Race Girl (21 page)

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