Race Girl Read online

  How could I have been such an idiot?!

  There was no question in Tully’s mind: I’ve been played. She felt dirty and disappointed and angry and devastated all at the same time, and just wanted to crawl into her bed to never surface again.

  ‘C’mon, what-cha doin’?’ Tam’s face appeared from inside the house.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Tully said. She swallowed down the bitter tears of rejection, forced a smile. ‘All good – we should go wake your mum up, hey? I really need to get home.’

  ‘Not before we open all your presents!’ Tam pulled her into the house. ‘Can’t believe we forgot to open them—’ She grinned wickedly, nudged Tully’s ribs— ‘Oh, no, I totally can. We had better things on our minds!’

  Tully bit her bottom lip and shushed Tam with a finger, but when Tam insisted, helped her friend haul their bags and the huge basket of presents down the hall to Tam’s room. Tam happily ripped off all the wrapping and recorded who gave Tully what so she could send out thankyou’s. Tully had to force a smile through the spreading pain in her heart, but was genuinely surprised and filled with a welcome joy when Tam handed her a gleaming new pair of boots. A gift from Fia. Tully slipped them straight on and sent Fia a text to thank her. Tam squealed and clapped and chirped away as she piled the clothes, gift vouchers for shops Tully had never heard of and earrings she didn’t have the holes in her ears for in a stack on the fluffy purple bed.

  Judy appeared in the doorway, still in her nightgown, shortly after Tully had finished stuffing all the paper, ribbons and bows into a garbage bag. ‘Oh, wow!’ Judy gushed, wrapping the girls up in a hug. ‘Tell me all about your night! I wish I hadn’t been on night shift . . .’

  Tam shot Tully an I’m-so-glad-she-was-on-night-shift smirk, then proceeded to tell her mother an outline of the night, minus any mention of a certain footy player named Heffo or their walk down the beach.

  It was after lunch by the time Tully made it home. She bee-lined for her bedroom, praying she wouldn’t encounter her father. Shoved her bags under her bed to unpack later, but did take Brandon’s card out to shove under her laptop. Later. The more time she’d had to think about the night – about how he’d kissed her, then cooled right off – the more the anger and confusion had raged within Tully, pushing her to breaking point.

  A voice within her had already whispered what had happened, but knowing certainly didn’t make Brandon’s rejection any easier, or less painful. Brandon Weston is no more than an insensitive wanker, she thought, miserably remembering how notorious he was. Everyone knew he had a lot of girls after him in the city and out here, and it wasn’t hard to imagine why. Once again she was consumed by the pain and the shame for being so silly and stupid; for believing that they had some kind of connection beyond the brain in Brandon’s pants and her own deluded imagination.

  She curled up in her bed, ready to scream and rant and break down into her doona, when her little toy horse caught her eye. She sucked in a breath, picked it up. Tully stared at the rearing horse for a moment, turning it around and around in her hands.

  It was meant to be just business . . . The rational thought appeared as clear as the sky in her mind and she knew then what she needed to do: cast away the romantic memories of him and their kisses and her sweet sixteen, something she feared would be impossible to do. He might have rejected me, Tully thought, closing her hand around the filly. But he didn’t say he wasn’t going to help . . . She’d wait a few days, Tully decided, and if she hadn’t heard from Brandon, she’d get in touch to find out if he’d had a chance to speak to his father about Avalon. No harm in finding out.

  Tully gave her horse a quick kiss, took a deep breath, then set it down on top of her laptop and hurried out into the yard to see her horses.

  The next morning, Aunt Fia came to say goodbye. She had to get to Sydney and then back down to Melbourne, but promised to be back soon for another visit.

  Tully took Fia for a walk up to her mother’s grave. They left a bursting bouquet of pink lilies Fia had bought in town and some frangipanis Tully had picked off the trees. Tully hugged her aunt tightly and cried into her shoulder when it was time for her to go, then retreated to Dahlia’s stall until she had to leave for work.

