Race Girl Page 28

  ‘Thank you! She’s getting better and better, and I’ve been working with another great one, too. A colt, named Calypso.’

  ‘Nothing’s more rewarding than reaching a tricky one.’ Zack slugged at his clear, bubbling drink, his eager blue eyes set on hers.

  Tully nodded and cleared her throat, glancing down at her cooling mug of coffee. She pushed it next to the takeaway for Fia and raised the spoon to her lips, licking the last of the frothed milk and chocolate from the cool metal. ‘Being part of a horse’s education, then seeing them win a race – there’s nothing more satisfying,’ she said. She found herself relaxing as the heckling from the jockeys’ table died down and she was able to meet Zack’s eyes. Could he be my first Flemington friend? Tully thought with a bubble of hope. ‘It’s amazing, working with your animals, you communicate with an animal that doesn’t speak English. You learn so much from them, and they learn what you’re after—they want to please and succeed, as much as you do. Then you find you’re working together. It’s incredible.’

  Zack nodded deeply. ‘Couldn’t have said it better.’

  ‘So, how’s it going at Barn Seven?’

  ‘Well a chick got thrown while she was riding track work last week. She’s on life support, not looking good.’

  ‘Oh, no. I did hear something about that. Just terrible.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Zack said, knocking off his drink. ‘Then, today, one of the boys got trampled by Greenie, our best stud colt. It’s been a tough week, but, you know. The show must go on, ’cos our asses are owned by the racing industry.’

  ‘Green Demon—he’s your best stayer, right?’

  ‘We’re hoping a pig as a stable companion will settle him down a bit.’

  ‘A pig?’ Tully’s eyebrows drew together. ‘I’ve heard of sheep, and ponies, obviously.’

  ‘Haven’t tried it ourselves, but the Americans’ve been usin’ them for years. Get the horse’s attention a bit more than a quiet old sheep, I reckon. They’re real smart, and playful. Bit like a goat.’

  Tully chuckled, found herself ordering another coffee. They chatted until Fia’s takeaway was definitely at risk of being cold. Zack offered to walk Tully back to her unit, as the other guys had already left and apparently he was living in a house just down the street. She thanked him, but was fine riding the bicycle Fia had lent her.

  Tully didn’t bother mentioning to Brandon that she’d run into Zack again when she finally got him on the phone that night after showering and collapsing into bed. She told herself the omission was no big deal. Besides, Brandon’s stories of what was happening back at home were distraction enough.

  34

  Horse Business

  Next night on the phone, Brandon broke the news. ‘I’m not going to be able to come down for the spring carnival,’ he said, after a lengthy, hesitant pause. ‘Dad’s bringing Ascot Boy instead, sticking me here with the second string for local meets. I’m sorry, Tully . . . I’d get away if I could. I will get away to see you soon, I promise.’

  Disappointment crushed Tully’s chest, drowning her beneath its weight. She gasped for breath, curled her legs up into a foetal position, imagining her pillow was Brandon’s strong torso, cuddling in against it. She could hardly imagine not seeing him for another day, let alone several more weeks. Pearce was doing a great job keeping them apart, she thought bitterly. Brandon didn’t even need to say it. ‘I miss you, Brandon.’

  ‘Me too, Tulls. But I’ll see you soon, okay?’

  ‘You’d better, or I’ll just have to show up at the grand gates of Weston Park.’ They both laughed and Tully breathed in a sliver of joy amongst the stabbing pain of loneliness and longing. This long distance thing is harder than I thought . . . ‘So, how’s everything going up there?’

  ‘Yeah, alright.’ Brandon took a long breath. ‘I’m glad Dad’s at least letting me in on some more training, and we haven’t had any more unpleasant surprises—touch wood. Bear Dog’s goin’ great, and I’ve looked in on Frangi and Greg for you like you asked. Diva and Gally ’re both runnin’ well, now Dad’s left me in charge of ’em. And I’ve been riding Jilly a lot myself, actually. Can’t wait to get out with you again.’

  ‘Me, too. Feels like an eternity since I’ve been home . . .’ She hugged her pillow tight, sucking in her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. ‘But I’m doin’ good, I’m doing okay.’ She took a breath and said: ‘Ran into a jockey I met at Birdsville, actually. Nice to see a familiar face.’

