It's time for Sanditon's annual Beach Cricket Match! I would like to mention though that I as I have ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE AT ALL ABOUT CRICKET, I have stolen some details of the game from Kate Riordan's Sanditon novel.

So here we go. My apologies for any mishandlings of the game.

Cracking Cricket: Showdown on the Pitch

Four ingredients, Arthur told Charlotte, were mandatory for a perfect Sanditon Beach Cricket Match: pleasant weather (dry, but not too sunny, no strong wind), a low ebb tide for the playing field, a well-equipped cake stand, and twenty-two men, dedicated to fighting for the honour of the hotel or the town respectively.

At five to two on Sunday afternoon, one half of the final ingredient was still missing: the town's team. Charlotte, who was in charge of guarding the sandwich trays, saw Mr Parker striding about the beach like a lion king worried about his territory: looking into the players' tent, the refreshment stands, and even the mobile toilets, as if there was any chance of the town's team hiding in them.

"Is it off, then?" she heard Edward Denham ask with a yawn.

"Of course not!" Mr Parker replied emphatically, maybe too emphatically: "No, of course not."

"They are late," Mr Sidney Parker said, twitching his mouth in a strange way that made Charlotte wonder why the man could not even twitch his mouth normally, just as other people did.

"They are probably still discussing their tactics," his brother said, but his face was looking flushed now. "Though they stand no chance against us, right?", he added, just as Crowe and Babington, arm in arm, stumbled towards him.

"Reporting for duty," Crowe said, saluting like a soldier. "Willing and able. Where do you want me?"

Mr Parker paled. "Are you drunk?"

"Notatall, Cap'n Parker. Jus' took a few swallows from the Veuve for breakfast."

"Swallows from the Veuve!" Babington cried, bowling over with laughter. He had to be given licence for his behaviour for he was heartbroken: Esther had volunteered to staff the reception desk in the afternoon so that both Beaufort girls could watch the match live. This noble act of self-sacrifice did prevent a major rift in the Beaufort family. However, it also left Babington two miles away from the lady he had hoped to impress with his new tight-fitting cricket clothes. He needed all the consolation he could get, be it from the Veuve or from a friend.

"Charlotte, my dear." Mary Parker's voice woke her from her musings about Babington's state of mind.

"Yes?"

"Is that your phone that's buzzing?"

"Is it? Oh, yes … yes of course, it is." She had nearly forgotten about the phone and the message she was expecting. She quickly checked the screen. "I'm sorry. Would you excuse me for a moment?" Hurrying past the tent where Lady Denham was complaining about the heat, the sand, the sunlight, the chair she was sitting on and the temperature of the tea Clara was serving her, Charlotte came to the spot Mrs Griffiths had chosen for herself and Gigi. The Beaufort girls had joined them, both giggling and taking selfies with each other, the players and the Strawberry Secrets Mrs Griffiths freed from the picnic basket.

Gigi had been a picture of good behaviour these past days, but now, when she saw Charlotte coming, she jumped up, ran towards her and grabbed her hands. "Has she…"

"Sht. – Good afternoon, Mrs Griffiths. Julia – Phillida. Such a beautiful day, is it not?"

"It is," Mrs Griffiths said without inviting Charlotte to sit down with them. Clearly, Mr Sidney Parker had warned his jailer about her.

"I just came to tell Gigi that … the book I have ordered for her has been dispatched. The confirmation just came in. – It's an express order. So it will be on time, Gigi."

"Thank you, Charlotte," Gigi gasped.

"How fascinating," Mrs Griffiths said. "And how kind of you to keep Gigi so thoroughly informed."

"Mrs Griffiths!" It was Constable Hankins. For one panicky second, Charlotte believed that they had been found out and that the constable was going to publicly disclose that the book she had ordered for Gigi was, in fact, Otis, sitting in a train from London right now. Then she realised that he was not wearing his police uniform, but black trousers, a white jacket and a flat, wide-brimmed hat which he lifted now as he greeted the ladies.

"My dear Gussie. You look very well today." The Beaufort girls exploded in a fit of laughter. Gigi rolled her eyes.