  Tully suffered through three whole days with no word from Brandon. Anxiety mounted within her every time she saw her father, expecting his fury to unleash itself on her once he found out the truth about Tully’s date for her sweet sixteen, which of course he would. She was desperate to know if Brandon had spoken to his father, even though it almost certainly wouldn’t help. In the depths of her soul she knew that although she had wanted to help her home and her family first, she’d also wanted to be with Brandon, to become something to him. But she should have known it wasn’t possible. Silly girl! Now she’d felt his heat, felt the heart-breaking coolness left in its wake, Tully knew she would never be the same.

  Growing up is way over-rated.

  She found her phone on the fourth night, exhausted from the apprehension, the anger and not knowing, and sent Brandon a quick text asking him to call her. When he failed to reply by the next night, Tully knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She decided to call him.

  The pause between each ring felt like a lifetime, the heat in her face spreading like bushfire. Will he answer? What will he say?? Tully was about to hang up in relief, when Brandon answered, ‘Oh, hi—’ He sounded surprised, rushed— ‘Sorry, just let me go somewhere I can talk . . .’

  ‘Ah, okay,’ Tully squeaked out. She shifted on her bed, clinging to Bear for warmth and support.

  ‘Righto, I’m here,’ he said finally. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t called, Tully. For real, it’s been crazy over here.’

  ‘That’s alright. Everything okay?’

  He paused. ‘Kinda. Well, yeah, no—it’s all good.’

  ‘Okay.’ Tully’s stomach churned and dropped like a stone in a dam. ‘So, Brandon, I was just hoping to ask if you’d—’

  ‘Sorry, Tulls, I really am. Dad . . . Dad found out where I was on New Year’s, and he was really pissed off. I should have known word would get back to him, considering who your aunt is. But, I guess . . .’

  We didn’t care.

  ‘I’m really sorry, but I won’t be able to talk to him about your place. He’s shut me out of anything to do with the business—he’ll hardly talk to me, actually. Mum’s been struggling, apparently, and she’s begging me to come back . . . Dad said he wants me at school to finish my HSC. And, well—they’re sending me back to the city.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Cold tears spilled out of Tully’s eyes. I guess that’s it, then! She had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming.

  Brandon was silent. She could feel he wanted to say more . . . But he didn’t.

  ‘Look,’ he stammered. ‘I’m sorry—Tulls, okay? Take care of yourself, please?’

  ‘Whatever, Brandon.’

  She hung up the phone.

  Tully cried for a long time after that talk with Brandon Weston. The heat and humidity of the summer grew suffocating, but strangely enough, what she felt was freezing. She called in sick to work the next morning – said she had a fever and flu-like symptoms, which wasn’t far from the truth. For the first time since Tully was a little girl with a bad case of tonsillitis, she spent the entire day in her hot, dark room, unable to face anything outside those four walls.

  Tully’s father checked on her that night. He’d looked after her horses when she hadn’t turned up to the stables that morning. She thanked him, but by the way he lingered in her doorway she knew he suspected she had more than the flu. If he could see her heart, he would have seen that it was splintered in two. Tully prayed it would take more than Brandon Weston to shatter the Athens spirit.

  Dahlia’s neighing and the smells of horse and feed became too much to resist by the next afternoon, and suddenly, Tully was desperate to escape the heat and the darkness of her own thoughts, where humiliation and the anger in equal measures towards herself and Brandon
and his father rampaged unchecked.

  But it was time for Tully to make a decision. The only way out was to force herself back into her outside life and her regular routine.

  The darkness within her continued to drag, but Tully took it one minute, one hour, one day at a time. Doing her best not to think about Brandon or her farm situation or her sweet sixteen, focusing solely on work and caring for her animals.

  Bucko met her one morning a few weeks later, when Tully was picking out the stalls before her shift. ‘I reckon Dahlia’s ready for a ride, when you are,’ he said, pausing in the doorway of Greg’s stall. ‘It’d be great to see how she goes under saddle, or even if she’s been broken in . . .’

  ‘I . . .’ Tully sank back into the stall. ‘I just need to ask Dad first.’

  ‘Righto,’ Bucko offered a thin smile, then shrugged, and returned to the office.

  Tully swung that pitchfork with mighty force, working up a healthy sweat by the end of morning chores. She cringed against the silence as Grace drove her to work but she couldn’t speak – there were too many emotions threatening to thrust her brain into overdrive.

