Race Girl (38 page)

But I
do
want to win
.

The thought made Tully grin and she reached forward for her duffel bag, held it tightly in her lap. Her feet tapped the floor, she couldn't wait to get on the track.
To prove to everyone I have what it takes,
she thought, her fingers creeping up to her necklace.
To prove that Dahlia is a true champion, worthy of being written into the history books like she so deserves.

Tully giggled with exhilaration as the plane lurched against the ground, speeding to a stop near the end of the runway. She was the first to unbuckle her seatbelt. She made it off the plane and through the airport like a race-ready thoroughbred out of the barriers – but had to slow up, wandering the baggage area, confused where to get her bags.

Tully was relieved to spot a cab driver holding a placard reading ‘ATHENS' once she'd managed to drag all her bags outside. She shivered and puffed a few times to try and see her breath as the icy winter air bit, pulled her black jacket out of her suitcase and slipped it on.

‘Flemington, Miss Athens?'

‘Yes, please.'

The city centre was in the distance as they cruised past, towering buildings constructed from colours and patterns and metals Tully had never imagined existed. She marvelled at the sheer number of cars and trams and people everywhere – the Melbournians so stylish, striding along the sidewalks in clothes she was sure were straight off the catwalk.

Tully was wondering if the cabbie had taken her the long way, and hoping the crowd at the track were a little more like home as he hung a left on Racecourse Road, then another into Epsom Road. And then the buildings fell away and Tully's eyes swept down over the most incredible sight she had ever seen . . .

Flemington Racecourse
.

More than the sum of its parts, the venue had a vast, commanding presence, telling epic tales of battles past – of love, loss and triumph. The grandstands loomed large, presiding over the powerful oval of turf, so much larger and grander than any racing facility Tully had ever seen.

Her mouth hung open, her eyes wide as they passed the Member's Drive, with its grand gated entrance just like Weston Park. She laughed with delight, then spun in her seat to catch the last of the view as the road swept around past immaculate gardens and lush trees, the track disappearing out of sight.

Flemington was even more magnificent than Tully had imagined. Her heart swelled at the thought of riding here, thudding like the hooves of a race winner as the cabbie pulled up out the front of white metal gates.

Tully tipped the cabbie, then grabbed her bags, piling the saddle awkwardly on top, and headed towards the row of barns, hoping to see the
Fia Germaine Racing
signage as the cab driver said she would. A security guard stopped Tully just before the gates and she fumbled for her driver's license, hoping Fia had let him know she was coming and didn't yet have her ID badge.

Sure enough Fia's was the fourth barn in, with a white and black sign, neat garden and glass office at the front. Tully breathed in hay and leather and horse, a combination that instantly put her at ease as she stepped into the open, airy stable.

There were more stalls than Tully could quickly count, with each horse's blankets hanging on the doors, nameplates for each and an incredibly neat, clean aisle. Roller doors set in brick-coloured walls separated this first barn from an identical second barn behind, so they appeared as one long, never-ending row.

Tully stopped to watch a short young guy in a black and white polar fleece jacket lead a ripped bay in from outside, down to his stall. A phone rang and men chatted nearby, horses snorted and stomped inside their stalls, others clopped by on the pavement outside. The place was alive with the pulse of racing and every breath Tully took made her more excited for the days ahead.

She was truly lost in the atmosphere when a sharp-faced girl wearing a matching jacket to the boy, with blonde hair in a neat, tight bun and wonderful curves marched down the aisle towards her.

Tully read the swirling
Fia Germaine Racing
logo embroidered over the girl's right breast as she halted in front of Tully, one hand on her hip. ‘So
you're
the boss's niece,' the girl said, looking Tully up and down. ‘Don't know how Fia expects you to hold any of these horses, Scrawny.'

Um,
what?!
The breath was punched from Tully's chest and she found herself gaping across at the icy-eyed girl.

‘I'm Miena, Fia's head track work rider—
so
technically, you'll be working under me.'

Tully blinked, completely baffled by the way this girl she'd never met had totally just paid her out. ‘Hi, Miena,' Tully said in her nicest, most professional voice. She lifted her whole frame from her toes to the tip of her head, milking every centimetre and muscle from her body to be the tallest, strongest version of herself. ‘I'm Tully Athens.'

‘Yeah? Good for you.' The girl flipped a hand in the air, spun on her heel. ‘I'll give you till the end of the week.'

32

Calypso Grey

Tully crept down the hall, the sudden, eerie silence left in Miena's wake singing at her nerves. She ducked into the tack room to her left, where masses of bridles, reins and breast-plates hung on hooks and saddles and girths rested on rails three high along the back wall. A bench with lockers set behind it ran the length of the wall opposite, with names written in chalk on the doors and tattered helmets, vests, goggles and whips spilling out of a few.

Tully jumped when a rat the size of a kitten meandered in through a hole into the feed room, sniffed at a shell of corn in the corner, then headed back to no doubt roll around in the feed bins. Tully was used to mice – there were
that
many on the farm who were too full of feed and hay to be afraid of people – but she'd never seen a rat so huge before. The pigeons here surprised her, too, clattering around on the barn roofs in the hundreds, hoping for a sneaky meal.

Tully stepped around the hole the rat had squeezed out of, set her bags in the far corner, pushing them under the bench. She and sat down lightly – ready to stand and face Miena again if she had to.
What a piece of work she is
, Tully thought, slipping out her phone to ring Brandon and let him know she'd arrived safely.

