by Leigh Hutton
‘Um, yep,’ Tully said, standing and hesitantly accepting his hand. His palm was sweaty and clammy, but she forced herself to shake it firmly.
‘Crispin Dodd, Fia’s stable foreman,’ he said, glancing down at his board. He flicked through his papers, slipped out a sheet and handed it to her. ‘Wasn’t expecting you till track work tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ Tully said, rubbing the hand he’d shaken down her jeans. His blood-shot, bottle green eyes hovered over her chest. A chill ran across her skin and she crossed her arms quickly. ‘I was just about to ring Fia to get the address of the unit, but I guess I wanted to come here first.’
‘Righto, well,’ his eyes finally diverted back to his board, ‘Start is four am, and Fia mentioned you like to stay on after track work to help with the feed?’
Tully nodded.
‘I suppose that will have to be okay . . . You’ll start with ten horses, and work to fifteen most days.’ He nodded at the paper trembling in her hands. ‘That’s your employment contract, please sign it and get it back to me ASAP. Make sure to include your ABN. You’ll also have to register at the track office to get a pass and your ID badge et cetera, understand?’
Tully nodded, seizing the chance to take a step back towards her bags.
‘Now you’re here, you might as well get stuck in. Got a bloody lazy drongo of a colt that still needs riding—you’ve got your gear with ya, I see. He’s in stall sixteen. Miena will show you where his tack is, and point you to the sand track. Well, you’d better just sign that contract for me now, okay? Just ’cos you’re related to the Madam doesn’t mean special treatment ’round here.’
I gathered as much. ‘I wouldn’t expect it, Mr. Dodd. I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity.’ Tully wasn’t sure if he’d heard, as his eyes were again lurking over her chest. What’s with these people?! ‘Well, I’d better get started,’ she said, easing away.
‘Right,’ he said, clearing his throat. He grunted something she didn’t catch and stumbled back, disappearing into the aisle.
Je-sus, Tully thought, ripping the zipper of her duffel bag and flicking out her boots and vest. She found an empty locker down the end and managed to get her bags shoved in, her suitcase tucked under the bench, secured with its padlock. There were no locks provided for the lockers – she cursed herself for forgetting one. She’d never had to worry about security at home, or really at Gulherin. But here, in the city, she felt like locking her bloody pants up.
Tully got dressed quickly, one eye on the open doorway, her fingers trembling, an uneasy knot of nerves crashing around in her stomach. When she stepped back into the hallway a crowd in matching jackets all turned to look from the end of the barn, steaming coffees and papers in hand.
Miena sniggered, turned her back to whisper something to the group. Another icy blonde and a short bloke with close-cropped black hair glanced Tully’s way, giggled, then tucked their heads back into the scrum.
Holy Shark Tank, Tully thought, forcing a breath and straightening her shoulders. What have I gotten myself into?!
She decided standing frozen in the hallway probably wasn’t the coolest way to go, so Tully turned on her heel, marched a few steps down the row of stalls, only to realise that the numbers were going down, not up, meaning sixteen would most definitely be down past the sharks. C’mon, Athens, she told herself, ducking her head to spin around. This ain’t high school. You’re here to ride.
‘Horse sixteen this way, huh?’ she said, pointing past the group.
‘Wow, they breed ’em smart up there in Queens-land, aye?’ Miena said, laughing. ‘Yes, the one and only Calypso Grey is that way.’
Tully forced a smile, picked up her whip that was dragging on the concrete and did her best to walk with dignity past the group. Eyes followed her like Old Masters on the wall as she walked by, more whispering and sniggering ensued before they finally dispersed to return to their duties.
Tully found her way past the ripped bay and a black colt she recognised from the Winter Racing Carnival, down to the very end: stall sixteen. She peered past the brick-coloured gap into the second barn, spotted the faces of a few adorable fillies that reminded her painfully of Dahlia. They separate the fillies from the colts and studs, she thought, glancing around, before looking back to the stall in front of her.
A lumbering dappled grey stood in the back corner of the stall, his head hung low, bottom lip hanging to the floor. His un-trimmed tail swept the shavings, his coat matted with sweat presumably from the day before. You must be freezing, Tully thought, reaching for the door latch. Poor fella . . . Where is your blanket?
Tully opened the door slowly, clicking her tongue to call the horse. ‘Calypso,’ she said softly. ‘Hey, buddy.’
The horse’s ears twitched and he raised his head slowly, his body shivering and pushing further into the back wall of the stall.