  Tully wanted to ride Dahlia; she’d been dreaming of it ever since the day she laid eyes on her, but she just couldn’t picture it – how she would look, or feel on Dahlia’s back. Tully’s confidence had taken an almighty blow after she’d let her colours shine for Brandon. Even now, weeks later, she still found herself most comfortable in the shadows or darkness of her room.

  The following Tuesday dawned, and as usual Tully’s father and Bucko trailered Rosie into the track for gallops. Tully lay sweating, staring up at the dark ceiling of her room. She’d slept through her alarm again, woke with the searing sun streaming in her window. Dahlia, Greg and Frangi all called out to her, clearly and rightfully annoyed for being kept waiting while the other horses ate their breakfasts.

  Tully cursed herself for neglecting her horses: why can I not get it together?! She grimaced at the sound of her phone beeping, pushed it under her pillow. It was Tam no doubt, messaging her again to see how things were going with Brandon. This is seriously past mortifying, Tully thought, reaching for her Breyer horse. She wished she’d never told Tam who the boy on the road was, wished she’d ignored him that morning and continued on with her life.

  Now he’d interrupted it, and she was drowning . . .

  A shrill whinny from Dahlia woke Tully from her thoughts, and she gripped her little horse, forcing herself onto her feet. It’s NOW, or I might as well just roll over and die, she told herself, gritting her teeth against the ridiculous tears. She’d seen her father like this, battling through depression after her mother’s death. Tully could see it in herself now and it scared her more than anything. Her mind would be swamped by the darkness no more, Tully decided. She had to survive for her horses and for Avalon. For her mother; for herself.

  Tully quickly mixed feeds and tipped the horses’ breakfasts into their buckets. She rounded up her gear and some tack she hoped would fit Dahlia. Greg and Frangi dragged her down to their paddock to be turned out first, creating quite a bit of excitement with all Mr. Barnes’s horses.

  Dahlia flicked an ear in surprise when Tully brought the grooming bucket instead of her halter to turn her out. Tully approached her slowly with a purple-rimmed jockey pad that had been her mother’s. She didn’t want to use the leather English saddle they’d used for riding Greg – wanted to be as light on Dahlia’s back as possible. Like a real jockey, she thought.

  The skin of Dahlia’s back twitched at the feel of the pad and her nose swung around, sniffing, then nibbling at this foreign object. She eyed Tully, then swished her tail, grabbing one of the stirrups between her teeth.

  ‘Hey!’ Tully held the tiny saddle firmly on her back, took Dahlia’s nose in her hand. ‘Cheeky girl,’ she said, patting Dahlia’s lovely face, enjoying the feeling of a grin spreading across her own. This is exactly what I need . . .

  Tully held her breath as she wrapped the girth around Dahlia’s belly, which was rounding out nicely with the specialty feed. Tully was surprised to find that the girth, leftover from Greg’s racing days, actually fit – so wide was the filly’s girth. Need all that room for your big heart, hey, girl . . . Tully thought, letting out a gentle breath as she did it up slowly.

  The filly stamped a hoof and pulled back on her lead, but had it in her mouth, playfully trying to eat her lead rope before Tully was finished. She might be a bit skittish, but she’s obviously been tacked up before . . .

  Dahlia took the bit after a few attempts. Her ears pricked forward, out the window of her stall and she tossed her head, pawing at her shavings.

  ‘Righto,’ Tully thought, her hands shaking as she did up her helmet and pulled on her gloves. She led Dahlia out of her stall, holding her firm when the filly danced to the side, afraid she’d try and take off. But Dahlia lead up nicely down to the bottom turnout paddock, which was empty after Mr. Barnes had taken one of his colts back to his stable near the Ipswich track to get back into training. Dahlia whinnied at Wheeler, pulling towards him as the gelding raced up and down his fence, trying to get to her.

  Tully set her jaw in determination and led Dahlia into the far paddock, closing the gate behind them. She was glad there was a quiet grey gelding next door who stood under his shelter, head low and uninterested, flicking his tail at the flies.

  She waited for Wheeler to settle down, before leading Dahlia along the far fence. Climbed up the rails carefully, one hand firmly gripping the reins. Her new Blundstones were stiff and her jeans hung loose and baggy around her waist.

