Race Girl

by Leigh Hutton

  We’re alone.

  She gritted her teeth against the pain and staggered around to the opposite side of Dahlia. Raised her good arm, rested it over the saddle for support, holding the reins as tightly as she manage. ‘It’s okay, girl,’ she said, urging Dahlia forward.

  Her filly swung her nose around to sniff at Tully, one ear forward hesitantly, the other pinned back out of concern. She nuzzled at Tully’s side.

  ‘I’m right, Dahls,’ Tully choked out. ‘We’ve gotta try to get home!’

  Dahlia tossed her head gently, then took a step forward.

  The agony that hit Tully was enough to knock her back down – she was sure she was going to black out . . . She pulled Dahlia to a stop and breathed there, laying against her filly’s warm body for what felt like a lifetime.

  Dahlia nibbled at her back pocket, nudged Tully with her nose.

  C’mon, Tully! She screamed at herself. You have to GO!

  She let out a cry, then gathered every ounce of energy and strength she had to stand straight enough to urge Dahlia forward.

  Dahlia walked slowly, head hung low, with Tully stumbling along beside her all the way to the edge of the paddock. Tully willed her filly to stop up near the latch of the gate, managing somehow to un-hook her good arm from the support of the saddle long enough to undo the latch and kick the gate open, without toppling over, cradling her right arm in the crook of her waist to avoid the crushing pain.

  Tully cringed and squeezed her eyes shut when Dahlia stopped to sniff noses with Wheeler, letting out a squeal, which to Tully’s ears sounded loud enough to shatter a window. Her eyes stung from the salt of sweat and tears and in her right eye, the redness of blood.

  Thankfully a dusty breeze whipped along the internal road, helping to push Dahlia up past Wheeler, passed the last of the turnout paddocks to the barn. Tully collapsed as soon as Dahlia had clopped into her stall. She dropped the reins, crawled with her good arm out of the stall, pushed the door shut behind her. Tully felt her way to the tack room, her eyes closed tightly – the light was too much for her brain, it singed like poison.

  She fumbled for her phone on the bench, opened her eyes just enough to see Judy’s number – third from the top in ‘Favourites’. Mrs. T answered on the third ring.

  ‘I’ve had a fall, Judy,’ Tully murmured between sobs, lowering herself down on the cool concrete floor. She rolled onto her good side, curled into the foetal position. ‘Um, I was riding Dahlia, and there’s no one else here . . . Stupid, I know—I’m so sorry! . . . I, I don’t know if I’m alright. Can you come get me, please? . . . Thanks so much, Judy . . .’

  Tully blinked up at the white featureless ceiling of the Emergency room. She hadn’t been in a hospital since visiting her mum after she’d broken her collarbone and punctured a lung when Tully was eleven. Tully remembered the antiseptic smell all too well – had to swallow down another wave of nausea. She listened to the sound of nurses rushing past, phones ringing. The machine hooked up to her through a needle in her arm ticked quietly as the drip dispensed antibiotics. The drugs she’d been given were finally taking the edge off the pain.

  Judy stepped softly towards her from the nurse’s station. She’d been asleep when Tully rang, but Judy had still arrived in uniform, ready to help, and had even un-tacked Dahlia and checked her over for any injuries before loading Tully into the car and rushing her into hospital.

  Judy sat down gently on the side of Tully’s bed, took her hand in hers. ‘Well, aren’t you a lucky girl,’ she smiled, ‘Quite the rap sheet, though—the doctor will be in soon to have a chat. We hopefully shouldn’t have to keep you in for too long, but you will have to take it very easy for a while, Tully. With such a knock to the head, you’ll be at high risk of developing post concussion syndrome. Debilitating headaches for the next year or so would be the last thing you need . . .’

  Tully’s stomach, raw from vomiting, churned and she cringed at the pull of the darkness, at the weight of the guilt and the shame and remorse. The thought of returning home after what she’d done was almost too painful to consider, too terrifying. This could be the last straw for Dad . . .

