Paycheque (55 page)

But there was nowhere to go – they were stuck. She saw Maddie's head turn twice – taking note of who was alongside. Claire didn't want to watch, didn't want to think about the argy-bargy and intimidation that was going on. She hoped Derek wasn't watching but when she heard him shout, ‘Bloody hell!' she knew he was seeing
what she was. Her heart was in her mouth. They were well on their way down the straight now. The crowd was a deafening, screaming roar, and people were leaping up and down. The people on the grass surged towards the fence to urge on the horses they'd backed. There were three hundred metres to go.

The last group of horses had fallen way behind, joined by a couple who'd gone out too fast at the start. She couldn't see Paycheque, but he had to be between the large chestnut and the grey – he hadn't surged forward and he hadn't dropped back. The jockeys were flapping their whips furiously – Paycheque would be copping it on the shoulder and neck from both sides.
The poor thing must be terrified
, she thought, biting her lip.

‘Just pull him up, Maddie,' she urged. ‘It's not worth it.'

There were now only one hundred and fifty metres to go. The frontrunners seemed to be slowing slightly, despite the furious flapping of whips and pushing of hands up and down necks urging them on. Paycheque and Todd's two horses were now right behind them. Claire had been so worried about Paycheque being caught between the two horses that she hadn't taken notice of where the group was in relation to the rest of the field.

Claire's heart rate suddenly slowed. The pounding against her ribs seemed to be only every second beat. Her mouth was dry, and the inside of her ears was strangely quiet: the blood pounding through them had stopped. It seemed to grow still around her – she could see the mouths of those all around her opening and shutting, screaming out encouragement. Her eyes were bruised from the binoculars being jammed against them, but she couldn't pull them away. There were only a few seconds to go.

She watched as the two big horses peeled away from Paycheque, the chestnut on the inside and the grey manoeuvring behind him slightly to join his stable mate at the inside rail. Paycheque was now on his own at the heels of the frontrunners, two from the outside. The finish line was closing in fast.

‘Come on! Go, go, go!' Claire shouted.

Maddie was crouched lower than she'd ever seen her. Claire's mouth fell open and she just stared as Paycheque surged forward to join the frontrunners spread most of the way across the track. She couldn't speak. She watched the mirrored finish line swallowed up by a mass of horseflesh and coloured silks. Her heart rate quickened to a furious pounding again.

And then the horses were slowing and scattering as they rounded the bend past the finish. Claire let out a big sigh and lowered the binoculars. She stared at the television screen where the result was frozen but indecipherable. She tried to hear what the commentator was saying but the crowd below was too loud. She looked around her at Bernadette, David, Will, Derek and Jack. They were standing still, shrugging, and exchanging questioning expressions. The crowd was subdued. No one was tearing up betting slips or tossing them away. There was a collective focus on the giant screen in front.

Out on the track, the horses were cooling down, the jockeys chatting amongst themselves. A television reporter was making his way through the group on his small bay horse, clearly identifiable by the station's logo on his saddle cloth and the microphone in his hand. He'd have his work cut out trying to interview the winning few horses when around six were caught up in a photo finish. Even the commentator hadn't deciphered the result yet.

‘Jesus, this is excruciating,' Bernie said.

Damn right
, thought Claire. All those times she'd watched footage of the winning connections instantly leaping about, hugging each other, celebrating their win. And here she was, finally participating, not swanning around a corporate box, and they had the most complicated result – the biggest photo finish – on record. But they'd done it – Paycheque and Maddie had got around safely. Though she'd better check for sure, she suddenly thought, putting the binoculars back to her bruised eyes.

Maddie and Paycheque were looking as relaxed as ever. They'd
turned and were heading slowly back towards the finish line. Maddie's legs were out of the stirrups and hanging down Paycheque's sides. She held the reins by the buckle and Paycheque's head was stretched low. They looked as casual as if they had just finished a Pony Club lesson, not Australia's most famous horse race.

Claire let out a gasp as Paycheque gave a sudden jerk on the reins, lowered his head right to the ground and snatched up a chunk of Flemington turf. Maddie was caught unawares, and was almost sent tumbling over his neck. Managing to save herself just in time, she gave the horse a light reproachful slap. Meanwhile Paycheque was trying to dislodge the clod of dirt that was attached to his mouthful of grass by tossing his head up and down furiously.

‘Little monster,' Claire said, chuckling.

‘What?' Bernadette asked.

Without a word Claire handed her the binoculars. There were chuckles all around as Derek and Jack took a look through theirs.

‘Typical,' Bernie said.

‘Better get down there,' Claire said, and they all made their way down the steps of the grandstand.

‘Bit of an anticlimax, not knowing where you came,' Derek said from beside her. ‘And there are bound to be some protests yet. Might be one from Maddie by the looks of what went on out there with Todd's boys.'

‘No, we won't be protesting. I'm just glad they're both back safe and well.'

They were now at the rail watching Maddie and Paycheque make their way towards them. Claire looked for any signs his gait was uneven, that he was lame. But he looked fine. Tired, but fine. The horse that had twice been condemned to death had just run the Melbourne Cup – watched by the whole of Australia and much of the world.

‘Bloody hell,' Claire said under her breath, the enormity of it just hitting her.

‘What? What's wrong?' Derek asked.

‘Shh,' she said, and tilted her head to listen to the commentator reading out the preliminary results.

‘…fifth, Paycheque, sixth, Ragamuffin…'

She stared at Derek with big wide eyes. ‘Derek, did you hear that? Oh! My! God! Paycheque's just run fifth in the Melbourne bloody Cup! I don't believe it!'

They grabbed each other and leapt up and down hugging, not caring what cameras were on them or who was watching.

Claire pulled away first and looked up at Derek. ‘I'm sorry you didn't have a runner.'

‘It was worth it to see you this happy, Claire. Anyway, I will next year when you're training my horses.'

‘What?'

‘You heard me. I want to bring my horses to Team McIntyre.'

‘Even with our whacky training methods and weird ideas?'

‘Especially
with your whacky training methods and weird ideas.' Derek pulled her to him again, and buried his face in her hair. ‘Marry me, Claire McIntyre.'

‘I thought you'd never ask,' Claire whispered back.

‘So, is that a yes?'

‘Yes, Derek Anderson. That is a yes.'

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

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Published in Great Britain 2013.
MIRA Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR

© Fiona McCallum 2013

ISBN 978-1-4720-1832-8