Race Girl (10 page)

Tully slipped off her shorts, kicked them towards her dresser, and fell into her bed. She left a hand on Bear, panting happily at her side. She gazed out her window, grinning hugely when she spotted Greg already trying to kiss noses with an unimpressed Dahlia. Greg was getting more comfortable on his leg, and no one had said anything about the bandages. Tully couldn't wait to have a crack at giving Dahlia a bath and getting her cleaned up.

She rolled over, cuddling Bear, stroking his soft black ears, but something hard pressed against her chest. She sat up, reaching into the breast pocket of her shirt—
I'm
still
in my work uniform?!

Tully pulled out the little bay horse that Tam and Judy had given her that afternoon.
So like Dahlia . . .
she thought, a strange prickling feeling racing over her skin. She smiled at the tiny horse, then glanced back out the window, checking again on Dahlia and Greg.

Tully's eyes finally closed, her body engulfed by exhaustion. She kept hold of the figurine, turning it over and over in her hands, and managed to force her eyes open for one more moment. The filly's sleek body glistened in the light of the moon and the twinkling of the stars. Suddenly her mother's words, a comment Tully was sure she had long forgotten, drifted into her mind . . .
‘All it takes is one great horse to change your life.'

Tully fell asleep praying Dahlia would be the one for her, and that she would be the girl for Dahlia.

9

Strength and Passion

Tully hit the snooze button when her alarm went off just two hours later, dozing for fifteen minutes before the motorcycle revving sound started up again. Bear stirred beside her, licked her face. Tully couldn't be sure how many times she hit snooze. She eventually rolled over to avoid Bear's wet tongue. ‘Ouch!' she cried, pulling the little horse out from underneath her face.

Dahlia!

‘Crap!' She set the horse gently on her table, snatched up her phone. 4.15am. ‘Oh, bugger—
bugger!
' Bear leapt down to the floor and scampered off towards the kitchen. Tully jumped up, groping for the light switch. She managed to pull on a pair of shorts, change her shirt and find two socks of about the same style and colour.

Tully ran down to the stables in the dark humidity, sweat already beading on her skin. She slowed to a walk when Dahlia's face emerged from the darkness, took a quick breath and smiled. Dahlia whinnied once at Tully and tossed her nose, her ears pricked forward in an excited, welcoming,
gimme-more-of-that-tucker-girl
way.

‘Nice new horse,' Grace said, winking at Tully from Rosie's stall at the end of the row.

‘Thanks so much, Grace,' Tully said, freeing some of the anxiety in her chest with a short expulsion of air. ‘Seen Dad about?'

‘Not yet, matey.'

Tully's stomach lurched as she remembered the fight with her father last night. She stopped in front of Dahlia's stall and a sick heavy guilt churned in the pit of her stomach – strong enough to nearly knock her on her butt. ‘Right. Well, maybe we shouldn't have . . .'

‘Don't waste your time with regret, doll—' Bucko clapped her on the back as he came up behind her— ‘Ya got an extra one to feed and muck out now, and this one's in desperate need of some TLC.'

Tully's father came down just as the first grey light of dawn crept into the valley, his sunglasses on and a mug in his hands. He walked straight past Tully and Dahlia to the office, and spent at least ten minutes ranting at Bucko, calling him pretty much every foul name Tully had ever heard – and some she hadn't.

When the yelling ceased, Tully took cover in Dahlia's stall, but her father must have sensed she was there. ‘Don't think you can hide from me,' he said over the stall door. ‘You brought this horse here, so you're responsible for her. Want to make adult decisions? Now you'll have to face adult consequences. You feed her, you pay for her, you look after her. I
don't
want you riding, and I can tell you that you'll never wear the Athens colours—they will never be worn again.'

Tully held her breath, sinking down lower in the bedding of the stall. Dahlia kicked the back wall and reared towards her father, ears pinned.

He smacked something – sounded like his hand – on the stall door. ‘This is
still
my farm,' he said. ‘I am your father. And I will be heard.'

Tully gritted her teeth and stood up slowly, to find her father had already gone. ‘Easy, Dahls,' she said, patting her filly's bony shoulder. Tully fed her an apple slice from her pocket, then slipped out of the stall to retrieve a special mixture of morning feed for her new filly.

As she stood watching Dahlia dig in, Tully was overcome by a heavy, dark cloud of emotion – of guilt and fear for her future. Her father had never spoken to her so sternly. It was like he was giving up on her. Tully had been left standing alone in a vast empty plain of decisions she had made, and she wasn't sure she liked what her new found freedom had to offer anymore. The weight of responsibility settled on her shoulders and she hoped like crazy she'd be able to carry it.
I guess this's what growing up feels like . . .
she thought, resting her chin on the cool metal of Dahlia's stall.
And I'm not sure I'm ready.

