Page 32 of Hit For Six
Lola twirled the bat on the ground, rubbing its handle between her fingertips. Monty felt his shoulders relax.
‘Okay,’ he chanced. ‘So now we need to talk about… swinging.’
Sodding hell, he was digging himself an even bigger hole here.
‘That’s convenient.’
Lola tapped the bat on the ground with a little more force than necessary. Monty threw his hands in the air.
‘What? How else am I going to phrase it? Okay, so now we need to talk aboutoscillating?’
Lola kept tapping the bat as if it might create a sinkhole where she could bury her grin.
‘I am not a bloody fan,’ she quipped.
‘And I’m not a thesaurus.’ He so wanted to insert the word fucking into that sentence, but he held back. ‘Can we agree that I need to speak in cricket lingo and you need to try to think in cricket lingo? Just for one session so I can explain the basics, and then you never have to do this again. There’s no hidden agenda to what I’m saying, Lola. I really can’t help it if you have a dirty mind.’
After much grimacing, Lola finally gave in to a fit of giggles, giving Monty the green light to swiftly align his body behind her so that he could run through the complete movement of forward defense. He was proud of himself for not overstaying hiswelcome or laughing along with her and taking advantage of the change of heart. He wanted to do a hell of a lot more. Amazingly, though, once he retreated, Lola started to find her rhythm.
‘Shall we?’
Monty returned to his spot and kept his bowling underarm for the first few shots, gradually upgrading to as gentle an overarm as he could manage. She missed them all and tapped one, but her posture was better, and she was doing all of this with a heavy bat. It was only a matter of time before she struck it. Indeed, when Lola finally did connect the bat with the ball, she hit what would have undoubtedly been a four on the pitch.
‘See, you’re not only the queen of fielding; look at that shot!’
Monty high fived her. Trying– and failing– to hide her joy, Lola motioned for him to swap positions and– once he’d paced off to get the ball before a scampering Jack Russell went in for the kill– Lola attempted an overarm bowl… which nearly took out a branch of the tree.
‘Don’t say it!’
‘Ah, but it needed to happen, otherwise you’d start thinking you were better than me and we can’t be having that.’
‘Cocky sod.’
Was she enjoying this? Monty didn’t want to tempt fate but it felt like she might be, and that truly did warm his cockles. Lola switched to underarm, and, although her shots were wide for the most part, sometimes he could connect the bat, sending the ball off on a flurry of sixes, whose retrieval was definitely earning him his supper.
As amateur as the session was, it was good to be back in his happy place with the person who– today’s moodiness aside– was making his life sunnier every time he saw or spoke to her. Whilst he’d had to convince Lola about tonight, she was the only woman he’d spent time with who genuinely cared about his sport. Yes, when she’d watched him in action in the cup final,she’d had little choice in the matter, and yes, he’d behaved kind of wretchedly tonight by not telling her what the return of favour involved. But now she was genuinely in the moment and having fun.
‘You’re a natural, you know. I’m not trying to dangle a carrot or anything, but you could easily play for the women’s team.’
Lola couldn’t hide her beam, but then said:
‘Nah, I’m more of a rounders girl. I suppose there are some similarities.’ Oh. Monty recomposed himself. ‘That’s what we used to play at school in the summer along with netball… Eugh… And then there was the dreaded athletics. I was petrified of accidentally spearing someone with the javelin and going to jail.’
‘I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear any of that!’ he replied, as Lola threw him an impressive ball and he sent it soaring.
‘Shot!’
‘That was gas… For a girl… N-not that I’m being sexist… We play with them all the time at our village cricket club! Mixed teams and everything.’
A couple of teenage lads appeared from nowhere. One outstretched a hand for a shake with Monty, the other applauded Lola. She was far from amused and Monty could have sworn at the little sods for undoing all his hard work.
‘Oh yeah?’ he said good-naturedly, pumping the lad’s hand. ‘Do you guys want to bowl and field for a bit?’
‘That would be lit! You play for Bath Beasts, don’t you? And I saw you on TikTok signing your England contract the other day. Can I… would it be all right to get a selfie?’
‘For my sins, yes I do. And yes, you can,’ Monty replied, sighing discreetly in Lola’s direction– especially at the unfathomable Gen Z lingo.
He crossed his fingers behind his back that the kids wouldn’t join any more dots and recognise her, requesting more of the same. Then he posed for a quick photo, before signalling for theboys to get in position to bowl and field as he returned to the crease; Lola instinctively creating space to mark her territory in the distance. Was it his imagination, or had her mood magically lifted again now she’d been given the chance to field somewhere other than a stadium seat? Monty was suddenly flooded with hope that the evening might only be young.