She got his messagebank, left a quick message, then checked her Facebook – Izzie, Clover the Canadian Rev Girl and Tam had all sent her messages. She smiled and was shooting a reply to Tam when a stout, round man with a red face and bald head stumbled in, clipboard in hand. His eyes widened and roved her body in a way that had her shying away.

‘Tully?' the man asked, shuffling towards her.

‘Um, yep,' Tully said, standing and hesitantly accepting his hand. His palm was sweaty and clammy, but she forced herself to shake it firmly.

‘Crispin Dodd, Fia's stable foreman,' he said, glancing down at his board. He flicked through his papers, slipped out a sheet and handed it to her. ‘Wasn't expecting you till track work tomorrow morning.'

‘Oh, sorry,' Tully said, rubbing the hand he'd shaken down her jeans. His blood-shot, bottle green eyes hovered over her chest. A chill ran across her skin and she crossed her arms quickly. ‘I was just about to ring Fia to get the address of the unit, but I guess I wanted to come here first.'

‘Righto, well,' his eyes finally diverted back to his board, ‘Start is four am, and Fia mentioned you like to stay on after track work to help with the feed?'

Tully nodded.

‘I suppose that will have to be okay . . . You'll start with ten horses, and work to fifteen most days.' He nodded at the paper trembling in her hands. ‘That's your employment contract, please sign it and get it back to me ASAP. Make sure to include your ABN. You'll also have to register at the track office to get a pass and your ID badge et cetera, understand?'

Tully nodded, seizing the chance to take a step back towards her bags.

‘Now you're here, you might as well get stuck in. Got a bloody lazy drongo of a colt that still needs riding—you've got your gear with ya, I see. He's in stall sixteen. Miena will show you where his tack is, and point you to the sand track. Well, you'd better just sign that contract for me now, okay? Just 'cos you're related to the Madam doesn't mean special treatment 'round here.'

I gathered as much.
‘I wouldn't expect it, Mr. Dodd. I'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity.' Tully wasn't sure if he'd heard, as his eyes were again lurking over her chest.
What's with these people?!
‘Well, I'd better get started,' she said, easing away.

‘Right,' he said, clearing his throat. He grunted something she didn't catch and stumbled back, disappearing into the aisle.

Je-sus
, Tully thought, ripping the zipper of her duffel bag and flicking out her boots and vest. She found an empty locker down the end and managed to get her bags shoved in, her suitcase tucked under the bench, secured with its padlock. There were no locks provided for the lockers – she cursed herself for forgetting one. She'd never had to worry about security at home, or really at Gulherin. But here, in the city, she felt like locking her bloody
pants
up.

Tully got dressed quickly, one eye on the open doorway, her fingers trembling, an uneasy knot of nerves crashing around in her stomach. When she stepped back into the hallway a crowd in matching jackets all turned to look from the end of the barn, steaming coffees and papers in hand.

Miena sniggered, turned her back to whisper something to the group. Another icy blonde and a short bloke with close-cropped black hair glanced Tully's way, giggled, then tucked their heads back into the scrum.

Holy Shark Tank,
Tully thought, forcing a breath and straightening her shoulders.
What have I gotten myself into?!

She decided standing frozen in the hallway probably wasn't the coolest way to go, so Tully turned on her heel, marched a few steps down the row of stalls, only to realise that the numbers were going down, not up, meaning sixteen would most definitely be down past the sharks.
C'mon, Athens,
she told herself, ducking her head to spin around.
This ain't high school. You're here to ride.

‘Horse sixteen this way, huh?' she said, pointing past the group.

‘Wow, they breed 'em smart up there in
Queens
-land, aye?' Miena said, laughing. ‘Yes, the one and only Calypso Grey is
that
way.'

Tully forced a smile, picked up her whip that was dragging on the concrete and did her best to walk with dignity past the group. Eyes followed her like Old Masters on the wall as she walked by, more whispering and sniggering ensued before they finally dispersed to return to their duties.

Tully found her way past the ripped bay and a black colt she recognised from the Winter Racing Carnival, down to the very end: stall sixteen. She peered past the brick-coloured gap into the second barn, spotted the faces of a few adorable fillies that reminded her painfully of Dahlia.
They separate the fillies from the colts and studs
, she thought, glancing around, before looking back to the stall in front of her.

A lumbering dappled grey stood in the back corner of the stall, his head hung low, bottom lip hanging to the floor. His un-trimmed tail swept the shavings, his coat matted with sweat presumably from the day before.
You must be freezing,
Tully thought, reaching for the door latch.
Poor fella . . . Where is your blanket?

Tully opened the door slowly, clicking her tongue to call the horse. ‘Calypso,' she said softly. ‘Hey, buddy.'

The horse's ears twitched and he raised his head slowly, his body shivering and pushing further into the back wall of the stall.

‘Hey! Oh, it's alright,' Tully said, raising her hands slowly. ‘I'm not gonna hurt ya.' She took in his lanky, muscular body, but stopped at his rump. Her heart twisted at the open wounds from the crack of a whip, she stifled a cry. Tully had never seen anything like it, and the thought of how many times this poor horse must have been whipped made her stomach sink with sadness. She was sure in this instance the jockey riding Calypso must have been guilty of whip infractions, such welts incurred only by raising his arm above shoulder height before bringing the whip down on the horse's hind quarters, or using it more than the allowed number of times. ‘Lazy, huh?' she said, soothing her hand over Calypso's shoulder. ‘You look strong enough. You're a tall, strong boy, Calypso. I don't imagine you want to run for them, do you, mate?' She reached slowly into her pocket, slipped out a few sugar cubes. ‘I wouldn't want to either.'