Paycheque (9 page)

‘Yes, yes, I'm here. Sorry. Oh, that's great. Thank you so much for
calling. What happened? Is he okay? What has he said? Should I come in?'

Nurse Lawson waited until Claire's torrent ended. She'd obviously done this before. ‘He's fine, calm, lucid. None the worse for wear as far as we can see. Of course, the doctor will have to confirm that in the morning. He seems to know who and where he is, and what year it is. But there was something odd – one of the first things he said after waking. Something about a paycheque. It might be something that's come up from his past. But he was quite adamant that someone needed to find this lost paycheque. Does that make any sense to you?'

‘Yes,' Claire sighed, smiling now. ‘Paycheque was one of his racehorses.'

‘Oh, right, well I guess that makes sense then. Look, I'd better get back to my other patients. I just wanted you to know.'

‘Thanks so much for calling.'

‘It's my pleasure – nice to finally have some good news. Sorry for calling so late.'

‘No problem, it was worth it.' Claire was about to hang up when she thought of something. ‘Nurse?'

‘Yes.'

‘Could you please tell him I'll be in to see him in the morning?'

‘Doctor will be doing his rounds until about ten, so if you come after that we'll know more.'

‘Okay.'

‘Goodbye then.'

‘Goodbye, and thanks again.'

Claire put the phone down and looked at Bernadette. They stared at each other in wonder for nearly a full minute before grabbing at each other and whooping with delight like they used to do at the end of exams.

They slumped back onto the lounge, and almost immediately began yawning. Five minutes later they had cleaned their teeth and were saying goodnight and turning off lights.

Claire lay in bed staring into the blackness above, wide awake. But it wasn't her father's waking that kept her mind ticking over, nor thoughts of the day's events, but Paycheque.

The time was coming when she'd have to tell Jack what she'd done. She couldn't check on the horse and just leave it at that. Not now. No, she had to get him back, give her father something real to come back for. But what if someone had discovered his potential, or perhaps worse, realised his sentimental value? She couldn't afford to pay big bucks for him, but couldn't afford not to. For all she knew she might even be too late. If things had gone as badly at Morphettville as Derek had said, he might have already been sent to the knackers. God, she couldn't bear to think about that.

As the grey light of the new day began to peep under the blind, Claire decided she'd start by ringing Al Jacobs. And with that thought, she finally drifted off.

Claire woke to the sound of water rushing through pipes and beating on the bathroom wall next door. She smiled at Bernadette's off-key rendition of ‘It Must Be Love'. She lay there until she heard her friend in the kitchen, not wanting to upset her morning ritual and risk her being late opening the shop.

When she thought about the day before, a shiver ran the length of her spine. Twelve months out of work. What if she'd forgotten everything she knew by then?

Claire reached for the folded piece of paper from the bedside cupboard. There it was in black and white: she was having a year off. End of story. Nothing to worry about for ages. She read the note twice more to further convince herself. Anyway, for the next two weeks she was really on holidays – well that's what she'd keep telling herself. And of course her father.

Claire climbed out of bed and dragged on the worn blue robe that always hung on the back of the guest room door. She breathed in its comforting fresh floral scent. They used the same laundry products
– regularly comparing notes on such things – but somehow Bernadette's linen always smelled sweeter, fresher. She pulled on long purple socks and padded out to the kitchen where Bernie was pouring milk into two mugs.

‘Ah, there you are. Good morning,' Bernadette said.

‘Morning.'

‘Here you go,' she said, passing Claire one of the mugs.

‘Thanks.' Claire took a deep whiff of the bitter, earthy aroma of instant coffee, psyching herself up before taking a sip.

‘Toast?'

‘Yes, thanks.'

‘So, other than going down to see Jack, what are your plans for the day?'

‘Well I'm going to wait until after ten when they think the doctor will have finished his rounds. Are you at the shop?'

‘Only until noon. I couldn't find anyone else to cover for me until then – I tried before you arrived yesterday. Otherwise I would have liked to go with you to see Jack.'

‘Well I can hold off a few hours – it's been two months, another few hours won't matter. Bill and Daphne will most likely be there anyway. No doubt she'll be frantically stitching the jumper together now she knows he'll be able to wear it soon.'

‘Haven't they been amazing?'

‘Hmm. It's been so good to know they were there all the times I got caught up at the office. I'm going to have to get them something to thank them for everything they've done. Any ideas?'

‘They really wouldn't expect you to. Just knowing Jack is okay would be enough for them.'

‘I know. But their support really has meant a lot.'

‘I'll give it some thought.' Bernie glanced at her watch. ‘I'd better get going. You're sure you're happy to wait until I finish at the shop?'

‘Absolutely. It's always better visiting with company. And he'd love
to see you. Anyway, I've got some phone calls to make that will fill in the time.'

