Race Girl (22 page)

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.

We're alone.

She gritted her teeth against the pain and staggered around to the opposite side of Dahlia. Raised her good arm, rested it over the saddle for support, holding the reins as tightly as she manage. ‘It's okay, girl,' she said, urging Dahlia forward.

Her filly swung her nose around to sniff at Tully, one ear forward hesitantly, the other pinned back out of concern. She nuzzled at Tully's side.

‘I'm right, Dahls,' Tully choked out. ‘We've gotta try to get home!'

Dahlia tossed her head gently, then took a step forward.

The agony that hit Tully was enough to knock her back down – she was sure she was going to black out . . . She pulled Dahlia to a stop and breathed there, laying against her filly's warm body for what felt like a lifetime.

Dahlia nibbled at her back pocket, nudged Tully with her nose.

C'mon, Tully!
She screamed at herself.
You have to
GO!

She let out a cry, then gathered every ounce of energy and strength she had to stand straight enough to urge Dahlia forward.

Dahlia walked slowly, head hung low, with Tully stumbling along beside her all the way to the edge of the paddock. Tully willed her filly to stop up near the latch of the gate, managing somehow to un-hook her good arm from the support of the saddle long enough to undo the latch and kick the gate open, without toppling over, cradling her right arm in the crook of her waist to avoid the crushing pain.

Tully cringed and squeezed her eyes shut when Dahlia stopped to sniff noses with Wheeler, letting out a squeal, which to Tully's ears sounded loud enough to shatter a window. Her eyes stung from the salt of sweat and tears and in her right eye, the redness of blood.

Thankfully a dusty breeze whipped along the internal road, helping to push Dahlia up past Wheeler, passed the last of the turnout paddocks to the barn. Tully collapsed as soon as Dahlia had clopped into her stall. She dropped the reins, crawled with her good arm out of the stall, pushed the door shut behind her. Tully felt her way to the tack room, her eyes closed tightly – the light was too much for her brain, it singed like poison.

She fumbled for her phone on the bench, opened her eyes just enough to see Judy's number – third from the top in ‘Favourites'. Mrs. T answered on the third ring.

‘I've had a fall, Judy,' Tully murmured between sobs, lowering herself down on the cool concrete floor. She rolled onto her good side, curled into the foetal position. ‘Um, I was riding Dahlia, and there's no one else here . . .
Stupid
, I know—I'm so sorry! . . . I, I don't know if I'm alright. Can you come get me, please? . . . Thanks so much, Judy . . .'

Tully blinked up at the white featureless ceiling of the Emergency room. She hadn't been in a hospital since visiting her mum after she'd broken her collarbone and punctured a lung when Tully was eleven. Tully remembered the antiseptic smell all too well – had to swallow down another wave of nausea. She listened to the sound of nurses rushing past, phones ringing. The machine hooked up to her through a needle in her arm ticked quietly as the drip dispensed antibiotics. The drugs she'd been given were finally taking the edge off the pain.

Judy stepped softly towards her from the nurse's station. She'd been asleep when Tully rang, but Judy had still arrived in uniform, ready to help, and had even un-tacked Dahlia and checked her over for any injuries before loading Tully into the car and rushing her into hospital.

Judy sat down gently on the side of Tully's bed, took her hand in hers. ‘Well, aren't you a lucky girl,' she smiled, ‘
Quite
the rap sheet, though—the doctor will be in soon to have a chat. We hopefully shouldn't have to keep you in for too long, but you will have to take it very easy for a while, Tully. With such a knock to the head, you'll be at high risk of developing post concussion syndrome. Debilitating headaches for the next year or so would be the
last
thing you need . . .'

Tully's stomach, raw from vomiting, churned and she cringed at the pull of the darkness, at the weight of the guilt and the shame and remorse. The thought of returning home after what she'd done was almost too painful to consider, too terrifying.
This could be the last straw for Dad . . .

Judy raised the clipboard, slipped a pair of glasses down off the top of her head, ‘Four broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, minor concussion . . . and that lovely black eye, complete with a gash just below it—glued together nicely, mind you, so hopefully it won't scar.' She shook her head, reached across and slipped the clipboard into the holder at the end of Tully's bed. ‘Won't be doing that again, will we, Miss Athens?'

‘Absolutely not.' Tully sat up as much as she could before the pain in her chest shot all the way down to her toes.
That must be the
broken ribs . . . Wonderful.
‘Thank you, Mrs. T, for looking after me.' She attempted a smile.

‘My pleasure—' Judy patted Tully on the leg. ‘Rest up, we'll make sure you're right before we send you home. How's the pain?'

‘Okay.' Tully wriggled to sit up, but stopped, grimacing as she fell back. ‘I'm fine, thanks.'