"So do you, Constable. Would you… would you care to join us?" Mrs Griffiths said.

"How could I resist? But, alas, I have to. I have been charged with the most noble task of this afternoon: to ensure that the match is played in a fair and sporting manner." The constable looked around himself with evident pride. "I am to be the umpire," he added.

"How impressive, my dear Hanky." There was pure admiration in Mrs Griffith's gaze. Too much admiration for the Beaufort girls: Julia spluttered half a Strawberry Secret across the picnic blanket, and Phillida spilt her tea. Charlotte seized the general uproar to squeeze Gigi's hand and whisper: "It will all go well, trust me."

x

Across the beach, on the crease that had been marked out as the playing field, things were running less smoothly. Sidney watched Tom pace up and down like a lion defending his kingdom as his team continued to practice and warm-up. The opposition was still and undeniably missing, and unless the giant sea serpent made a surprise appearance on the beach, scaring all the viewers away, there was no way of ending this without embarrassment. Better end it soon than draw it out.

"It seems they've let you down, Tom," Sidney quietly said. It was the signal Crowe had been waiting for.

"No point then in wasting an entire afternoon. Let's return to the Veuve."

"Take another swallow," Babington added happily.

"No, you don't take a swallow, you take the seagull, Babbers."

Babington seemed to remember only now that where the Veuve was, there was also Esther. "Yes," he said, his eyes taking on a dreamy expression. "And this time, I'll not allow her to fly away."

Sidney turned away. Being in love seemed to do worse things to his friend's brain than the most dissolute nights out had done. But before he could dwell further on what being in love did to an otherwise fully functioning male brain, a head appeared on the dunes, and then another one, and a third, and finally the whole town cricket team marched up on the beach. He sighed in relief, and so did his brother by his side.

"I knew they'd be here," Tom announced, magically recharged with confidence and energy.

The spectators broke out in cheers as the two teams met. The town's men looked in incredibly good shape, Sidney had to admit, and they were certainly more of a team than Tom's odd jumble of hotel workers plus his brothers and friends that happened to stay, aka Babington and Crowe. He hated the thought of losing but losing seemed to be what the afternoon had in store for him. He saw Charlotte Heywood smile up to James Stringer, wishing him luck and wiping a strand of hair from her face as she did so. Stringer smiled back as if she had just presented him with the Ashes urn.

"Is there a prize for the winners, Mr Parker?" Fred Robinson, the plumber, asked.

"Glory!" Tom declared. "And an entry in the museum's cricket role of honour."

"No money then? – Well, didn't think so." The smile accompanying Fred's words did not reach his eyes.

This is not boding well, Sidney thought. Maybe, an appearance of the giant sea serpent was desirable after all- "Good luck to you, Mr Parker," someone said, walking past him. "Although I don't imagine you'll need it."

"Yet more assumptions, Miss Heywood?" She did not answer. She was gone already, her head and her heart apparently elsewhere engaged.

Stringer's team won the toss, leaving the architect as the first player to bat as Sidney bowled. With a loud thwack, Stringer sent the ball across the field towards Arthur, who obligingly ducked out of the way. The ball landed in a shallow puddle of seawater. Crowe dived in with a splash and returned it to Tom. Over on the beach, the crowd applauded Stringer on making the run. Charlotte Heywood jumped up from her chair and cheered the batsman.

Sidney inwardly groaned. This was soon becoming the afternoon of complete humiliation. Stringer won wicket after wicket as if the applause of one too short trainee only inspired his efforts. It certainly inspired Sidney to bowl more fiercely. Fortunately, at least Edward Denham and Tom's hotel workers proved to be competent players, with the F&B manager and the sous chef making good some of the ground they were losing every time Arthur fled from a ball or Babington had to be reminded that this was about catching a ball, not a seagull.

Finally, there was only Tom left to bat. Despite the sun burning down on them for hours, he looked pale behind his helmet as he walked towards the stumps. Yet he lifted his bat in a confident gesture to greet his family and please the crowd on the beach. He needs all the confidence he can gather, Sidney thought, as Stringer took a long run-up and hurled a high and fast ball past his brother's head. This was more of an attack than an honest bowl.

