Race Girl (26 page)

Tully was hurrying back to get her strapper's bib with Fin's number on it when Fia stopped her, wrapping her up in a firm, perfumed hug.

‘Aunt Fia!' Tully said, gazing up at her with surprise. ‘You didn't say you had runners in this one!' Fia had been ringing most weeks to see how Tully was going with her new job, but hadn't rung for the last few.

‘A good purse, Tully,' Fia said with a wave of her hand. ‘Like I've said before—didn't get to the top without running everywhere.'

Tully was sure she'd never seen her aunt's name in the program for any provincial meets before, but now she'd made amends with the Athens's, it made sense she'd feel comfortable venturing into their territory.

‘Good luck,' Tully said, kissing Fia on the cheek.

‘To you, my darling,' Fia said. ‘All to you! Kill it out there, sweetheart.'

‘I will.'

They parted ways and before Tully knew it, the trumpeting music was blaring at her as she struggled to hold a frantic Fin bounding around the mounting enclosure. ‘C'mon, mate,' she said, giving Fin a firm check, pushing her weight hard into his shoulder.

Tully had just managed to get the colt into a semi-controlled lunge around the circle when she noticed Brandon Weston, standing at the rail.

Her heart jolted and she tucked herself even closer into Fin's shoulder, shielding her body from Brandon's probing eyes. She felt as if they burned through to her soul even from behind the black lenses of his sunnies, and Tully was reminded vividly of their kisses on the beach. Brandon stood in the middle of a group, the others laughing and taking selfies. His hands were pushed into his pockets, his face set and unreadable, and
of course
he had to be wearing the same ridiculously sexy white shirt and tie he'd worn to Tully's sweet sixteen.

It seemed like Steven, the jockey riding Fin, was the last to saunter out and Tully earned a sharp look for fumbling while helping him up, before she could escape back to their stalls to hide for the rest of the day.

★

Tully hadn't deleted Brandon's number; nor had she blocked him on Facebook. He could have got in touch after the Cup if he'd wanted to, but he hadn't, and she wouldn't dare call him.
Getting Brandon out of my head is the only way to survive from here!

So Tully did her best to do just that, focusing all of her energy and attention into preparations for her first barrier trial, booked in for the following Wednesday at 8.30am. It would be the first time Tully would ride on the inside rail of the main turf track – she'd been doing gallops on the turf, but was restricted to the outside rail – and be in a racing situation with other horses.

The morning of her barrier trial, Tully hurried to the female jockey's room to get suited up in the Curtis Barnes colours and an old pair of silks that Glen Simmons – the nice jockey Fia had introduced her to at her party – had given her. Tully had asked her father where her mother's silks were, as she hadn't been able to find them in the tack room at Avalon or her mother's old chest of drawers in her parents' bedroom. It was as if they'd vanished right along with her mum and it left Tully feeling an unwanted resentment towards her father. Having the Athens name scrawled down her leg would have meant so much, but Tully had to let it slide. It was difficult to get used to the idea of riding in pants with no name, but even harder to pretend she didn't care that her father had claimed to be ‘too busy' to come and watch her.

Into the barriers for the first time and Tully was accosted by the sound of clanging metal, horses snorting and the fear trickling through her, freezing her bones.

She was going rigid, her shoulders hunched and shaking, Fin pushing her feet painfully into the sides of this metal cage, when a warm buzz wafted into her and Tully felt like she was waking up to life for the very first time.

There was an energy here, she realised, a unified spirit of extraordinary thrill and adventure rising from the horses and the jockeys and the turf, radiating from the heart of the horse beating beneath her. She couldn't have predicted its power, and even through the nerves, even with words of caution blitzing through her mind like warning signs, Tully found herself yearning for race day. This adrenaline was intoxicating, but when there were spectators and bets placed, money to be won, thirteen as opposed to just three horses in the barriers – ready to go for it with all they had – that buzz would be
real
. Nothing beat a
real
race day, just like her mother had always said.

