by Leigh Hutton
Need to hit the books tonight, Tully reminded herself, hugging Bear in her lap, then standing up and brushing off her backside as it was time to get moving. Study had been a serious struggle as she wasn’t usually done at the barn until late afternoon and was practically falling asleep on the drive home. But she’d committed to it; she’d promised her father and Tully was determined to get her HSC.
She considered taking Bear into the gym and barn to check on Dahlia as she still did on her days off, but knew Mr. Barnes wouldn’t allow it. So she kissed him on the nose once they’d reached his drum, shooed away a fat cane toad that had hopped a bit too close from around the side of the shed. That done, she headed up to say goodbye to Bucko and her father who were meeting the vet for an emergency check of a gash Jeo had somehow managed to cop to his near-fore in his turnout paddock the day before.
Tully bundled into her ute with her bag packed for the gym and headed in first to see Dahlia, who’d officially started training with Curtis Barnes Racing. To make it happen, Tully had signed over a greater percentage of future earnings and was putting most of her wage into Dahlia’s care, but with the progress her filly was making, every cent was worth it.
Tully was still in awe of Gulherin Lodge, the twenty-five horse stable that had been her second home for the past four months. She imagined it was similar to the facilities in Brisbane, or Weston Park, but on a smaller scale, with its neat, open stalls, horse walker, day yards and sand roll. They even had swimming facilities in a specially dug and maintained dam. Dahlia was especially enjoying the regular visits from the female chiropractor and horse masseur. Tully had learned so much about muscle health and a horse’s movement from watching the sessions.
She often found herself thinking of ways to improve Avalon while working at Gulherin. Mr. Barnes had taken the whole morning on Tully’s first day to show her around, blowing her mind with a few figures of what it cost to run his outfit, including a weekly feed bill of $17,000.00, wage costs per week of between $6,000.00 and $7,000.00, plus electricity, track and entry fees, insurances . . . The list seemed never ending. All it took was one owner to stop paying their bill and a trainer could go under in a matter of weeks. Tully understood why the industry had such a high turnover and was incredibly grateful to Mr. Barnes for letting her in on a few of his secrets for survival. As far as she was concerned, however, his passion for the horses and unwavering work ethic – pretty much seven days a week – were the main factors for his success, even in such a high-risk business as this.
Tully tried a few times to discuss her ideas with her father, but he hadn’t been in the most receptive of moods since failing to get a start in the Brisbane Winter Carnival. She did her best to focus on her filly, her riding, and the things in her life that she could control. But Tully still prayed as often as she could that her farm, her home, would have a bright future.
Tully hurried into the cosy barn, smiling as Dahlia’s face popped out to greet her. She paused at her filly’s stall, whipped an apple out of her bag to treat her. Tully rested her arms on the cool metal bars, watching as the young horse did her best to wrap her lips around and bite her teeth into the solid, but sweet Granny Smith. She giggled when Dahlia dropped it into her shavings, ducked into her stall to retrieve and dust it off for her.
As Tully stood back to admire her filly, contented in her sheepskin-trimmed rug that Tully had picked up on sale at Horseland, enjoying the rest of her apple from her bucket in her plush loose box, a burning sense of love and pride crashed over her. Look at the horse you’ve become, Tully thought, her eyes welling with tears. Look how far we’ve come together . . . Tully cast her mind forward to tomorrow – she loved getting out on any of the horses, but her favourite part of the day was when she got to ride Dahlia. She was relishing the training they were doing together, especially as Mr. Barnes was taking it slowly with Dahlia and had only just allowed Tully to take her up to half pace, or 17-second laps.
Dahlia still took a good look at things, like many young and inexperienced horses do, but she was very smart and rarely spooked or baulked at the same thing twice. She was learning every day, growing and filling out. She was even working out stride changes, although she was still hesitant to change to her awkward side. Her front end was a powerful engine, the wide bands of muscle in her rump increasingly toned, driving her forward.
Monday morning, and Tully was drenched and freezing in heavy drizzle from a sudden cold front, bracing against a strong westerly wind that had the horses turning their backsides and nearly refusing to leave their stalls.
She’d managed to ride Fire Starter, or Fin as he was known, around the barn, out before sunrise, her reflective vest glinting, guided by the sparse light from posts dotted along the track. The wind and rain wasn’t bad enough to stop track work – Mr. Barnes said they’d train in ‘pretty much anything short of a cyclone’.
Tully relished the experience, especially now she was used to riding in the dark and into sunrise – it’d taken a few weeks of sticking to the outside rail to keep her mounts in check and to see where she was going. She’d never felt such a thrill, hurtling along in the darkness, the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves pounding the ground, the riders chatting to each other with the scents of horse and tack and earth filling their spirits and charging their souls.