  ‘Oh, cool. Who’s she riding for?’

  ‘Um, he. His name’s Zack Eisenhower, he’s just started for O’Grady.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Tully squirmed at the passion he’d loaded into the word – she could practically see Brandon wringing Zack’s neck through the phone, his eyes glinting with jealousy. ‘He’s nice, Brandon, for real. A total gentleman—just nice to have a friend down here, ya know?’

  Brandon grunted, clearly unconvinced. ‘I trust you, Tulls. Just keep an eye on him, okay?’

  ‘What do you mean, keep an eye on him?’

  ‘He’s a guy, Tulls. And you’re so . . . You’re so nice, and super cute.’

  ‘Super cute.’ Wouldn’t mind hot . . . but I’ll take it. ‘Guys and girls can be friends, Brandon.’

  ‘Just be careful, okay? Crap! Listen, we’ll talk soon. I gotta go.’

  ‘Okay.’ Her stomach clenched into a tight, lead-like ball, her heart reaching out for him. ‘Talk soon, Brandon.’ The line went dead. Tears fell freely, slipping down her cheeks like thoroughbreds released from the barriers. I love you . . .

  The lead up to Tully’s first Melbourne Cup season was busy and thrilling, even if she carried a growing void in her heart – a consistent craving for her boyfriend and her bestie and home.

  The whole of Flemington was a buzzing hive of activity, with Fia leading the charge at Germaine Racing. Training for all the horses was ramped up, any and all horses on a spell were pulled in from the agistment facilities to get back to peak fitness, jockeys began flying in to ride for the best trainers, and international horses, too, were trickling in from the quarantine facility. The excitement was tangible around the place, a racing pulse Tully found she could tap into. She soaked up the anticipation everywhere she went, from the tavern to the coffee van to the exercise track to the walkers, feed stalls, even around the unit. She ate, slept and lived for the excitement of race day – for Dahlia’s debut, and her own. At least it took her mind off home.

  Fia decided their debut would be in the Group Three race on the first date of the carnival out at Caulfield Racecourse. Tully couldn’t wait to finally ride the triangular-shaped track – one of the best known in the country. It would be a short race for Dahlia, at just 1200 metres, but Fia was determined to build her up slower than Mr. Barnes had, with her fitness and stamina hopefully peaking for the richer 2000-metre-plus Group Two races later in the carnival.

  Tully’s hands shook with nerves and she had to force herself to sit up straight in the saddle when Ashlea legged her up and Dahlia took off around the mounting enclosure. Dahlia was really amped after a break from racing since they’d arrived in Melbourne. Even in the cool, bright afternoon, sweat drenched her shoulders and foam flecked from around her bit. Tully muttered for her to calm down, to save her energy, but she knew her filly’s excitement should help in this short sprint race. It would be down to Tully to hold the powerful horse and she was petrified she wouldn’t be up to it, especially judging by how hard Dahlia was pulling already and they hadn’t even been released onto the track.

  Tully and Dahlia were the second last to trot out. Onto the wide stretch of turf, following behind the other sleek, lithe thoroughbreds and the jockeys bobbing on their backs, past the Saturday crowd packing the grandstand with their uninterrupted view across the track, down towards the metal barriers.

  Tully focused on the rhythm of her breathing, tightened her grip on the reins – her arms already throbbing. ‘Easy,’ she said, breathing deep and
summoning her core muscles to help out her arms. ‘Let’s just get to the start, before we start the race!’

  Dahlia tossed her head impatiently, charging ahead into the second last barrier before an attendant could even try to take her by the nose band. The gate shut behind them and Dahlia reared, jumped forward. Tully’s eyes were glued to the lights, C’mon, go, go—GO! She thought frantically, the filly pushing her ankle against the side of the barrier. Jesus!

  Tully yelped with pain as Dahlia lunged forward, pulling her shoulders in their sockets – her filly had never been so anxious, so strong, so ready for the win. The gates opened just as Dahlia let out an almighty snort and tore forward – straight onto the track.

  Tully threw her weight forward to keep up, her hands secured on the filly’s neck, her eyes on the clear air in front of them and the white rail to their left. They were a long way out, but had got the jump.