  Judy raised the clipboard, slipped a pair of glasses down off the top of her head, ‘Four broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, minor concussion . . . and that lovely black eye, complete with a gash just below it—glued together nicely, mind you, so hopefully it won’t scar.’ She shook her head, reached across and slipped the clipboard into the holder at the end of Tully’s bed. ‘Won’t be doing that again, will we, Miss Athens?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Tully sat up as much as she could before the pain in her chest shot all the way down to her toes. That must be the broken ribs . . . Wonderful. ‘Thank you, Mrs. T, for looking after me.’ She attempted a smile.

  ‘My pleasure—’ Judy patted Tully on the leg. ‘Rest up, we’ll make sure you’re right before we send you home. How’s the pain?’

  ‘Okay.’ Tully wriggled to sit up, but stopped, grimacing as she fell back. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘Tough girl,’ Judy said. She reached down and kissed Tully on the forehead. ‘I’ll be back soon, but just buzz if you need us, okay? Oh—’ Judy looked up as one of her colleagues wheeled a young blonde girl with a pink cast on each wrist in beside Tully. ‘Looks like you’ll have company. Waiting for discharge, Glenis?’

  The nurse nodded, set the clipboard on the empty bed next-door.

  The girl looked up from her phone, smiling across at Tully.

  ‘Hi,’ Tully said.

  ‘Hey,’ said the girl.

  Tully took a deep breath, willing her mind into the light . . . ‘Reading anything interesting?’ she said. Nosy, much?! ‘Sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  The girl grinned and green flecks in her eyes flashed under the fluoro lights. She had wide, hazel eyes – just like Tam’s. Tully relaxed a little as she stared into those lovely, familiar eyes.

  ‘Not at all! Thanks for saying hi,’ the girl said. ‘Just a story my little sister sent me.’

  She definitely has an accent, Tully thought. American, maybe?

  ‘Her coach, Ebony, just won a big class down in Cali,’ the girl continued. ‘Her horse, Star Girl, is gorgeous.’

  ‘Wow,’ Tully said, accepting the phone and studying the photo. A girl with long black hair and striking green eyes pumped her fist aboard a muscly, graceful bay. ‘She is stunning,’ Tully said, handing back the phone. ‘I’ve always wanted to try show jumping.’

  ‘Totally should,’ the girl said. ‘My sister says Ebony might be going to the Olympics! I sure hope my little sis gets to groom. How amazing would that be?!’

  ‘The Olympics?’ Tully’s mind drifted to the Melbourne Cup . . . ‘Scary, but incredible.’

  ‘That’s a nice shiner you got there,’ the girl said. ‘What are you in for?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Tully nearly laughed, but remembered her cracked ribs, and smiled instead. The girl sat up straight in her wheel chair, threw back her head and laughed. She was wearing a T-shirt that caught Tully’s eye: white, with a pink dirt bike boot and heel set back-to-back across the chest and #revgirl written in black underneath. Cool.

  ‘Sorry,’ Tully said, grinning. ‘I . . . fell off my horse.’

  ‘Bad luck, chick,’ the girl said. ‘I cased this massive double on my dirt bike.’

  ‘Bugger,’ Tully relaxed back on the bed. ‘What do you ride?’

  ‘YZ250FX, Yamaha.’

  ‘Super cool! I’ve got a TTR on our farm.’

  ‘That’s awesome! So, how’d you fall?’

  Tully shifted a fraction on the bed, took a breath. ‘Well, I was riding my thoroughbred, Dahlia. And . . . I’ve been upset, I guess. It was really stupid.’

  ‘Boy trouble, I bet—’ The girl rolled her eyes and sighed— ‘Know all about that. Nearly ruined my career.’

  ‘Wow, are you a full-time racer?’

  ‘Workin’ on it.’

  ‘Do you live in Queensland?’


  The girl smiled. ‘Not exactly. Up here visiting a boy.’ Both girls giggled. ‘So what kind of riding do you do?’

  ‘Well,’ Tully said. ‘My mum was a jockey.’

  ‘That’s so cool!’ the girl said. ‘Must be so exciting. Is it what you want to do, too?’

  ‘Ah . . .’ Tully fiddled with her blanket. ‘That’s always been the plan.’

  ‘If it’s what you love,’ the girl said, looking straight into Tully’s eyes. ‘Then don’t let that boy ruin your life.’

  ‘I won’t—’ Tully’s chest expanded, begging for air but too sore to make the most of it. ‘I love riding more than anything. Always have, always will . . .’

