Race Girl (23 page)

‘We're not going to let a
Weston ruin your life,' he whispered, sitting down in the chair at the head of Tully's bed, one hand resting gently on her good shoulder.

No,
Tully thought, smiling up at her father.
I won't.

Clover was out before Tully – picked up by a hot dude in a black FOX Racing T-shirt – but before she could go, the girls exchanged Facebook names so they could keep in touch. They also asked Gerald to take a photo of them together – Tully with her black eye and shoulder in its sling, Clover with her pink casts. They shared Insta tags as well and posted the pic to both of their accounts with the hash tags #GoGirls, #bebackstronger, #GirlsWhoRide and #girlpower. Clover added #RevGirl. Tully decided #RaceGirl sounded sweet for her.

Clover grinned, reaching up to give Tully a hug. ‘
Remember
. . .'

‘I will,' Tully grinned, ‘Thanks so much, Clover.' She waved goodbye, then rested back, her father at her side.

Go girl.

Tully couldn't wait to get home and make it all up to Dahlia.

20

A Jockey Apprentice

Tully was instructed by the ER doctor to take it ‘very easy for at least the next few weeks' and to have five full days off work. He wrote up a medical certificate, a script for more pain meds, and asked if she wanted a wheel chair to get out to the car park. Tully shook her head. ‘Thank you, Dr. Hurley,' she said, taking her father's outstretched hand to rise slowly from the bed. ‘I'll be right from here.'

She kept her arm in the sling until bedtime and was pleased to find her shoulder was feeling much better as she pulled off her hospital gown and track pants and climbed into a hot shower. Gerald had managed to pay the gas bill and had organised for two new cylinders to be delivered, which would hopefully last them at least six months.

Tully inspected her eye in the fogged-up bathroom mirror. The glue seemed to be holding well but the swelling around her eye was just as bad, if not worse than it had been in hospital, the bruising coming up an even darker shade of purple, rimmed with avocado green.
Just lovely
, Tully thought, shuddering at her reflection. It was like she'd been in a boxing match with the ground and had definitely come out the loser.
I wonder what Brandon would think of me now . . .

She lifted up her pajama shirt to inspect her ribs, gently running a finger over each one. A dark bruise was emerging from under the skin near the top of her right side. Tully wondered how well her poor ribs were healing, hoping they'd fuse back together nicely, then she padded to her room to fetch the vet wrap she'd brought up from the stables to wrap her torso for support.

Tully managed to drift off only to be woken again by the pain – no matter what position she shifted into the agony from her ribs was enough to keep her awake for life. She forced herself out of bed at her alarm the next morning, weak with exhaustion and numb from the mixture of meds and agony. Only her determination to show her dad and Dahlia and everyone else that she was going to be mature and responsible was strong enough to drive Tully forward. She was ready to make some big decisions and get her life underway. First on her agenda was some tough talk with her dad.

Tully carefully pulled her baggiest polo shirt over her head, then found some shorts that had become very loose around her waist, and eased her arm back into its sling, adjusting the vet wrap around her ribs. She took a few more of the pills she'd been prescribed, put a new dressing over the cut on her face to keep the dirt out and ward off infection, before making her way to the kitchen.

Her father joined her just before four am, took one of the four slices of toast she'd made for them, made himself a coffee and slumped down opposite Tully at the round kitchen table. He flipped open the racing pages from the state paper, delivered to them early every morning. ‘So,' Gerald said, taking a bite of the toast. ‘Won't be taking off on any horses today, will you?'

‘No,' Tully said, eyeing her toast. Her stomach flipped at the sight and smell of the Vegemite – she took a quick sip of water. She needed to eat, as the pain meds especially seemed to be eroding at her stomach.

Tully managed a bite, swallowed it quickly, washing it down with water. Just the act of eating was enough to heighten the pain from her ribs. A dull throbbing started up at her temples and she closed her eyes, gritting her teeth against it.
I will not let this stop me . . .
‘So, what are you up to today?' she said, praying she'd find her father in an accommodating mood.

Gerald looked up from the paper, eyeing her with surprise and curiosity. ‘Gonna do some work with Rosie, and a new horse we've got coming in—a mate of mine from school just bought shares in a horse, and he's convinced the syndicate to let me train him.'

‘Wow, congrats, Dad!' Tully said, struggling through another bite. She grimaced as she swallowed, but plastered a smile for her father. ‘That's fantastic! What's his name?'

‘Jeo Force, or Jeo—stud colt, clean legs, a real looker. Hoping to have him fit, and get nominations for him and Rosie to be accepted for the Brisbane Racing Carnival.'

‘That'd be amazing.' A flare of excitement lit within Tully – it was enlightening to hear her father speak with passion for racing again, like he'd finally found some hope.

‘Need to get more profit coming in. As long as we're sweet with the bank, Pearce can't force us to sell.' He knocked off his still steaming mug of coffee. ‘What've you got on?' he said. ‘Resting, like the doctor told you to, yeah?'