I'll get there,
Tully thought, letting out a few quick breaths like a boxer priming up, narrowing her eyes at the starting lights.
There's nothing to this—just keep those nerves at bay long enough to make it out of this barrier alive, then hold this 500-kilo thoroughbred going full tilt around the track for my very first time . . .

The gate flung open and Fin lunged forward, taking off like an out of control freight train. Tully's arms burned with the effort of holding him. She was shocked by the sheer speed of a proper lap.

Her hands ached and pulsed beneath her gloves, her heart bursting with more speed than the fastest horse on the day.

Fin seemed to run out of steam or interest by the second straight – lucky, as Tully's body was spent from the excitement and utter fatigue of holding him. She just managed to beam a smile as she breezed him across the line to a row of cheers from Mr. Barnes, Simmons, Pete and Peta – Mr. Barnes's quiet, twin brother/sister strappers – even Steven the jockey and Bucko, all applauding her.

Only twenty four more trials to go,
Tully thought, patting Fin weakly on the neck.
Then we get to race for real . . .

Dahlia was supposed to have a trial with the top jockey for Gulherin Lodge, Steven ‘Shotgun' Coalburn – a guy Tully remembered disgustedly as the sleaze who'd tried to score her number at her sweet sixteen. The trial was planned for the following Wednesday, but Dahlia had other plans. Bareing her teeth at Steven, she bit him on the arm when he tried to get any closer. He threw his arms up and screamed a string of expletives before stalking back to the jockeys' room.

Tully rushed up to Mr. Barnes after helping get Dahlia settled back in her stall and overhead him talking on his mobile, clearly organising to get a senior female jockey in to ride Dahlia for her first barrier trial. He turned to Tully before she could slink away, ‘Get some wins under your belt, Ace,' he said with a grin. ‘Then we'll talk about putting you two together.'

Tully headed back to get geared up for her second trial on Fin with a new energy in her step – Mr. Barnes's offer like a new, fresh challenge in her mind, leaving her even more determined to earn a ride on her own horse.

She had a better idea what to expect inside the barriers the second time around and felt more confident to crouch low over Fin's back and play with her style a bit in the saddle. Tully ‘Ace' Athens, as the blokes around the barn had started calling her – probably as a joke, or even a taunt at first – started to live up to her nickname. In just two and a half months, Tully had completed the twenty-five trials to the satisfaction of the stewards.

Old Mr. Bradley, with his tweed cap and sharp blue eyes, signed Tully's book for the very last time one clear, sunny afternoon, and later that afternoon, Tully had filled out and posted in her license application. A letter arrived to their mailbox at Avalon a few weeks later, was waiting on the kitchen table for Tully along with her phone bill from Telstra when she arrived home from work.

She took the letters into her room, chucked the bill on her desk and sat cross-legged on her bed, Bear spread across her lap. Tully held her breath as she ripped the corner, then ran her finger along the seam of the letter she'd been waiting to open for sixteen years . . .

Miss Athens,

We are pleased to inform you that your application to be an apprentice jockey with Queensland Racing has been accepted . . .

‘Yeww!' Tully squealed, hugging Bear and jumping on her bed until she collapsed. She pressed the letter to her chest, kissed it for luck.
Finally
, she thought, the excitement and anticipation blazing within her.
I'm ready to race. For real.

Tully had to ride five winners at a ‘Country, Non-TAB' meeting before being allowed to ride in any ‘Provincial' meets, like Ipswich, or a Metro one, like Brisbane, Sydney or Melbourne. Mr. Barnes gave her a ride on Fin at Toowoomba the week after her last barrier trial. Her first race and she'd be riding a gorgeous horse that was considered a contender on a Saturday in a decent-money class – a dream come true. One Tully prayed would not turn into a nightmare.