  A man paused in the doorway – both girls looked up. ‘She just needs to do it when there’s someone to keep an eye on her,’ Gerald Athens said.

  ‘Oh, hi—Dad,’ Tully said, bracing herself against the sudden pain, the crippling sense of dread. ‘This is . . .’ She glanced over at the girl.

  ‘Clover,’ she said. ‘Clover Kassedy, from Canada. Nice to meet you!’

  ‘Likewise,’ Gerald said, crossing the room to Tully’s bedside. His face was clean shaven and his eyes were clearer than they’d been in ages, but his face was creased with worry, the lines deep across his forehead and between his brows.

  Clover winked, threaded her earphones in and tucked her nose behind a dirt bike magazine, leaving Tully alone with her father.

  ‘Did Judy ring you?’ Tully said.

  ‘I wish you would have.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ Tully said, peering up at him. ‘I was just . . . I was really embarrassed that I fell off, and mad at myself for putting Dahlia in danger like that. Is she okay?’

  ‘The horse is fine. But you terrified me, Tully,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I know you’ve been struggling, I have been, too – but we need to stick together. I’m going to try to be here for you more . . .’ He pulled in a quick breath, locking eyes with Tully. ‘Just like Clover from Canada says—’ he winked at the girl.

  ‘Go girl,’ Clover said with a grin, giving Tully a thumbs up.

  ‘We’re not going to let a Weston ruin your life,’ he whispered, sitting down in the chair at the head of Tully’s bed, one hand resting gently on her good shoulder.

  No, Tully thought, smiling up at her father. I won’t.

  Clover was out before Tully – picked up by a hot dude in a black FOX Racing T-shirt – but before she could go, the girls exchanged Facebook names so they could keep in touch. They also asked Gerald to take a photo of them together – Tully with her black eye and shoulder in its sling, Clover with her pink casts. They shared Insta tags as well and posted the pic to both of their accounts with the hash tags #GoGirls, #bebackstronger, #GirlsWhoRide and #girlpower. Clover added #RevGirl. Tully decided #RaceGirl sounded sweet for her.

  Clover grinned, reaching up to give Tully a hug. ‘Remember. . .’

  ‘I will,’ Tully grinned, ‘Thanks so much, Clover.’ She waved goodbye, then rested back, her father at her side.

  Go girl.

  Tully couldn’t wait to get home and make it all up to Dahlia.

  20

  A Jockey Apprentice

  Tully was instructed by the ER doctor to take it ‘very easy for at least the next few weeks’ and to have five full days off work. He wrote up a medical certificate, a script for more pain meds, and asked if she wanted a wheel chair to get out to the car park. Tully shook her head. ‘Thank you, Dr. Hurley,’ she said, taking her father’s outstretched hand to rise slowly from the bed. ‘I’ll be right from here.’

  She kept her arm in the sling until bedtime and was pleased to find her shoulder was feeling much better as she pulled off her hospital gown and track pants and climbed into a hot shower. Gerald had managed to pay the gas bill and had organised for two new cylinders to be delivered, which would hopefully last them at least six months.

  Tully inspected her eye in the fogged-up bathroom mirror. The glue seemed to be holding well but the swelling around her eye was just as bad, if not worse than it had been in hospital, the bruising coming up an even darker shade of purple, rimmed with avocado green. Just lovely, Tully thought, shuddering at her reflection. It was like she’d been in a boxing match with the ground and had definitely come out the loser. I wonder what Brandon would think of me now . . .

  She lifted up her pajama shirt to inspect her ribs, gently running a finger over each one. A dark bruise was emerging from under the skin near the top of her right side. Tully wondered how well her poor ribs were healing, hoping they’d fuse back together nicely, then she padded to her room to fetch the vet wrap she’d brought up from the stables to wrap her torso for support.

  Tully managed to drift off only to be woken again by the pain – no matter what position she shifted into the agony from her ribs was enough to keep her awake for life. She forced herself out of bed at her alarm the next morning, weak with exhaustion and numb from the mixture of meds and agony. Only her determination to show her dad and Dahlia and everyone else that she was going to be mature and responsible was strong enough to drive Tully forward. She was ready to make some big decisions and get her life underway. First on her agenda was some tough talk with her dad.