Tully's eyes fell to her toast. ‘I'm going to be letting my body heal. Will probably get out to groom Dahlia, though, and I'm going to keep doing my morning feeds and turning out. The only thing I might need help with is mucking out.'

‘You take it easy,' her father said. ‘You'll have to let work know today, I'll drop your certificate in if you'd like?'

‘That would be brilliant, Dad, thank you.'

‘Isn't school starting up again soon?'

‘Start of next week, I think . . .' Tully's heart started pounding, crashing against her ribs. She took her water glass in her hands, swirling it in a circle on the table, doing her best to steady her nerves.

‘I don't suppose you've registered for the term?'

Tully shook her head slowly, grimacing at the pain.
Why does my head have to hurt this bad
right
when I've gotta have
this
talk with Dad?!
Tully straightened in her chair, pulled in a long, calming breath and lifted her eyes to her father. ‘I don't want to go back to school next week, Dad,' she said. ‘I don't want to go back at all.'

‘The doctor said you'd need a few weeks, so I wouldn't expect you to start until the following Monday. I'm sure the school will understand—I'll drop by and see them today, actually.'

‘Don't, Dad. Please.' Tully set the glass down and staring her father levelly in the eye. ‘I won't be able to start my apprenticeship if I'm expected to be at school five days a week.'

Gerald's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. ‘By apprenticeship, I'm assuming you mean to become a
jockey
?'

‘Yes,' Tully said, cringing at the way her voice wavered.
Be strong, girl!

Gerald sighed, a dark cloud shifting across his face, deepening the shadows in the creases of his skin. ‘All those injuries aren't going away overnight, Tully. The last thing you should be thinking about is getting on another horse.'

‘It's what I've always wanted to do, Dad. I'm sixteen now, I'm more than old enough.'

‘I won't have you drop out of school. Without your HSC, you've got no hope of a decent job—' Tully opened her mouth to interject, but her father halted her with the raise of his hand— ‘if jockeying doesn't work out the way you imagine. You always need a backup plan, and if you quit now, there's a very slim chance you'll ever go back to studying.'

‘Right . . .' Tully thought for a moment, her mind grinding slowly and painfully. ‘Well, what about correspondence, then?' she said, more hopefully than she'd expected. ‘I heard a few kids from last year finished years eleven and twelve that way . . . I could do track work in the mornings, then come home and study in the afternoons – once I'm healed up, that is. I go back in four weeks to see the doctor, which gives me at least a month to find a trainer willing to take me on, and get my correspondence study organised. I think there're even some centres around that can help out with subjects you're struggling with!'

Her father closed his hands around the racings pages, his knuckles whitening.

Tully didn't lower her eyes from his – every second of battle increasing her confidence of possible victory.

‘What about work?' he said.

‘I want
riding
to be my work, Dad. You know I'll make about the same as I do now if I can get on with a trainer who has a decent string based at a track. Surely, I'll be able to get work as an exercise rider, and hopefully start as an apprentice jockey, too. I'll even do extra mucking out and feeding for a trainer if they'll let me. Whatever I can get.'

‘What about the horses you've got here?'

‘My horses? I'll get Dahlia moved to where I'm at,' Tully said firmly. ‘It'd be unreal for her training to be able to gallop every day and have access to their facilities like the walker, vets, and all that. I won't be moving out, Dad, and I'll still be around enough to make sure Frangi and Greg are looked after, and Bear Dog.'

‘How do you expect to get to work every day? To get a start in that kind of work, you should know you're probably gonna have to go to at least Ipswich, or the Gold Coast, or into Brisbane . . . And I bloody hope you wouldn't ever consider getting on with a trainer we don't know personally, and very well!'

Tully recognised his ploy – there
were
trainers who did their daily track work at Beaudesert, but she didn't see what calling him on this detail would accomplish. ‘Of course not, Dad . . .' She would never forget her conversation with her aunt about the dodgy trainer who had led to her mother's death . . . ‘I suppose I'll have to get a ute then, hey?' She said. ‘I have been saving.'

Gerald grunted, pushed his plate to the side. He picked up his coffee mug, rising from the table. ‘Sounds like you've got it all figured out.'

‘I'll still need your help, Dad, with Dahlia, and with my riding.'

‘I was ready to accept you riding here, for fun, Tully. But I'll never agree with you becoming a jockey—you have no idea how fierce it is, what it takes . . . Are you after the same fate as your mother?'

Tully reeled at her father's words – stinging worse than the broken ribs. Tears prickled at her eyes and she chewed her bottom lip, disappointment from his lack of support filling her limbs like lead.

‘Sorry,' he said quickly, turning for the sink. ‘I . . . know there's nothing I can say that'll change your mind, you are
my
daughter, after all. But you can't expect me to be happy about it.'

‘I don't,' Tully said. She swiped a tear from her cheek, turned her body into the shadow of the wall.
But you could believe in me.

21

Izzie The Show Jumper