Race Girl (42 page)

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 moving 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.

But racing did keep her busy, and spirits in the stable thankfully lifted when Tully and Dahlia began a six-race winning streak in a maiden at Wangaratta, which culminated in stakes wins three months later in the Werribee Cup and the longer, 2500 metre Queen Elizabeth Stakes. This big victory for Tully and Dahlia was celebrated with a blinder of a barn party, as it had qualified the filly for the following year's Melbourne Cup. Fia shifted Dahlia into a lighter autumn campaign, which consisted of just two starts in relatively short races, with all plans ramping to the Cup.

★

Before Tully realised it was the final year of her apprenticeship and her second year in Melbourne was about to begin, or so Fia reminded her. Fia had planned a surprise dinner to celebrate and had invited Zack and Shannon and everyone else from Germaine Racing and O'Grady's, even Mr. Dodd and Ashlea.

Fia sat Tully down at the head of the stable, hands clasped lightly over her eyes, and dropped them. ‘Ok, you can look now,' she said: And Tully squealed with delight as the most handsome guy she'd ever seen sauntered into the room. Tall and broad, in dark jeans with a chunky leather belt and silver sweater, pink roses and a card in hand.

Brandon stooped down to kiss Tully on the cheek, but she wasn't having a bar of it. She grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him square on the lips. He laughed and pulled her up into his arms, his gorgeous cologne and warm familiar strength accosting her senses and sending her weak and dizzy with longing.

Even through a euphoric cloud of happiness at seeing her guy again, Tully couldn't ignore the friction between Brandon and Zack as everyone ate, drank and laughed through the meal. Brandon sat next to her, his hand on her thigh, his eyes fixed on her when he wasn't glancing across the table at Zack, who directed questions like, ‘How long you here for?' and ‘How're your dad's horses goin'?' at him. His hand tightened on her leg and she excused them both after the cake, dragging Brandon out into the car park to kiss him under the city sky, the odd, faraway star washed out by blinding lights.