Part 11 (2/2)

'Can't we plan it so Max isn't around any reference to the word?'

'They've got a ma.s.sive sign out front saying WELCOME MAX MASTERS-GO THE BULLS.'

'Can Max play cricket?' I asked. 'Maybe he could join the cricket team on the oval with a bat and ball?'

'Good,' she said. 'Do it.'

'What do you mean by ”do it”?'

'Make it happen.' She took a call.

'But...'

She pointed to my phone. I picked up my new BlackBerry and scrolled through the calendar. There was a number for Maddy. I called it.

'h.e.l.lo,' said a broad Australian accent.

'Maddy, it's Roo,' I said, puzzled by my own introduction. 'I work on the campaign and Di's asked me to give you a call about this Bulls issue.'

'Thank G.o.d,' said Maddy. 'The crews are already getting shots of the sign-we can't ignore it.'

'We don't want to ignore it,' I said. 'We've decided to embrace it. Is anyone from the cricket team around?'

'Yeah, they were told to cancel practice today because the LOO's coming.'

'Tell them that practice is back on and ask if they would mind if Max joins in. What's the atmosphere like at the school?'

'Everyone's really excited.'

'Great. We're nearly there.'

As we pulled up at the school, Di called Luke to explain the situation. Almost instantly, my BlackBerry buzzed. It was Luke.

Good job, L Di nudged me. 'That's Maddy.'

We got out of the car.

A tiny, toned woman about my age came bouncing towards us through the car park. Her cropped, sunbleached hair stood out like a halo.

'G'day,' Maddy said. 'You must be Roo. Hi, Di. Let me show you both around.' We began walking.

Maddy could easily have been a school student, bar the well-worn riding boots and BlackBerry. Her tanned face was clean and fresh, not a jot of make-up.

'He's going to serve morning tea here at the tuck shop and then hit the oval for cricket practice.' She pointed to the sprawling green field.

'That was quick-I only called five minutes ago.'

She grinned. 'That's my job-I do everything the LOO does before he even knows he's doing it.'

Di went over to welcome the media a.s.sembled at the school gate waiting for the LOO. Max pulled up shortly after, looking relaxed, and greeted everyone before following Maddy through to the school hall. She was like a tour guide with an umbrella at the Spanish Steps.

We then followed the princ.i.p.al to the tuck shop, where Max rolled up his sleeves and joined the ladies serving morning tea.

'The Anzac bickies look great,' he said to one of the students. She broke her biscuit in half and shared it with him. Cameras clicked.

We wandered past cla.s.srooms to the oval, where the Burwood Bulls were practising.

'Here we go,' whispered Di. One of the kids threw Max the ball, which he caught effortlessly.

Afterwards, with cricket in the background, Max stood on the oval surrounded by journalists.

'Mr Masters,' said Oscar Franklin, who was even dis.h.i.+er in the flesh, particularly from behind. 'Is it just an unfortunate coincidence that you're here playing cricket with the Bulls on the very day you're trying to run away from the word?'

'I wish the Bulls luck with their game on Sat.u.r.day,' said Max. 'And there's no need for me to do a bull-run away from anyone today except my old man. He rang to tell me his bowls club wants me to wash my mouth out with soap.'

Everyone smiled.

'Smiles are forgiveness in this game,' Di whispered into my ear. 'Good work.'

The cricket team stayed behind to watch the press conference and have their photos taken with Max. 'Excuse me, miss,' said a sweaty kid, 'can you take a photo of Max and me with my phone?'

'Sure,' I said, holding the s.p.a.ce-aged, two-dimensional gadget on its side. I looked into the lens. 'Smile!' Click.

'Um, miss, you took a photo of your eye.'

'Did I? Sorry. That must be why they call it an iPhone.'

No one laughed. Max was flagging-it was the last of twelve photographs in the hot sun.

Oscar Franklin walked towards me and got down on one knee. 'Here, let me.' He took the phone from my hands. 'Say cheese, guys.'

Click.

'Thanks,' I said. 'I'm more of a BlackBerry girl. Those fandangled thingies are clearly designed for James Bond and teenage boys.'

'Franklin,' he said, holding up his own fandangled thingy. 'Oscar Franklin.'

'Oh. Ruby Stanhope.'

'Are you new to the team?'

'I am, actually.'

You're blus.h.i.+ng, said my head. Stop staring at his chest, you pervert.

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