  The power of the horse beneath her made Tully feel superhuman – Dahlia’s hooves ripping at the turf as they rocketed through the air, their spirits joined in an incredible rush of adrenaline.

  Tully didn’t see it coming, didn’t know Ascot Boy was so close to their flank.

  Dahlia had squealed and leapt dangerously to the side before Tully had sensed anything was wrong. She glanced back over her shoulder as two big bays slipped past inside them. Ascot Boy charged forward, his sharp-eyed jockey shunting them further out before taking his whip to the horse to create a burst of speed that took them to the front, a furlong out from the second turn. Just 400 metres to the finish.

  Tully urged her filly on, but Dahlia’s eyes were set on Ascot Boy – ears pinned back, charging up his backside, drifting too deep to be in with a shot.

  Tully let out a whoosh of breath when they crossed the line and she could pull Dahlia off the hunt, breeze her down well away from the Weston horse. They were down to a trot when Tully glanced back at her poor filly’s rump, instantly understanding what the Weston horse had done – blood stained Dahlia’s coat in a wide trail from a gaping bite wound, not far from the scar of the one she’d been carrying when Tully and Bucko had rescued her.

  Tully rode her filly straight for the exit, past flashing cameras and exuberant connections for Ascot Boy and the bay who’d won.

  Fia helped her down, eased her hands over Dahlia’s sweat-matted coat. ‘Can’t believe that bugger actually bit her,’ Fia said, letting Ashlea take Dahlia’s head to walk her out. ‘I’ve only ever heard of horses trying it on, but never drawing blood! I’ll go protest now—Eagle Eye would’ve caught it.’

  Tully helped settle and hose Dahlia down, see the vet and gave her plenty of apple treats until the filly had forgotten about the assault. She didn’t bother to change out of her jockey gear before hurrying along behind Fia, past a few other female jockeys already in their race day dresses and towering heels ready to meet with owners and trainers and most likely cute rich guys, into the corridor to the Steward’s room. Her step faltered when she spotted Pearce Weston standing at the end of the hallway, just outside the door to the room where the state of the art Eagle Eye camera system watched over the track from multiple angles and vantage points.

  Pearce’s eyes met hers and Tully was sure he smiled, before turning to follow a man in a suit down an intersecting hallway.

  ‘That’s right—you’d better run, Weston!’ Fia said, ripping her mobile from her pocket and waving to a steward who’d popped his head out at the sound of her voice.

  Fia was pleased when Ascot Boy and his jockey were both penalised, but Tully couldn’t shake a sick uneasiness in her stomach. She stayed with Dahlia that night, ringing Brandon from the blanket bed in front of her stall. He sounded upset by the news, apologised and said they’d been ‘having problems with the colt’s temperament of late’. The jockey had been suspended for dirty moves before, but Brandon said his father insisted on giving him the rides.

  The image of the jockey’s malignant, white face – his dark eyes boring into her – the blood from the wound on her filly’s gleaming coat, the sick smile of triumph on Pearce Weston’s face – it all haunted Tully when she closed her eyes to try and sleep. She told herself not to let it rattle her, not to let Pearce Weston win. Was chanting to forget and move on as she finally allowed the soothing hay and horse aroma of the barn to sweep her away into a fitful sleep.

  The next weekend they were back at Caulfield and after a few intense upper body sessions and even more cardio at the gym Tully was feeling confident for whatever Dahlia or Ascot Boy or his evil-eyed jockey could throw at her.

  She was even more hopeful when Dahlia presented calmer to the barriers, but keen to get her moving when the filly came out slower than their debut. It didn’t take long for Dahlia to fire up and remember she was there to race – charging from near last, threading her way up through the pack, really making her move with 800 metres to go in the 2400 metre race to finish third behind Ascot Boy. In the money for their first time in Melbourne!

  On the fourth date of the carnival Tully finally got a start on Calypso. She managed to coax him into the barrier, but felt like a pony-clubber booting at her lumbering, grass-happy pony as Calypso stumbled out of the gate, a length or more from second last. A grin slipped across Tully’s face as she was able to really ride him on, something that would’ve sent Dahlia scooting out from underneath her.

