Chapter Text
Mitch leans back against the pillows on his hotel room bed, with the phone against his ear. It’s his first night back in Durban after an excursion to forget to Cape Town. Mitch calls Alyssa, even though he’s not quite sure what time it is back in Australia. He really should know by now, because he’s been away long enough to start to get the hang of things, but he’s been thrown off-balance. Mitch listens to the phone ringing, increasingly frustration bubbling within him. Finally, Alyssa answers and he audibly breathes out with relief.
“I’m sorry,” Mitch apologises immediately. “I don’t know what time it is, but thank you for answering.”
He rubs his bare feet over the sheets. Mitch is feeling self-conscious that he would bother Alyssa.
“Is everything alright?” she wants to know.
Mitch nods his head, even though he knows she can’t see him.
“Yeah, I guess,” he answers. “I was out with the Marshes, but there’s no problem for me, I went home after one drink.”
Mitch pauses.
“I guess I feel a little responsible for what happened to them,” he admits.
Alyssa scoffs. Mitch doesn’t take it personally, because he knows that she’s not challenging him, and even if she was, he’d happily take it. Alyssa’s usually right, so Mitch doesn’t mind.
“Mitch, you’re not responsible for them,” she insists. “Even if you would have made the same decisions.”
“Thank you,” Mitch replies, clearing his throat. “I really appreciate that you’d say that, I love you.”
Over the phone, he can hear Alyssa taking a deep breath.
There aren’t very many people at the Durban ground when Mitch arrives. He expects that more will come. The Sydney Sixers are playing the Mumbai Indians, after Yorkshire’s game. While it may not be a home match, the players involved should bring spectators. Hopefully, Mitch reckons, but he doesn’t really know. He emits a soft sigh. Mitch turns around to head back into the dressing room. He has to open the door to get back in, with a security guard keeping watch, standing at the top of the stairs which lead down to the field of play. Mitch reaches for the silver door knob, but it opens in front of him before he can complete the task himself.
“Hi, Hadds,” he greets their wicketkeeper, who is holding the door ajar.
“Hello,” Hadds replies.
They stand there, awkwardly. Eventually, Mitch takes a step inside. He walks across the dressing room, which they’re sharing with the Yorkshire boys for the space of the afternoon.
“Hello there,” Joe greets Mitch.
It’s like being back at his second home, even though he’s in a completely different county.
“Hi,” Mitch replies. “It’s good to be back.”
Joe briefly pulls an expression of bemusement before he realises what he means.
“Yes,” he agrees. “It is.”
Joe wanders over towards the locker area and seat which they’re sharing.
“It is rather cosy,” he notes. “I didn’t realise that your boys would be coming in this afternoon.”
Mitch grins modestly.
“We like to be prepared,” he answers.
“Yeah,” Joe confirms. “You can say that again.”
Mitch smiles, taking it as a compliment of the Australians’ ethic.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, as Joe walks away, distracted by the toss taking place.
Mitch and Joe stand on the hotel balcony. They’re both hunched a little forward. Mitch and Joe are positioned about half a metre apart.
“I’ll miss you,” they both admit, almost in unison with each other.
Four eyes dart up to lock with each other, before they laugh in time as well. It’s immensely relieving for Mitch. He doesn’t want Joe to share his fears, though, but it makes him feel just a little better about holding them when he knows that they’re shared by Joe.
“I have your number,” Joe reminds, “and you have mine.”
“That’s true,” Mitch confirms, “and I promise you let you know if it changes.”
“Good,” Joe replies, with a nod of his head.
The two young men look straight ahead, out at the city which surrounds them. Durban is a beachside city, a place where Mitch feels at home. He looks to his side at Joe, to wonder if he feels the same. They come from such different places.
“I’d love you to come to Sydney one day,” Mitch blurts out.
Joe beams at him.
“That would be nice,” he agrees. “Hopefully the end of next year.”
Mitch breathes out.
“Here’s hoping,” he affirms, taking in the vista of Durban.