‘Tough girl,' Judy said. She reached down and kissed Tully on the forehead. ‘I'll be back soon, but just buzz if you need us, okay? Oh—' Judy looked up as one of her colleagues wheeled a young blonde girl with a pink cast on each wrist in beside Tully. ‘Looks like you'll have company. Waiting for discharge, Glenis?'

The nurse nodded, set the clipboard on the empty bed next-door.

The girl looked up from her phone, smiling across at Tully.

‘Hi,' Tully said.

‘Hey,' said the girl.

Tully took a deep breath, willing her mind into the light . . . ‘Reading anything interesting?' she said.
Nosy, much?!
‘Sorry—I didn't mean to be rude.'

The girl grinned and green flecks in her eyes flashed under the fluoro lights. She had wide, hazel eyes – just like Tam's. Tully relaxed a little as she stared into those lovely, familiar eyes.

‘Not at all! Thanks for saying hi,' the girl said. ‘Just a story my little sister sent me.'

She definitely has an accent,
Tully thought.
American, maybe?

‘Her coach, Ebony, just won a big class down in Cali,' the girl continued. ‘Her horse, Star Girl, is
gorgeous
.'

‘Wow,' Tully said, accepting the phone and studying the photo. A girl with long black hair and striking green eyes pumped her fist aboard a muscly, graceful bay. ‘She is stunning,' Tully said, handing back the phone. ‘I've always wanted to try show jumping.'

‘Totally should,' the girl said. ‘My sister says Ebony might be going to the Olympics! I sure hope my little sis gets to groom. How amazing would that be?!'

‘The Olympics?' Tully's mind drifted to the Melbourne Cup . . . ‘Scary, but incredible.'

‘That's a nice shiner you got there,' the girl said. ‘What are you in for?'

‘
Well
. . .' Tully nearly laughed, but remembered her cracked ribs, and smiled instead. The girl sat up straight in her wheel chair, threw back her head and laughed. She was wearing a T-shirt that caught Tully's eye: white, with a pink dirt bike boot and heel set back-to-back across the chest and #revgirl written in black underneath. Cool.

‘Sorry,' Tully said, grinning. ‘I . . . fell off my horse.'

‘Bad luck, chick,' the girl said. ‘I cased this massive double on my dirt bike.'

‘Bugger,' Tully relaxed back on the bed. ‘What do you ride?'

‘YZ250FX, Yamaha.'

‘Super cool! I've got a TTR on our farm.'

‘That's awesome! So, how'd you fall?'

Tully shifted a fraction on the bed, took a breath. ‘Well, I was riding my thoroughbred, Dahlia. And . . . I've been upset, I guess. It was really stupid.'

‘Boy trouble, I bet—' The girl rolled her eyes and sighed— ‘Know all about that. Nearly ruined my career.'

‘Wow, are you a full-time racer?'

‘Workin' on it.'

‘Do you live in Queensland?'

The girl smiled. ‘Not exactly. Up here visiting
a boy
.' Both girls giggled. ‘So what kind of riding do you do?'

‘Well,' Tully said. ‘My mum was a jockey.'

‘That's so cool!' the girl said. ‘Must be so exciting. Is it what you want to do, too?'

‘Ah . . .' Tully fiddled with her blanket. ‘That's always been the plan.'

‘If it's what you love,' the girl said, looking straight into Tully's eyes. ‘Then don't let that boy ruin your life.'

‘I won't—' Tully's chest expanded, begging for air but too sore to make the most of it. ‘I love riding more than anything. Always have, always will . . .'

A man paused in the doorway – both girls looked up. ‘She just needs to do it when there's someone to keep an eye on her,' Gerald Athens said.

‘Oh, hi—Dad,' Tully said, bracing herself against the sudden pain, the crippling sense of dread. ‘This is . . .' She glanced over at the girl.

‘Clover,' she said. ‘Clover Kassedy, from Canada. Nice to meet you!'

‘Likewise,' Gerald said, crossing the room to Tully's bedside. His face was clean shaven and his eyes were clearer than they'd been in ages, but his face was creased with worry, the lines deep across his forehead and between his brows.

Clover winked, threaded her earphones in and tucked her nose behind a dirt bike magazine, leaving Tully alone with her father.

‘Did Judy ring you?' Tully said.

‘I wish
you
would have.'

‘I'm sorry, Dad,' Tully said, peering up at him. ‘I was just . . . I was
really
embarrassed that I fell off, and mad at myself for putting Dahlia in danger like that. Is she okay?'

‘The horse is fine. But you
terrified me, Tully,' he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I know you've been struggling, I have been, too – but we need to stick together. I'm going to try to be here for you more . . .' He pulled in a quick breath, locking eyes with Tully. ‘Just like Clover from Canada says—' he winked at the girl.

‘Go girl,' Clover said with a grin, giving Tully a thumbs up.