‘Right. To let people know he's woken up.'

‘No, I'm going to wait until I know more before I start doing that.'

‘What other calls then?' Bernadette eyed Claire suspiciously.

‘Don't worry, I'm not looking for a job. I'm going to try and track down Paycheque. Remember him? Apparently Dad was asking for him when he woke up. Sign of a true horseman when he asks for a horse before his daughter,' she added, rolling her eyes.

‘Well, at least it means his memory's relatively recent.'

‘Yeah. So I need to find out where the horse is so I've got something to tell him.'

‘Well, the phone's all yours. Cheaper for local calls than your mobile.'

‘Bernie?'

‘Yes?'

‘Thanks for everything.'

‘You'd do the same for me – I know that.' Bernie hugged her. ‘Well I'd better skedaddle. Remember, the shop's on speed dial two if you need me.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Right, I'll see you later. Good luck finding your horse.'

‘Hello, Al Jacobs's stables.'

‘Hello, I was wondering if Al is available to speak with?'

‘Sorry, he's at Morphettville today.'

‘Oh, right.' Claire could have kicked herself.

‘Is there something I can help you with?'

‘Maybe.' The girl seemed friendly enough. ‘Do you have a horse registered under the name Paycheque there – dark bay colour, on the small side?'

‘I think I know the one you're talking about. He was here, but only for a few weeks. I got on okay with him but Al and the others didn't. Nearly ate us out of house and home, too.'

‘That would be the one.' Claire put on a laugh. ‘Any idea where he is now?' she tried to sound nonchalant.

‘I could check the journal. Why do you want to know?' the girl asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.

Shit! Claire hadn't thought this far ahead. She took a deep breath. ‘Well, my father used to train him and he was sold off when he got sick and now…'

‘You mean Jack McIntyre? Why didn't you say? How is he?'

Claire was so taken aback she couldn't speak for a few moments. ‘Actually, he woke up from his coma last night.'

‘Aw, that's great – you must be so relieved.'

It felt weird sharing something so personal with someone she had never met but who seemed to know so much about her father. One big family – and not necessarily happy – that was the racing fraternity. It was perhaps the thing Claire missed most, but also what she missed least. The fierce rivalry in the industry meant that people were often friends one minute and enemies the next and vice versa. She'd seen it so many times.

‘Yeah.' Claire waited in anticipation. Would the girl help her or not? She could hear what sounded like heavy books and folders being moved, and pages being turned. Claire held her breath when the girl finally spoke.

‘He went to Todd Newman over at Gawler – a couple of weeks ago now. Al couldn't be bothered with him after he threw a major hissy fit at Morphettville.'

Claire cringed. She didn't want to hear any more. ‘You wouldn't have Todd's number by any chance – save me looking it up?'

‘It's right here.'

Claire took down the number. ‘Well thanks for your help.'

‘No worries.'

‘Ta.'

Claire dialled the number, hoping there would be someone at the stables.

‘Todd Newman's stables – Graham speaking.'

‘Todd's not available, is he?'

‘Sorry, no, it's just me – everyone else's at the races. I'm the stable manager.'

‘Oh right. Okay.'

‘What can I do for you?'

‘Um…' Claire was thrown by his efficient, professional manner. She'd been hoping for another junior to pull the wool over if she had to. ‘Well it's a bit of an odd question really, but I understand you got a horse registered under the name Paycheque – a small bay – from Al Jacobs.'

‘Did have, little monster. Had all sorts of trouble with him ourselves. We heard about his performance at Morphettville and thought maybe it was just Al being Al. But no, he's a dud all right. Why the interest?'

‘Well my daughter's looking for a new Pony Club mount. She saw him that day and took a bit of a liking to him. Loves a challenge – you know what kids are like…'

‘Oh don't I just – got two myself. Well that one's certainly a challenge, but I wouldn't let my kids near him. Got a real nasty streak. Anyway, he's gone to the dogs – literally. Truck came three days ago.'

Part of her wanted to scream at this man who didn't care, let him know she'd worked with the horse before, that Paycheque didn't have a nasty bone in his body. The other part of her wanted to curl up and give up. But she couldn't, she wasn't doing this for herself. Maybe it wasn't too late.

‘Thanks for the advice.'

‘Plenty of other horses around for your daughter. In fact, there's a couple here if you want to bring her over.'

‘Right, thanks. I might just do that. Um, just out of curiosity, whose truck did Paycheque go on?'

‘Tom Bailey's – we don't use anyone else.'

Claire hated how real lives were traded like this, how someone could make a living – and a good one, from what she'd heard of Tom Bailey – from unwanted horses. They were often healthy creatures in their prime, got rid of because something better had come along. And in the case of Paycheque, simply because nobody had taken the time to figure out what made him tick.