  A whole new wave of confidence surged within Tully as she steered and willed Calypso with every ounce of her energy up into fourth. His connections went wild in the VIP stand – the horse had only ever finished ‘stone motherless last’ as far back as anyone could remember, and had actually earned them something for the first time today.

  The gallant grey lifted his head to the crowd as Tully slapped him hard on the neck, his neat mane flapping lightly, his bold dappled coat glistening in the sunshine like the champion he was. For this pair, it was a lap of victory.

  A joy that continued when Dahlia rallied in her third start at Caulfield to claim her maiden carnival win in the 1400 metre weight-for-age, beating Pearce’s Ascot Boy.

  Germaine Racing carried the triumph from Dahlia’s win into the big day, on the first Tuesday in November, when Fia’s wondercolt, Gold Rushing, was up against many of the best horses and jockeys in the world for Australia’s richest race – The Melbourne Cup.

  Fia had flown in her ace jockey from the States to ride the gorgeous dark bay. His test times had never been better, and Tully had even managed to keep Fia to just a few coffees a day and steer her away from Miena when they’d spotted her at the rail of the mounting enclosure simpering up at Richard and his cronies. It was down to the start and the barriers opened: twenty four elite equine athletes tearing down the vast, epic expanse of turf.

  Tully’s heart burst with excitement, anticipation and terror as she watched with Fia trackside. The whole rush of the race overwhelmed her live – with over 100,000 spectators and what felt like every eye in Australia glued to the screens, a nation truly stopped in unison to witness these three and a half minutes of history.

  Fia’s girlfriend and her rotund, silver-haired husband stood on Fia’s other side, her friend clutching Fia’s arm with long fake nails, a champagne in hand, her hubby stern-faced with one eye on the track, the other on his mobile.

  A New Zealand-bred horse took the early lead. Richard’s colt, Terminator, looked like he was breathing fire, but the jockey held him, taking his time to move to the rail and keeping just on the fringe of the leaders. He made his break late and the colt snarled forward, charging past a panting Gold Rushing who’d made his run too early, slipping across the line a length in front.

  Fia’s girlfriend cried out, spilling her champagne all over her short feathery frock. Her hubby raised his eyebrows at Fia, shook his head, then stalked off to the bar, his displeasure obvious in every line of his body. A fifth place finish from the third favourite for the win was nothing to celebrate, apparently. Fia would not be reclaiming her cup, not this year, and even worse, it’d be movin
g into the den of the enemy.

  Tully clutched Fia’s hand, then yelped loudly to be heard over the coursing crowd, pointing and yelling at Gold Rushing across the rail to distract her from Richard and Miena who were rushing past, trailed by a line of connections all whooping and hollering with delight for their win.

  Just days later Fia’s girlfriend called to say her husband was pulling their horses from Germaine Racing, and taking them over to train with Richard. Fia was utterly crushed and took Tully out on the town to drown her sorrows. Tully drove her home after she’d had too many cocktails, stayed all night in her city penthouse flicking through photos of Gold Rushing and the Cup when a mare owned by a Victorian-based syndicate had won with Fia as trainer just years before. She vowed to help Fia reclaim the Cup, put it back in its custom-built cabinet in Fia’s snug lounge room. Fia’s eyes lit with hope when they discussed Dahlia and plans for her future. The thought of riding in the Cup sent prickles of terror down Tully’s spine, but she knew Dahlia could get there.

  Tully knew she had to step up and be the jockey her extraordinary filly needed her to be. Even if she longed for Avalon. Even if the transition to life alone in the city had proven harder than she could’ve ever imagined. Even if she worried about her dad and her farm and Brandon and even Tam, back home in Queensland. The longer Tully was gone, the less info she seemed to get out of anyone. She wanted to know every detail about what was happening back home; what Frangi and Greg and Bear were up to; if her dad was taking care of himself; how their water situation was; whether or not all of the jacarandas had flowered and were still healthy as; if they really were sweet with the bank, and if Pearce Weston was still trying to claim their land. But it was like everyone just assumed she’d moved on and didn’t care anymore. Even when she tried, more was left unsaid and everyone’s minds seemed elsewhere. She grew more frustrated and it broke her heart a little more after every rushed conversation with someone from home.