by Leigh Hutton
Tully choked on a piece of popcorn. ‘As if!’
‘Coulda been. So, do you like him?’
‘How could I like Brandon Weston?!’ Tully’s heart was racing and she sat bolt upright, crossing her arms across her chest. ‘Our families have despised each other for over a hundred years, they operate to a totally different belief system to us . . . not to mention his father most likely let all of our horses out, and he is trying to take over our farm!’
‘OMIGOD,’ Tam said, , leaning in with excitement, ignoring the decades of family conflict and focusing on the romance of it all. ‘You totally do like him! Oh, Chance is going to be so disappointed.’
‘Chance?! He doesn’t even like me.’
‘You’ve always been clueless of your effect on guys.’
‘Oh, yeah—’ Tully scoffed, rolling her eyes. ‘They’re just lining up to mack on chicks with knobbly knees, pointy elbows and no chest at all.’
Tam snorted. ‘Dude, you’re wispy and gorgeous! I’d kill for a bod like yours. And I know you know it, so stop talking smack.’
‘Totally not. And, whatever—’ Tully smiled warmly at Tam— ‘You’re hot as.’
Tam shook her head. ‘Hey—’ she said. ‘Let’s poke him on Facebook.’
‘How tragic would that be?!’
‘I’m already friends with him, Brandon’s friends with all the girls.’
‘I bet he is . . .’ Tully said. It wasn’t hard to imagine Brandon Weston being quite the player. ‘But, Tam— aren’t you friends with like every hot guy in a two hundred kilometre radius?’ Tully grinned.
‘Ouch.’
‘It’s only an insult if it isn’t true.’
‘Fair point,’ Tam said. ‘Can we comment on his Instagram, at least?’
Tully narrowed her eyes.
‘Wow,’ Tam said, beaming with excitement. ‘I can’t believe you like Brandon Weston. Your old man’s gonna have a coronary.’
‘He’ll never know anything about this!’ Tully gave her another death stare.
‘Fine, fine,’ Tam said, raising her hands in surrender. She smiled and shook her head. ‘Here I was, thinking you still thought boys had cooties. This is so exciting.’
‘Can we not talk about it anymore, please?’ Tully’s cheeks lit from intense embarrassment as she hid her face in a pillow.
‘It’s okay!’ Tam said, shoving her on the shoulder. ‘I won’t tell anyone. And don’t worry, I’ve brought home plenty of dudes my dad’s tried to shush out with the broom. Hasn’t killed him.’
‘As if anything will ever happen with Brandon!’
‘We’ll see . . .’ Tam said, wringing her hands together.
‘You’d better not do anything stupid, Tamara!’ Tully jumped up, whacked Tam hard with her pillow.
‘Oi!’ Tam grabbed Tully around the waist, easily tackling her down. Both girls squealed and laughed as they wrestled off the bed, hit the floor with a jolt. When they’d managed to catch their breath, they leant back against the bed, still chucking the odd sneaky punch at one another.
Tully chewed her bottom lip and hugged her pillow. Her mind had been flitting to Brandon more every day and suddenly her whole body was buzzing with giddiness and nerves.
‘Quick—’ Tam grabbed her iPhone off her night side table and flipped the camera in reverse to check her hair, then slung an arm around Tully, pulling her close—‘Let’s take a selfie.’
Tully cringed and struggled away. She loved her bestie to bits, but was never comfortable with Tam posting pics of them together. Tam was always getting into online catfights with girls from school and she was friends with a lot of older guys Tully didn’t know. Tully only had a private Instagram account and mainly followed other horsey girls. She only posted pics of Avalon, Greg, Frangi and the other horses – certainly not a pic in her too-small pajamas next to the ever-glam Tam, still in her full face of makeup and fluffed up hair.
‘C’mon, Tulls,’ Tam begged. ‘It’s been ages since you posted anything, and we definitely need to mark this monumentous occasion.’
‘Tam!’ Tully cried. ‘You’re not gonna tell anybody about this.’
‘As if.’ Tam flared her eyes, like she was really offended. ‘Just a pic, Tull!’
‘Fine, Tam—but only for Insta.’
Tam moved her face against Tully’s, pushed her lips into a duck-bill pose and snapped a shot in the cast-off light from her flat-screen telly. She was still staring at her phone, obviously hash-tagging the crap out of it, when she asked, ‘What’s with you two, anyway?’