She rode in the truck with Mr. Barnes, Pete and Peta and four horses including Fin and Dahlia in the big trailer Mr. Barnes often hired, through the dark early morning, up over the Great Dividing Range into Toowoomba. ‘Shotgun' would be meeting them there to ride Mr. Barnes's best sprinters, Bundy Black and Sienna La Vie, in the big money classes. A leading female jockey from Gympie, Taneisha Ward, would ride Dahlia in her first official meet.

It was Saturday at the races and the Toowoomba locals were out in all their finery. The punters had pulled up stumps around the bar and betting area where a wall of screens displayed races from all over the country running that day, some hollering for a winner, others quietly sipping a beer, race cards in hand. Tully noticed the posters advertising Toowoomba's famous twilight races.
I'd love to ride one,
she decided, following Mr. Barnes through to the race office.
Once I've gained a bit more experience. Like when I've
actually
ridden a race. In the daytime.

The track was groomed to perfection, not too soft and not too hard. Prime conditions, and a clear, bright day to boot – perfect for racing, and even more exciting than cup day at Ipswich had been for Tully. As today, an
Athens
would again be among the jockeys mounting up.

Tully loitered around the stalls, helping Peta groom Fin and Dahlia, until Mr. Barnes hollered and pointed her over to the main building. ‘Ya ridin' today, or what, lovie?'

Tully flashed him a smile and a thumbs up. She watched Mr. Barnes lift and flex each of Fin's legs, stretching them out as he would a few times before his race. Then she kissed the horses goodbye, grabbed her bag from the front seat of the ute, shoving her hands into the pockets of her green Barnes Racing jumper as she hurried along the stalls, past the mounting area to the female jockey room.

The first race had already been called and her fingers were stiff like frozen hinges, the nerves creeping up Tully's neck in hot, tingling flashes as she struggled to get her clothes off and her tight skivvy on. Next were her lucky socks, which were so small they cut off the circulation to her feet by the end of a ride and had developed gaping holes in the heels and in the ends so both her little toes poked out. Still, Tully wouldn't get on a horse without them – her mother had given the socks to her, along with Frangipani, for Christmas when she was six years old. Next were her stockings and borrowed silks, leggings and silk jersey in the Barnes Racing colours, then her restrictive, albeit necessary, race vest and equally annoying gloves, which made it hard to feel the horse's mouth. Tully had nice callouses on her hands now, so rarely got blisters from track work or gallops, but still had to wear gloves for protection. Her purple-topped boots, which she'd found with matching jockey pad, breast plate, girth and surcingle for a steal in a second-hand shop, came next. Lastly, Tully grabbed her goggles, fitted with slightly tinted lenses to dilute the glare of the sun on this blinding day.

The nerves continued to build until Tully was contemplating whether or not she needed to rush to the toilets to spew. She was on her way there when Tam strode in, her hair long, curled and streaked with pink, belt buckle flashing, boobs bouncing inside a western button-down shirt. ‘Tulls!' Tam cried, swooping her up in a hug. ‘You look a bit green!'

Tully tried to shake her head, but her body was too weak and and her legs were trembly. The ground shook with the thunder of hooves on turf – Race 1 under way.
Maybe I'm not ready for this . . .
Tully cried inside. Everyone knew that race day was vastly different to practice; more intense, more dangerous . . .
I thought I was ready!

Tam propped one hand on her hip, then strode over to the sinks, yanked her phone out of a tight, embellished back pocket. ‘You know I'm a diehard country music girl,' she said, switching on some heavy rap song Tully had never heard before. ‘But times like this call for a little booty shakin'.' In an instant, Tam was pulling Tully into the middle of the room, swinging her around like they were in a nightclub. ‘You need to get pumped up, girl,' she said, her soft hair flowing around her like a mahogany halo. ‘Always works for me!'

‘
Works
for you to get pumped
up
,
for
what?!' Tully teased.

‘Barrels, of course,' Tam winked. She was really twerking now, thrusting her hips and popping her boobs like she was in a new-age music video.