Stringer's next bowl was hardly easier to bat; in fact, it was impossible. The ball spun along in lightning speed, then took a sudden plunge in front of Tom and rolled away in the sand. Fred Robinson, the opposition's wicket-keeper, held it up with a triumphant grin.

"Leg before wicket!" Stringer cried.

Was it? It had been too fast, Sidney had not seen it. One more reason to have his eyesight tested-

"I'm sorry, I don't think it was," he heard Tom say.

"Out!" Fred did not seem to be in a mood for discussion.

"Now look here," Tom said. "I really don't think I am." He did sound a bit like a petulant child.

"Umpire?" Stringer turned towards Constable Hankins. "His leg hit the ball. It's against the rules."

The constable, who was desperately filing through his rulebook, acquiesced: "Out!"

As the crowd clapped and the town's players cheered their bowler, Tom shook his head. "Now come along. Be reasonable, fair's fair. My leg was nowhere near it." Sidney wished he had seen it, but Fred's next words to his brother left him with no other choice than to take a side.

"I might have known you'd try to cheat," the plumber said. "You always do."

"How dare you speak to my brother like that?"

"Why not?" It was Stringer, no longer beaming under Charlotte Heywood's applause, but showing a rather uncharacteristic fighting mood. "It's the truth. None of the workmen bills has been paid for months, but, yes, they will be paid next week, will they not, Mr Parker? If only we show up for the cricket match."

Sidney felt the colour drain from his face. There was no reason to doubt Stringer's words. He knew him to be a man of integrity, and what he said matched perfectly with Tom's recent requests. The situation had to be really, really grave if the architect risked a showdown right here on the pitch.

There was no more cheering from the crowd. Even if they did not catch the details, the drama on the playing field was evident. Sidney saw Mary, visibly shaken, and Diana, a single large question mark on her round face, and Charlotte Heywood, no longer clapping and beaming, but leaning forward, anxiously trying to understand what was going on.

"I warned you it would come to this, Mr Parker," Stringer said.

As a reply, Tom dropped his bat and his helmet and walked away.

"Tom!" Sidney cried, but his brother did not turn. His head held down, he walked away, careless about the mud that splashed his feet and legs.

"Ahem." Constable Hankins was clearing his throat. "I'm sorry, but I must confess that… I believe that in the heat of the moment, I made a mistake. Not out."

"Been talking to the video referee, have you?" Crowe asked. Someone laughed, but Sidney did not listen. He ran after his brother. "Tom, come back. Finish the game."

"It is finished." Tom did not bother to stop. It dawned on Sidney that it was not only a game of cricket that was finished.

"You can't leave like this, Tom. Where are you going?"

"What do you care?" Tom's eyes said it all. Their expression contained eight years of unspoken reproaches. What do you care, Sidney? About me? About your family? About our heritage? About the hotel?

"We win!" Stringer's triumphant voice came from the pitch. "You haven't got anyone left to replace him, so we win."

Sidney closed his eyes. Oh, how he hated to lose.

"I'll play!" someone cried.

When Sidney opened his eyes again, he saw Charlotte Heywood marching towards the pitch as if she was Admiral Nelson, sailing into battle. Stringer was beaming at her with a mix of joy and admiration. Fred Robinson and Crowe did nothing to hide their pleasant surprise.

"Is this even legal?" Constable Hankins asked.

"Why should it be illegal?" Charlotte Heywood said. "This match is hotel workers against townspeople. I'm working at the hotel, so I believe I'm qualified to join the team."

"Yes, but…" The Constable looked her up and down. "You are a woman, Miss Heywood." Sidney heard some of the men from both teams snigger. There was no doubt: she was a woman. And what a woman.

Presumptuous, naïve, too short and too big all at the same time.

Brave, strong and never deterred by an obstacle. Or by a man telling her what to do and what to think.

Staring the Constable square in the eye, her dimple very prominent, she said: "Mr Hankins, women fly jumbo jets these days. They perform heart surgeries and lead entire nations. I'm absolutely confident that I will be able to handle a cricket bat." Mr Hankins gasped for air but did not raise any further doubts. Sidney had no doubts either.