‘Who?’
‘Your family and the ‘Royal’ Westons.’
Tully shook her head, hugged her pillow. ‘I remember bits and pieces,’ Tully said. ‘From the stories Mum told me when I was little . . . the Westons don’t retire their horses, like we do. They don’t even try to find many of them new homes, they just get shipped to the doggers. My grandfather started Avalon on the principle that the horses would come first, for their whole life – not just when they were on the track and in the money. He may not have been a rich man, but he developed horses that had long, illustrious careers. He was very well respected and loved. Just like Mum was.’
Tam smiled sadly. ‘Your dad’s struggling, eh.’ It was more of a statement than a question.
Tully gritted her teeth and raised her eyebrows, as her father’s harsh words from their fight over Dahlia clattered through her mind. ‘He seems to be getting worse.’
‘I can’t imagine what it’s been like for him,’ Tam said. ‘But he does need to get on with it. And this rivalry with the Westons – I can understand it, but your mum never seemed to let it bother her too much. Why is it so different for your dad?’
Tully sighed, shaking her head. ‘Old Mr. Weston and pops never got on either, apparently. Mum told me that nana spent a few years living across the road, with old Mr. Weston.’
‘The minx!’ Tam cried. ‘No way.’
‘She was a fiery Italian—all passion, and a killer jockey. She was one of the first female jockeys in the country, the best of her generation. But Mum and Dad never had problems like my grandparents did – in their relationship, I mean.’
Tam nodded gravely. Dahlia and Gerald were high school sweet hearts, everyone knew it. Tully had never seen anyone more in love than her parents – they’d been the perfect team.
Her heart stung, and she squeezed her pillow. ‘Mum said nana’s affair didn’t last long, though,’ she continued, ‘Her and pops were happily married for another forty years afterwards.’
‘Just needed to get it out of her system, hey?’ Tam giggled. ‘You never think oldies will go there . . .’
‘Something like that,’ Tully grinned in reluctant agreement. ‘We’ve been at odds for decades, but it’s even more personal for Dad. Apparently it started even before school for Dad and Mr. Weston. Dad came from a really poor family in town, a family who were always jealous of ‘the richies’ who had so much more than them. I guess it’s hard for kids to have anything but hatred for someone when their parents are on about it all the time.’
Tam thought for a moment, then snuggled in close. ‘Tru-dat,’ she said. ‘Mum hates Kath and Kim. I mean, they seriously irritate the crap out of her, and now I feel like I’m missing out on these great Aussie icons because I just can’t get into them.’
‘Oh, my Lord!’ Tully rolled her eyes. ‘You know it’s not the same.’
‘Had to lighten the at-mos somehow.’ Tam grinned. ‘Want some more choccy?’
Tully sighed, then put two fingers over her wrist like she was checking her pulse. ‘Am I breathing?!’ They giggled together. ‘Thanks for talking to me, Tim-Tam. I feel like you’re the only person I can talk to about anything.’
‘What’re besties for, eh?’
Tully smiled. ‘I can’t wait to go riding with you tomorrow.’
11
A Western Lope
Tully squinted and raised a hand to shield her eyes as they approached Tam
’s paddocks the next morning. They’d slept in and Tully was groggy and blinded by the light of day – she normally enjoyed dawn and the sunrise before being assaulted by the sun’s heat. Judging by the sizzling on her arms and legs and the weight of the air, today was going to be a scorcher.
As she made her way hazily through the garden and across the back yard to the paddocks, Tully had to blink to confirm what she was seeing was real. Yep, the strange horse was still there in front of her. He must have strayed from home, she supposed. A tall bay thoroughbred, a scaled up version of Dahlia, munched on a flake of hay in the nearest corner of the closest paddock.
Tully glanced back over her shoulder, a familiar feeling of panic gripping her chest. She cursed herself for forgetting in all the girly banter of last night that she hadn’t checked in with Grace. ‘Sorry, Tam,’ she said, sprinting back to the house. ‘Be right back!’
She found her phone in her school bag that she’d packed for the night and dialled Avalon’s office number. Grace answered on the second ring, and said Dahlia was doing splendidly; enjoying her second breakfast. Tully let out a long breath, then studied a pic of Dahlia she’d snapped on her phone, before jogging back out to Tam. ‘Sorry,’ she said, pointing at the bay. ‘Who is this?’
