Race Girl (47 page)

Pearce burst out of the side door of the building, nearly running into them. ‘Brandon?!' he said. ‘Get back to the barn, mate.'

‘No, Dad,' Brandon said, slipping off his sunnies. He pulled Tully up next to him. ‘I think there's one more matter to discuss with the stewards, don't you?'

Pearce narrowed his eyes.

‘We know that Dahlia won't run for Lamonte,' Brandon said. ‘You're going to tell them that Dahlia is running, with Tully Athens as jockey.'

Pearce pulled in a long breath, puffing up his chest, before laughing deeply. His eyes were rimmed with red and deep lines had spread out from the corners. He raised his chin and squared his shoulders – the same arrogant, iimperious Pearce Weston Tully had always known.

Voices rose behind them and Tully glanced back, her breath catching in her throat. ‘Ah, Brandon,' she whispered. ‘Maybe we should take this back to the barn?'

Brandon glanced down at her, then raised his eyes over her shoulder. He grinned, dropping an arm around her. ‘No, this is perfect, actually,' he said, loud enough for the ring of journalists and cameramen who had surrounded them to hear.

Tully swallowed hard, her heart thudding like it could explode. She recognised two of the top officials from Racing Victoria, as well as many of the trainers and jockeys she'd always idolized, standing in the scrum around them. Richard had weaselled his way onto the racing board and he and Miena whispered off to one side, Miena's eyes fixated on Brandon like a minx ready for dinner.

Tully fought the urge to shrink back behind Brandon, Pearce's glare scalding her skin. She looked nervously out across the crowd, flinching with surprise when she spotted Zack on the outside rim. He smiled tightly, but turned his shoulder, chatting to another jockey.
Guess you won't be standing up for me, then—or even coming to ask if I'm okay!
Tully thought, gritting her teeth.
Great mate you are!
She threaded an arm through Brandon's and took a jagged breath, raising her chin at Pearce.

‘Now's the perfect time to announce your new jockey, Dad.'

‘Listen here, you bloody little—' Pearce hissed, grabbing Brandon by the sleeve.

‘No, actually—' Brandon cut him off, shrugging off his hand and moving his face close to his father's— ‘I can't believe after everything that's happened, after meeting Kyle . . . How can you still be so cold-hearted?'

‘I thought you'd come to understand this business, Brandon,' Pearce said, glowering across at his son. ‘Guess I was wrong.'

Brandon's jaw hardened and he looked away for a moment, out over the impatient crowd. Then he took a step forward, turning his back to the cameras and recording devices of the journos, away from the amused-looking trainers and jockeys and deepening gathering of passers-by. ‘Tully's always wanted this, Dad. She has the skills, and Dahlia won't run better for anyone. Let her have a go.'

Pearce let out a breath, crossed his arms. ‘She hasn't even finished her apprenticeship.'

‘What better way to do it, and what a story it will make for
all
of
them—' He nodded over at the pack of media— ‘She wouldn't be the youngest jockey to do it – Peter St. Albans won the Cup, eight days short of his thirteenth birthday.'

‘That was in 1876, boy, things
have
changed a fair bit since then!' He glanced around at the cameras, tipping his cap to run a hand over his brow.

‘Apparently not, if you don't consider a female jockey, a female
owner,
on the same level as the men. A female jockey has
won
the Cup, for God's sake! And they match the guys nearly fifty/fifty now. Let's be one of the smart ones who take the chance!' He paused, and then continued. ‘Not that's it's even
taking
a chance: Tully knows this mare better than anyone! Their bond is undeniable. This isn't just about the money, Dad. It's about what's right. Dahlia is
Tully's
horse.'

‘My horse now,' Pearce said, refusing to concede the point. ‘Transfer papers say so.'

‘That sale should never have happened . . .' Brandon's voice strengthened and rose out towards the hovering journos and racing elite. ‘And you know it, Dad.
Believe
in her,' he said, loud enough for the whole paddock to hear. ‘Like I do.'

‘There's no way a woman
will ever ride for me!' Pearce bellowed, finally seeming to lose his composure – his face going puce, veins popping from his forehead and neck. At that, the crowd surged forward, feeling that they'd finally been invited in. A reporter from the back fired a question at Pearce, then another, recorders thrust forward at him.

‘Oh, she will,' Brandon whispered, moving his face just inches from his father's and clamping a mitt of a hand on his shoulder. ‘Tully will ride her horse, or specific details of just how well horses are treated by the
great
Pearce Weston will become very, very public—' His voice dropped to a growl—‘A doping scandal, larger than this country has ever seen. Not to mention proof of abuse and misconduct . . . I know it all, Dad. Do what's right now, and clean up your
business
, or I'll send you and your mates down with you.'

Pearce's eyes flared, his face falling and turning grey. He stepped back. ‘You ungrateful little bastard.'

‘No,
you're
the bastard—' Brandon moved towards him, unrelenting— ‘for ruining Kyle's life; for what you did to both of us. We grew up with no one, and we could have had a brother. You were never there for me, never had a minute for me, but he got it worse. You never even acknowledged him as your own! You were too stingy to even hire a nanny – you'd leave me with some dodgy au pair that was smoking hot, but could hardly speak English, or you'd have one of your workers drop me off places. I was so alone, scared and angry all the time . . .'