"You all heard the umpire. My brother wasn't out. We play on."

The crowd on the beach cheered as Charlotte put on the protective gear and positioned herself in front of the wicket, showing a firm grip on the bat. Sidney considered walking over from his wicket to correct her posture. Not because it was wrong - quite on the contrary, she had a perfect batting stance – but because correcting it would provide an ideal opportunity to graze her and to find out whether… oh hell. What was he thinking of? In front of twenty-one men and a beach full of spectators? And with her being Gigi's partner in crime? Yet she was his only chance of winning this game. He cleared his throat and called: "Keep your eye on the ball!"

"Thank you. I know what I'm doing." She didn't even look at him.

"If you can't get the run, stay put." Now she lost her stance and did look at him.

"Yes, thank you. I know exactly what I'm doing. Now please, I'm concentrating, and you're putting me off."

Sidney closed his helmet and gave up. Next to him, Stringer prepared to bowl, still a happy smirk on his face – so happy that he bowled her an extra soft ball. Charlotte repaid him by hitting it hard, and with the cheers of the crowd, sent it sailing towards the boundary.

"Run!" Sidney shouted, but she was already on her way. She really knew exactly what she was doing, and when they had both returned to their wickets, all he could do was smirk as admiringly as Stringer – and hope that the visor of his helmet was hiding most of it.

x

Since moving to Bristol for her studies, Charlotte had not participated in the annual Upper Willingden versus Nether Willingden mixed cricket match. Still, in the end, batting was like cycling: once you learned it, you never forgot how to do it. When she held the bat in her hands, the rest followed immediately: the correct stance, the concentration, the eye on the ball, the excitement of the game.

Maybe a little more excitement this time, because of who her partner was. He who had shouted her down on Sanditon's station square. He who since Saturday morning had looked at her in no other way than in disdain. He who throughout the whole afternoon had uttered exactly five words to her, two of them being a formal address and one of the other three his infamous trademark term: assumptions, only complete with a displeased twitch of the mouth.

Yet here they were, in the final stage of the game, out for glory and an entry in the museum's cricket role, trying to make up for Tom Parker's shameful departure. And they were accumulating run after run and making good much of the ground lost through Babington stalking seagulls and Arthur shying away from touching a ball. It was difficult to say with the helmet and the dazzling sunlight, but every time Charlotte passed Sidney during running, she was sure she saw him smiling. If not at her, then at the joy of the exertion.

Finally, it was James's last bowl. He had undoubtedly come to regret that first soft beginner's ball and reverted to bowling seriously. This last one, however, was an easy one. Charlotte hit it across the field and started to run. It was her final run. Once she had reached the other wicket, the hotel team had won. On the beach, the crowd erupted into cheers, and on the pitch, Sidney Parker took off his helmet and ran towards her, then suddenly stopped himself.

Charlotte was not deterred. "Is that a smile I detected?"

He grimaced. "I doubt it." It was a smile. She held his gaze. Apart from the afternoon on the beach and the dance with Alicia at the ball, she had never seen him with a carefree and happy smile. It was a beautiful thing to behold.

A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. James came walking up to her, followed by Fred.

"I'm sorry you lost, James. Thank you for going easy on me. It was very kind of you, though not strictly necessary."

"You won fair and square, Charlotte. But you remember what you said about playing on the same team with me next time?"

"I do."

James grinned. "Then I've got the price I was after."

She watched him as he and Fred walked away, his friend patting him on the shoulder. Then she realised that Sidney Parker was still looking at her, apparently unaware of the people around them, the cheering, the gratulations, the impromptu analyses of the game. What to do, what to say now?

I'm sorry for my behaviour at the station.

Can we not rewrite our history?

What does Wi$**,''''' mean?

I want to explore a distant country… no, that better remained unsaid.

"Sidney!" Mrs Griffiths high-pitched voice made him break the gaze. "Sidney!" The poor woman looked panicked and close to fainting. "I've lost her. I've lost Gigi!"

Charlotte felt the sand shift beneath her feet and dropped the bat. Then she started to run.