‘Thought I’d give him a go ’round the barrels.’ Tam spun around and raised an eyebrow. ‘Nah—Mum’s just become a foster carer for horse-welfare charity, Equine Action Queensland.’ The girls walked over to his paddock and the horse raised his lovely bold face, walking right up to them.
‘This is Ziggy,’ Tam said, stroking the bay on the nose, then grabbing his neck in a bear hug.
‘Wow—hey, mate,’ Tully said, pulling a carrot out of her back pocket and breaking it in half. Tam had leant her a pair of old sparkly jeans and a pink button down shirt with a white collar. Tully had slipped her phone into her jeans’ pocket for their ride just in case anyone from home needed her. ‘Aren’t you a handsome dude.’
The gleaming thoroughbred chomped up the carrot gratefully. Judy joined them at the rail and Ziggy nuzzled her affectionately and stopped chewing for a moment, looking deep into her eyes with love and a deep appreciation.
How beautiful, Tully thought, a warm fuzziness sweeping over her, settling in the soft smile on her lips. She loved being here, but she couldn’t wait to get home to Dahlia.
‘He’s my first charge,’ Judy said, giving Ziggy a rub behind the ears. ‘He’s been with the group for about nine months, and he’s ready for adoption now—but I don’t know if I’ll be able to let him go.’ She paused and a dark shadow drifted across her face. ‘Ziggy is an off-the-track thoroughbred. He suffered an injury to his off-hind leg, and was bought off the track by a person who wasn’t able to look after him . . . There is so much wastage in your industry, I’m afraid, Tullsey.’
‘Wastage?’ Tully had never heard the term before.
Judy shook her head and reached down to slip Ziggy another flake of hay. ‘I’m sure you know that thousands of horses – about 70 percent of the twelve to fourteen thousand thoroughbred foals born every year here in Australia alone – never make it to the track.’
Tully nodded gravely. ‘A lot of horses get injured, or just aren’t fast enough. That’s why we retire our own horses, and try our best to find them new homes so they can still enjoy a quality of life in a different discipline, or for pleasure riding—’
‘Even when they’re not profitable,’ Judy said. ‘There are a lot of lovely trainers, like you and your family, Tully, who love the horses and treat them with the utmost care and respect. But there are trainers who aren’t like you – some can’t afford to retire their horses, or don’t have the facilities to do so.’
‘Or some are like the Westons.’
‘What’s profitable often wins out over what’s right in this world, Tully,’ Judy said. ‘Thousands of unwanted horses every year in Australia are shipped to the doggers to be made into dog food, or to one of the two regulated abattoirs that specifically process horse meat for human consumption in Japan and parts of Europe. It’s terrible; the conditions the horses are slaughtered in by the doggers – absolutely horrendous. They’re starved and neglected, truly terrified . . .’ Judy took a deep breath before continuing, ‘Then taken to the kill pens, shot in front of each other and hacked to bits.’
Tully’s eyes went wide and she shuddered, goosebumps prickling her arms and legs. She swallowed hard and stroked the lovely bay’s neck. Ziggy was super sweet, nuzzling her and giving her whiskery kisses, even though she didn’t have any more carrot to give him.
I’m so glad we saved Dahlia!
‘I’ve heard about some of that . . .’ Tully said slowly, her stomach knotting at the thought of those poor horses. ‘But, surely things are getting better these days, aren’t they, Mrs. T?’ she said. ‘Isn’t the RSPCA stepping in and saving more horses before they’re shipped?’
‘There are amazing organisations like the RSPCA and EAQ doing great work, as well as many making great strides to repurpose ex-racehorses horses for other equine sports. Thoroughbreds excel in so many disciplines! But the racing industry needs to be held to account before there will be any real change. Horses are too young to start racing at two; their bones and minds aren’t developed enough. Overbreeding is also a massive problem. And if the racing industry gave just one percent of its $14 billion annual turnover it would go a long way to looking after racehorses in their retirement. The people need to make them stop and listen, and the laws need to change.’
‘Aren’t there laws to protect the horses?’