Tully's heart literally broke for Brandon at that moment, as she imagined how lonely he must have been as such a young child without the love of his mother or father or any relative to comfort him. A memory from the past surged forward in her mind, of a small boy, walking along the road with a strange girl or running in the front paddocks with the foals, and he'd always waved at her. Friendly and hopeful, even when he must have been feeling so lonely. Tully had wanted to reach out to him so badly, wished now more than ever that she'd been able to offer him friendship back then when he'd so desperately needed it.

Tully reached her arms around him, pulled him close, suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude for the love they'd finally found in each other, for the love she could finally give to him.

‘And I put up with it all,
all
of it—' Brandon threaded his fingers through hers— ‘Because I hoped someday you would come around. That you'd accept me and have time for me, if I did well in the business, just like you. But I see it now – I see all of it. I see how selfish and cold-hearted you are, just like all your high-powered mates. You had so much money, you didn't need to worry yourselves with your children, or anything else. Children are so
inconvenient
, you see. I can just imagine how happy you were when my mother took me to the city, when you let her take me away from my home. You didn't have to
deal
with me anymore . . .

‘Well now, guess what—Mighty Mister Weston?!
I
don't want to deal with you anymore.' Brandon glanced down at Tully. ‘Tully will ride her horse,' he said, squeezing her hand, before turning his eyes on his father. ‘In her family's colours, in her mother's silks, and after that, I want
nothing
more to do with you, or Weston Racing.'

39

The Melbourne Cup

Tully and Brandon were inseparable during the final count down to the Cup, with Pearce and Richard barely showing their faces around the complex and Brandon and Fia taking over the training of Dahlia in her last-minute preparations for the iconic meet.

Tully's first ride back on her mare was as joyous as a brilliant sunrise after a dark night wracked with terrible dreams. She slipped straight back into the mare's rhythm, the pair beating their fastest time around the track in only their second session. Rumours whirled around Flemington like a tornado and the media were punishing in their pursuit of the story behind the last minute jockey change and the apparent falling out between the two Weston men. But Tully and Brandon were all smiles, and eventually answered a few questions for the journos who'd been camped outside Barn One – where Dahlia remained, as Pearce was still her official owner – for the last three days.

‘The whole team is excited for the Cup, including my father,' Brandon said with his easy grin. ‘We'll see you all at post time.'

Tully's nerves grew to an anxious excitement as the ‘race that stops a nation' was rung in with celebrations across the country, from fundraising events in local school gymnasiums, to betting sessions in the TAB areas of every pub, picnics in public spaces and private parties in penthouse suites. And the grandest of all these parties were held in the vast array of corporate, VIP and themed marquees set along the sprawling track of Flemington. Tully had always marvelled at how Melbourne Cup Day was one event that touched pretty much everyone in the country – regardless of location, wealth, age or status. Uniting a nation with the spirit and the thrill and the hope. And now, she and her mare would be playing an integral part in it. In making history. Tully was overwhelmed with joy and pride – she would be racing for her mother, her father, her grandmother, and every little girl who'd ever dreamed of calling a pony her own.

She made brief appearances at a few of the VIP parties on the morning of the Cup, along with Fia and Trinity, Brandon and Pearce – who kept their stance at opposite ends of the group. They were escorted through the exclusive ‘Birdcage' and a lavish themed marquee with its giddy glam crowd by FiFi – one of the bubbly, efficient event PR girls. Tully had been decked out in a bright yellow top and pencil skirt by some top designer Fia had organised and an angled, chic fascinator to match. She found herself enjoying getting dressed up and even splashed on some eyeshadow and mascara and left her hair long and wavy for the occasion. She smiled for the cameras, kissed cheeks with important racing identities and celebrities she was introduced to – ‘played the game' as Fia would say. Wasn't too bad, Tully supposed – scoring some yummy free finger food and looking forward to getting back to her horse.

In the sheer excitement of this new glamour, Tully had almost forgotten she was about to ride one of the toughest races on the planet, and it wasn't until she'd slipped out of her dress, helped to settle Dahlia and was ushered to a last minute pre-race TV interview by FiFi, that she disappeared into the Female Jockey Room to get geared up and weigh out.

She was thrilled to find Tam and Judy waiting for her, Tam with their
‘doof doof'
song ready to pump her up. They stayed with Tully until it was just minutes to go time. On her way out the door, Tully found herself standing in front of the long mirror between the lockers in this silent room, the only woman about to race a field of twenty three of the best men in the sport.

Tully ran her hands down the front of her jersey, in the Athens' white and purple star colours. Took in the
Athens
name running down the leg of her mother's silks. She'd forgotten her lucky socks back at Fia's, but had scored a new set out of the packet from Judy. Tully decided she didn't need her lucky socks – didn't need anything except the Athens blood running through her veins, the strength of her mare beneath her and her man waiting at the finish line. That, and the note from her mother tucked safely in the waistband of her silks, the note that read:

For the day of your first ride, if it's racing that you choose to do,

My Little Race Girl,

Your strength and courage has always given me wings.

I love you, forever and always

Mum xx

A smile spread across Tully's face and she put her hands on her hips, a fierce bold lily – strong and alive and free. Ready to take on the boys, to win.