Dahlia glanced up from her bucket, raising her nose to the brilliant sunrise. Her face was strong and curved with feminine lines and she had the cutest teacup nose Tully had ever seen. But the signs of her abuse and neglect were all too clear: her forelock was tangled and lifeless and her coat lacked the gleam of health and beauty that radiated through her sharp, smart eyes. Her jutting bones were especially apparent in the light of morning, and the cut on her rump looked angry and sore. Tully would find Bucko and ask to call the farrier and the vet, she decided, as the poor animal needed her feet and teeth done and injections for Hendra virus, worms, and anything else the vet deemed necessary.

Dahlia flicked her tail at the flies, tossing her proud face in annoyance, before getting back to hoovering up the rest of her breakfast.

Tully shoved her hands into her pockets, her chest suddenly constricting like a clenched fist as the emotion hit her – tears bursting hot and heavy down her face.
Here I am feeling sorry for myself,
she thought, squaring her shoulders and reaching forward to smooth the tangles and bits of dead grass out of Dahlia's forelock.
And she's standing here, as strong as ever, after staring hell in the face . . .

Shame on me.

Tully sniffed once, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then moved briskly for the tack room to grab a halter and a wash bucket and to find Grace. She had a feeling she was going to need help washing this filly for the first time.

10

Tim Tams and Phar Lap

Tam's mum Judy called that afternoon after hearing of the ‘great filly rescue' – as it was apparently being referred to all over town – and insisted Tully spend Friday night at their place.

Grace agreed to do the afternoon feed and even offered to do her correspondence vet nursing study outside Dahlia's stall for a few hours that night. The paddocks were all ready for the new horses arriving – now on Monday – for spelling. Their arrival had been pushed back a few days by an ‘incredibly busy' Mr. Barnes. Tully also made sure to ask Grace to do the morning feed of her horses, feed Bear and make sure her father had something decent for dinner.

Judy's gold RAV-4 was waiting front and centre in the Macca's car park after Tully finished work. Tam,in her favourite embellished jeans with big silver buckle and cowgirl boots, groaned as she tried to crawl between the two front seats to get back to sit next to Tully, her boobs nearly popping free from her tight collared shirt. Tully laughed, slapped Tam on the butt. Tam screeched with laughter as Tully pulled her into the back.

‘Thanks, babes,' Tam said, sighing heavily as she settled herself next to Tully. ‘This is all so exciting!'

‘Thanks so much for the invite, Mrs. T,' Tully said.

‘It's been
too
long since we've had you, love,' Judy said, smiling at her through the rear-view mirror. ‘Hoping to see a lot more of you now holidays are finally here. Congratulations on this new filly, too, by the way.'

‘I can't wait for you to meet her!'

‘For sure,' Tam said, giving Tully's shoulders a squeeze. ‘Those other jockeys better watch out! I wanna be there the first time you ride her.'

Nerves crept up Tully's spine at the thought, but she nodded, forcing a smile.

‘And, hey—tomorrow morning,' Tam said. ‘We should totally take my horses down for a swim. Been ages since we got to ride together.'

‘Righto,' Tully said, reaching an arm over her bestie's shoulders, smiling forward at Judy. ‘I'd love to.'

As they cruised out of the car park and hung left onto the highway to head to the Thompson's acreage, Tully could breathe a little easier. The sun was setting in brilliant canary yellow against the mountains, casting beams of light and shadow across the wide-stretching paddocks all around. It gave her confidence to know that Dahlia was settling in so well and looking glorious after a bath and a good grooming. They'd even discovered a cheeky white snip on her nose under all that dirt and grime. Her whiskers were white over the snip and black everywhere else on her muzzle – a beautiful, preternatural marking. They'd made a plan for the vet to come back in a week's time, once Dahlia had gotten some solid food in her system and her energy up, to have a better look and trot her up to check for soundness.
Maybe things are on the up?
Tully found herself hoping . . .

Maybe I
can
take care of Dahlia. Maybe I
can
ride and become a jockey and save our farm. Maybe I
can
forget about Brandon Weston . . .

Tully was frowning at the image of his annoyingly handsome smirking face as they pulled into the driveway of the Thompson's property, on the northern outskirts of town. Tully always loved having sleepovers at the Thompson's, especially in summer. The place was neat as a pin: five acres, with a newly-built Queenslander complete with a gourmet kitchen, polished timber floors and ducted air-con into every room. Even the toilet and the walk-in-robe. Tully smiled at the golden fairy lights draping the house and the plastic Santa and reindeer in the front garden as they drove in.

Tam's stepdad was into penning and her grandfather was a well-known Quarter Horse breeder based out of Tamworth. They had seven horses between them and galvanised steel-fenced paddocks, alongside a two-stall stable and a big sand arena to ride in. Tully loved it all, but her favourite part of the Thompson's property was the central hallway of the house, where she would spend as long as possible gazing at all of the framed photographs of Judy and her mother. There were pics of the girls jumping at the local pony club, school photos in their uniforms, snaps from their sixteenth and twenty-first birthday parties – even framed photos of both of their weddings, when a much slimmer Judy had been Dahlia's maid of honour and Dahlia had been the same for Judy.

The girls were drawn by a wonderful garlicky lamb roast smell to the open-planned kitchen and sat down at the vast dinner table, ready to dig in.