Judy shook her head and huffed with annoyance, stroking Ziggy’s soft face. ‘Horses are classed as ‘Livestock’ and at present there is no real legislation, or minimum standards and practices governing horses. There is for cows and sheep, but nothing for horses . . . It is a long, sad story . . . Unfortunately, Australia is a long ways behind other nations in regards to horse treatment. If there is one animal that has been completely let down by the Government here, it’s the horse.’ Ziggy dropped his nose into Judy’s hand, nuzzling her gently, closing his eyes with pleasure. Judy turned away and swiped a finger across her cheek, before taking a deep breath and laughing bitterly. ‘Some repayment for all their contribution into making this nation great.’
‘God . . .’ Tully shook her head and rocked back on her heels, studying the lovely bay in front of her. Does he deserve to be considered ‘wastage’? She thought. Do so many horses like him deserve to be murdered before they reach the age of five or six – even some as young as yearlings – just because their racing careers haven’t panned out the way their breeders and owners planned?
‘I want to help,’ Tully said suddenly, straightening her shoulders. ‘Maybe, if I can make it to senior jockey and win some major races, then people will listen to me?’
‘I already listen to ya,’ Tam said, appearing behind her with a heavy Western saddle and a Navajo pad, a girth with a sheepskin underbelly and a silver-plated bridle in her arms. She thrust them at Tully. ‘Think you can remember how to saddle up one of mine?’
Judy smiled warmly and patted Tully on the shoulder. ‘Bless you, love,’ she said. ‘You saved your filly! And you’re already helping immensely by being aware, and doing the right thing for your horses. I’m hoping to re-purpose more off-the-track thoroughbreds myself. OTTB’s make amazing pleasure or sport horses in a range of disciplines, as you already know from riding yours. But just let me know if you ever want any more information, or anything, okay?’
Tully smiled at Mrs. Thompson and gave Ziggy one last pat on the neck, and a hug when the gorgeous boy brought his head around, pressing his jaw to her cheek. She squeezed him extra tight, then glanced back as she followed Tam around to the stables. His eyes lit up and he pricked his ears forward. Tully felt herself beaming as she waved goodbye and blew him a kiss.
Tully had to keep shaking her head to force the terrifying images away as her mind whirled around and around what Mrs. Thompson had t
old her. So, is that what would’ve happened to Dahlia if we hadn’t found her? She had a bad feeling the answer was yes.
Being at the Thompsons’ and in the presence of such happy, healthy horses did help, however, and once she’d groomed and tacked up the lovely palomino, Elsa, and swung herself up into the huge comfy saddle, Tully was feeling more at ease and hopeful about the day.
Tam grinned at her from the back of her stocky buckskin gelding, Outback Jack, as they clucked the horses up to ride away from the paddocks and out of the yard. Tully made sure to ease into her saddle and roll forward in her seat to keep her jeans from scratching Judy’s saddle – the back of Tam’s was scratched to crap from the embellished back pockets of her jeans.
It had been that long since Tully had ridden Western, the huge saddle felt literally like an armchair, with her legs long and low around Elsa’s belly. Tully shook out her arms to try and relax, wriggled her hips to get accustomed to the saddle and the easy movement of the quiet mare. She rolled the up the sleeves of her shirt, flicked up the collar and buckled up her helmet, nudging Elsa with the heels of her boots to follow along behind Tam and Jacko.
Judy yelled after Tam to replace her baby-pink Stetson for a helmet, which had Tam cursing under her breath. Tully shook her head at her friend as she hopped down off Jacko, leaving him standing with his split leather reins dangling, and dashed back to the barn to change. Tam stomped back out of the barn, leaving her helmet strap undone until the very last minute, as she mounted up.
Tully waved to Judy and kicked Elsa into a trot to keep up with Tam and Jacko, down past the sand arena with the three red and white barrels set in a triangle at one end, to the gate that would take them out into the rolling paddock beyond.
‘You’ve gotta have another go ’round the barrels when we get back,’ Tam said, after they’d made it through the metal gate. ‘Remember last time?!’
‘I’ll make sure the girth’s tight enough this time thanks, cow face,’ Tully said, shooting Tam a slanty-eyed glare, then chuckling as she remembered how her saddle had spun around underneath Elsa’s belly and she’d hit the sand with a thud. She shook her head, scanning the endless paddock out in front of them. ‘Sure there aren’t any bulls in here?’