  She took a deep breath, ‘Easy, girl,’ Tully said gently, as she eased the filly as close to the fence as she was sure she’d be able to get her, took another deep breath and swung her leg over the filly’s back.

  Tully found the stirrups quickly, reminding herself to breathe and not transmit her nerves to her horse – as she had the morning she’d been out on Greg. The morning . . . She had to halt her thoughts from heading to him, and eased carefully into the saddle, taking the reins in both hands.

  Dahlia stood motionless, ears flopped to the side. Her body had frozen stiff – Tully couldn’t even feel her breathing.

  Oh, CRAP . . . Tully did her best to ward off the panic, but it was urgent and unrelenting; her hands quivered roughly and she had to swallow back bile to keep from spewing. Holy—

  One of Dahlia’s ears flicked forward, the other still on Tully, awaiting her instruction. She took a step forward, her belly contracted with a breath. Her neck relaxed and she pulled it up into its natural, proud arch, taking another step. Her ears pricked forward at the call of a kookaburra on a branch of one of the frangipanis and Tully clung on, expecting the filly to take off.

  Dahlia moved away from the rail, out towards the centre of the paddock, at an easy walk.

  ‘Oh, good girl,’ Tully cried, holding firm to the reins with one hand to pat her gleefully on the neck. ‘Good, good girl!’ She eased deeper into the saddle and tested Dahlia’s mouth gently, before turning her back to the rail.

  They walked a few wondrous laps around the square paddock and Tully was contemplating releasing her filly into a trot when the sound of loud RnB music spilling out of the open passenger window of the Westons’ horse transporter shattered the morning serenity. The driver honked at Pearce Weston’s Range Rover, which tragically was passing on the main road going the opposite direction at that precise moment.

  Dahlia’s whole body shuddered with the shock. Tully lost her balance to the left, the filly choosing to flee to the right.

  There was a flash of pain before Tully’s world went black.

  19

  Go Girls

  Tully woke to the taste of dirt, something coarse tickling her face, and searing pain.

  She opened her eyes slowly – everything in front of her was a blur, her head spinning and pounding. She couldn’t register where she was, and just wondering sent fierce stabbing knives ricocheting around her skull
.

  The coarse hair prickled at her cheek and she opened her eyes wide, desperate to connect with where she was and what was happening around her.

  The rails of the paddock spun into clarity first, then the dry ground. Tully forced herself up into a sitting position, focusing hard on the rails of the paddock, the world still toppling. ‘Dahlia?’ she said, cupping her forehead in her hands. A dark face appeared in front of Tully, she reached towards it . . .

  Dahlia’s dark, curious eyes met hers. ‘Oh, Dahlia!’ Tully struggled to her feet, her hands searching for the reins as the world whirled around her. Dahlia sniffed at her face, over her helmet, into her hair. Tully struggled to keep her right eye open wide enough to focus on Dahlia’s face, but it felt like she was looking through a slit, really swollen and incredibly sore. Hot liquid ran down her cheeks, her vision tinged red. Pain raged in Tully’s face, in her right side, her shoulder, her leg. She took a steadying breath, tried to swallow down the burning acid taste, but it all came rushing up . . .

  Tully couldn’t stop spewing until the measly amount she’d eaten and the last drop of liquid had been expelled from her stomach. She clung onto Dahlia’s mane, the filly standing still and strong.

  ‘God,’ Tully cried, her hands finding her knees to keep her body from toppling over. ‘I’m so, so sorry!’ She took a few deep breaths, crying through the pain and managed to stand, though still bent and favouring her right side. She clasped the reins and did her best to run her eyes over Dahlia’s body, down her legs. Thank God there’s no blood, Tully thought, realising she must have been riding, judging by the bridle and the saddle and her helmet strap now cutting in under her chin. She cast her mind back, gently trying to remember . . . There were images of tacking up Dahlia, but from then forward was just pain, darkness and fuzzy flashes. Is anyone else here? The sinking feeling in Tully’s gut told her no.

  Tully reached around carefully with her left hand to the back pocket of her jeans, feeling for her mobile. Nothing! She squinted through the blinding sun, up towards the stables. No cars.