  Tully carefully pulled her baggiest polo shirt over her head, then found some shorts that had become very loose around her waist, and eased her arm back into its sling, adjusting the vet wrap around her ribs. She took a few more of the pills she’d been prescribed, put a new dressing over the cut on her face to keep the dirt out and ward off infection, before making her way to the kitchen.

  Her father joined her just before four am, took one of the four slices of toast she’d made for them, made himself a coffee and slumped down opposite Tully at the round kitchen table. He flipped open the racing pages from the state paper, delivered to them early every morning. ‘So,’ Gerald said, taking a bite of the toast. ‘Won’t be taking off on any horses today, will you?’

  ‘No,’ Tully said, eyeing her toast. Her stomach flipped at the sight and smell of the Vegemite – she took a quick sip of water. She needed to eat, as the pain meds especially seemed to be eroding at her stomach.

  Tully managed a bite, swallowed it quickly, washing it down with water. Just the act of eating was enough to heighten the pain from her ribs. A dull throbbing started up at her temples and she closed her eyes, gritting her teeth against it. I will not let this stop me . . . ‘So, what are you up to today?’ she said, praying she’d find her father in an accommodating mood.

  Gerald looked up from the paper, eyeing her with surprise and curiosity. ‘Gonna do some work with Rosie, and a new horse we’ve got coming in—a mate of mine from school just bought shares in a horse, and he’s convinced the syndicate to let me train him.’

  ‘Wow, congrats, Dad!’ Tully said, struggling through another bite. She grimaced as she swallowed, but plastered a smile for her father. ‘That’s fantastic! What’s his name?’

  ‘Jeo Force, or Jeo—stud colt, clean legs, a real looker. Hoping to have him fit, and get nominations for him and Rosie to be accepted for the Brisbane Racing Carnival.’

  ‘That’d be amazing.’ A flare of excitement lit within Tully – it was enlightening to hear her father speak with passion for racing again, like he’d finally found some hope.

  ‘Need to get more profit coming in. As long as we’re sweet with the bank, Pearce can’t force us to sell.’ He knocked off his still steaming mug of coffee. ‘What’ve you got on?’ he said. ‘Resting, like the doctor told you to, yeah?’

  Tully’s eyes fell to her toast. ‘I’m going to be letting my body heal. Will probably get out to groom Dahlia, though, and I’m going to keep doing my morning feeds and turning out. The only thing I might need help with is mucking out.’

  ‘You take it easy,’ her father said. ‘You’ll have to let work know today, I’ll drop your certificate in if you’d like?’

  ‘That would be brilliant, Dad, thank you.’
r />   ‘Isn’t school starting up again soon?’

  ‘Start of next week, I think . . .’ Tully’s heart started pounding, crashing against her ribs. She took her water glass in her hands, swirling it in a circle on the table, doing her best to steady her nerves.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve registered for the term?’

  Tully shook her head slowly, grimacing at the pain. Why does my head have to hurt this bad right when I’ve gotta have this talk with Dad?! Tully straightened in her chair, pulled in a long, calming breath and lifted her eyes to her father. ‘I don’t want to go back to school next week, Dad,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to go back at all.’

  ‘The doctor said you’d need a few weeks, so I wouldn’t expect you to start until the following Monday. I’m sure the school will understand—I’ll drop by and see them today, actually.’

  ‘Don’t, Dad. Please.’ Tully set the glass down and staring her father levelly in the eye. ‘I won’t be able to start my apprenticeship if I’m expected to be at school five days a week.’

  Gerald’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. ‘By apprenticeship, I’m assuming you mean to become a jockey?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tully said, cringing at the way her voice wavered. Be strong, girl!

  Gerald sighed, a dark cloud shifting across his face, deepening the shadows in the creases of his skin. ‘All those injuries aren’t going away overnight, Tully. The last thing you should be thinking about is getting on another horse.’

  ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, Dad. I’m sixteen now, I’m more than old enough.’

  ‘I won’t have you drop out of school. Without your HSC, you’ve got no hope of a decent job—’ Tully opened her mouth to interject, but her father halted her with the raise of his hand— ‘if jockeying doesn’t work out the way you imagine. You always need a backup plan, and if you quit now, there’s a very slim chance you’ll ever go back to studying.’