Tully didn’t need a lead rider to start her into track work, as she already knew how to hold the reins in a ‘bridge’, ride short and stand up in the saddle, courtesy of her mum’s training. So Mr. Barnes had put her straight to three quarter pace from the 800-metre mark, and told her to stride the experienced horses up from the last two. It was exhilarating even doing slow work in about 24-seconds a lap, and even better doing fast gallops, whipping around the track in about 15-seconds.
Mr. Barnes stopped Tully after she’d finished exercising Fin, her eighth and final horse for the day. He leant his strong forearms on the rail, his eyes running over the gleaming liver chestnut colt, with his striking white face, flaxen mane and tail and four white socks. Tully thought Fin was one of the most handsome horses in the stable. Although he was known for his bite, buck, and generally being a prat to ride, he especially liked the female track riders, strappers and barn hands, and had taken quite a liking to Tully.
‘Finny’s going well,’ Mr. Barnes said, rain dripping off the peak of his cap. ‘Likes your soft hands.’ His dimpled smile lit up his face as he glanced up at Tully. He was young for a premiership-winning trainer, in his mid-thirties, with kind brown eyes and a cowboy charm. Tully tried not to let Mr. Barnes remind her of Brandon. ‘I reckon you’re more than ready for a barrier trial, Tulls—get that apprenticeship underway, whaddya reckon?’ He nodded at the colt. ‘He should be kind to ya.’
‘That would be amazing,’ Tully said, averting her eyes from her trainer, patting Finny hard on the neck – her shoulders and legs still burning from the workout. ‘Thank you.’ Fin turned his head, rested his white off-hind and started nipping at the front of her boot.
‘I’d like you to strap for Romeo here first, though. You keen to help out at the Ipswich Cup?’
‘Am I?!’ Tully said, her eyes again finding his. It was only the biggest race on the calendar. ‘—I’d absolutely love to! Thanks again, Mr. Barnes.’
Mr. Barnes smiled and nodded, before turning for the track office. Tully trotted Fin to the exit, hopped down to take him back to the tie-up stalls and their two-horse trailer, which had just returned from dropping horses back at Gulherin to take Fin and Cranky back home – the last two horses of the morning. She grinned as she walked Fin the short distance back, the cheeky boy nipping at her shoulder, then trying to catch her braid between his teeth.
Tully’s whole body was soaring at the thought of being part of one of the state’s premier races. Bundamba was a busy provincial track, with modern grandstands and a wide expanse of perfectly groomed turf. The Cup pulled a huge crowd and was one of the biggest events on the social calendar. Tully’s thoughts shifted to starting
her apprenticeship – being in the barriers one day soon, tearing along the inside rail. This racecourse was the most exciting place Tully had ever been, and better yet, she’d be on the track.
22
Barriers
Cup day dawned bright, dry and cool, with trainers from all over the state trailering in to try their hand at the historic meet. By mid-morning, what seemed to Tully like half of Brisbane had frocked up and were flooding through the gates, excited to enjoy the on-field entertainment by a popular international DJ, the races themselves, a flutter, or drinks and a laugh with their mates in one of the many themed bars and VIP marquees.
Tully had been to the Cup a few times to watch her mum, but had never strapped officially or even ventured far from the tie-up stalls where she was always helping with the horses. Mr. Barnes even gave her a brand new Curtis Barnes Racing polo in his green and brown colours, before sending her out for pre-race coffees. Tully felt like dancing as she made her way out of the trailer in her new team shirt – taking the whole atmosphere in as a real insider now, nerves and excitement tingling through her fingers and toes. She’d never seen so many guys in suits, or such stunning women in short dresses and longer gowns paired with feathery, flirty, floral fascinators, the more outrageous the better. This is going to be an incredible day!
Tully listened in amusement to a group of dudes next to the coffee line-up talking about the after-party – how organisers were going for a Guinness World record. Not for anything to do with the racing, but for the most people at one event wearing sunglasses at night. Tully stifled a smile as she imagined the guys in their mirrored sunnies, running amok in the dark. They already had beers in each hand and it wasn’t even lunchtime.
She was relieved when she could finally get down to the task at hand, after fetching a stony-faced and nervous Mr. Barnes his second double-shot latte. Fin was up in the second race on the card. He’d been going well all week, but had finished a little stiff and jumpy in his last gallop. His odds were long at 120 to 1 after poor form all season. Tully gave him an extra kiss on the nose and sneaky sugar cube for luck, then ducked over to the Avalon stall to say hi to her dad and Bucko, as Rosie and Jeo were also running.
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 foll
owing 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 . . .