned to bowl: the first ball went straight back over his head for six. He pitched the second a couple of yards shorter and it went over square leg for another six. He could feel his face reddening with embarrassment and heard Dougie and the others shouting at him; either abuse or encouragement, he couldn’t tell which.
    Maybe the off-spin was a better bet. He measured a shorter run as the two batsmen and umpire laughed at him. The first ball didn’t even land but flew straight off the bat and over the boundary. He wanted the earth to swallow him up; his hands were sweating so much he couldn’t grip the ball so rubbed his right hand in the dirt by the crease.
    He noticed as he ran in to bowl that the batsman wasn’t even bothering to take his guard; just looking at where he’d hit the next six. He aimed down his left arm and let the ball go with a flick of the fingers. This time it pitched and the seam gripped on the wicket, the ball straightened and hit the top of off stump. He threw his hands in the air and bellowed an unnecessary euphoric appeal. The crowd cheered, his teammates ran to congratulate him and he remembered why he used to love this game.
    Dougie was right; after the openers they weren’t up to much and quickly folded. Steve bowled another three respectable overs, took a second wicket and walked off at the break feeling pretty good, waving modestly at Alekka who he saw applauding him. He was even disappointed that he wasn’t needed to bat as his team easily knocked off the runs for the loss of only three wickets.
    When the final wicket fell, both teams and the crowd moved to the small rostrum where Vassilis presented Dougie, the winning captain, with the winner’s trophy, a heavy and expensive looking crystal vase decorated with a representation of the islands ancient temple. It was only as he was heading back to the house, having shaken hands with all the players, that he looked around him and saw how beautiful the setting of the ground was. Set high above the sea and fringed with olives and citrus trees it resembled a film set, even the parked-up helicopters conspired to give the place an aspect of exotic excitement and he felt impatient for the night to come on.
    Later, showered and changed, Steve joined the party in the garden as below them the burnished red sun sunk into the waters of the Aegean. The gardens were lit by candle lanterns and two sheep were turning on spits. He took a glass of champagne offered by one of the servants and set off to find Alekka.