‘Hey! Oh, it’s alright,’ Tully said, raising her hands slowly. ‘I’m not gonna hurt ya.’ She took in his lanky, muscular body, but stopped at his rump. Her heart twisted at the open wounds from the crack of a whip, she stifled a cry. Tully had never seen anything like it, and the thought of how many times this poor horse must have been whipped made her stomach sink with sadness. She was sure in this instance the jockey riding Calypso must have been guilty of whip infractions, such welts incurred only by raising his arm above shoulder height before bringing the whip down on the horse’s hind quarters, or using it more than the allowed number of times. ‘Lazy, huh?’ she said, soothing her hand over Calypso’s shoulder. ‘You look strong enough. You’re a tall, strong boy, Calypso. I don’t imagine you want to run for them, do you, mate?’ She reached slowly into her pocket, slipped out a few sugar cubes. ‘I wouldn’t want to either.’
The huge horse brought his head around to her, his ears back, neck arched away. He stood up on all fours and turned to push into her, to push her away.
‘Hi, Calypso!’ Tully said gleefully. ‘I’m Tully, mate, I’ll be your friend. Heavens knows I need a friend here, too.’ She held out her hand and the whiskered, slate-grey muzzle found her palm. Calypso lowered his head to hers, gazed at her with alert, wary, dark eyes, his ears creeping forward. He had the gentlest manner, the most open, wide face she’d ever seen.
‘You’re a special boy, aren’t you,’ she said, raising a hand slowly to meet his forehead. He snorted loudly, covering her arm with snot. Tully shrieked, then laughed as she wiped her hand on her already grubby jeans, feeding him the sugar with her clean hand. ‘That’s a boy,’ she said, grinning as he licked her hand, his ears forward and appreciative of the kind attention.
‘You need a good brush before you go anywhere,’ Tully said, feeding him another sugar cube. ‘That tail needs a trim, and your mane’s a mess too, buddy. Can I clean you up, please?’
Calypso nibbled at her arm, then stepped around into her, like he was giving her a hug. ‘Oh, you are a big sook, aren’t you? I wonder how Aunt Fia has missed you . . .’ I wonder where Aunt Fia finds her staff.
Tully managed to find a grooming bucket and spent what she feared was probably way too much time running a curry comb over the dried sweat on Calypso’s shoulders and flank, picking out his hooves – getting this friendly giant of a colt cleaned up and ride ready. His markings were almost mythical, Tully marvelled, like she’d never seen before. She took real pleasure using the soft paddle brush to bring out the shine in his big dapples and the silver spider webs that wrapped around his legs.
She assumed the white and black bridle laid out the front of his stall was his and looked around for an extra blanket, as his stall was the only one without two hanging on the door.
Calypso was looking mighty fine by the time Tully lead him out of his stall, his polished hooves clopping down the hall towards the grey daylight streaming in from the cloud-covered sky. His head crept up into a proud arch, he nuzzled at Tully’s pockets playfully. ‘Oh, my—I think I’m in love!’ Tully grinned, giving him a scratch behind the ears. ‘I hope Br
andon doesn’t get jealous.’
‘They teach ya to talk to your horses up there, too, do they?’ Miena laughed shrilly from behind her. ‘C’mon, Athens. I’d better show ya where to go—it’ll be my ass if you’re wandering around lost on this lazy chaff burner.’
Tully gritted her teeth against the insult. It stung just as badly as if it had been directed at her, she wrapped a hand protectively around Calypso’s head.
She hated that Miena had to leg her up and kicked off a bit too aggressively, soaring over the saddle and grabbing hold of the black mane at the base of Calypso’s neck to keep from flinging over into the concrete. Miena shook her head. ‘Amateurs,’ she laughed, setting off across the yard between another row of barns.
Tully opened her lungs to a stream of air as Calypso clopped down the path beside the barns, out towards the tracks of Flemington.
The place was an impressive, sprawling racing mecca with specially-designed horse swimming pool, hot walkers, row after row of barns and sheds and vast grandstands looking out at the sweeping white rail of the main turf track and multiple secondary tracks in dirt, sand and turf running around in its pear-shaped centre. Fia even had a high-speed treadmill, Tully noticed as they left the barn, which gave another option for the implementation of Fia’s strict training principles. Tully was happier riding her horses herself, and wasn’t sure how they’d go getting Dahlia on such a contraption, but supposed it could work for some.
The further from Miena and the rest of them she rode, the better Tully felt about her experience so far in Melbourne. She grinned at a bronze statue of Makybe Diva, the wonder of this great venue sweeping her up as they neared the track entrance, the gunmetal skyscrapers of the city skyline reaching up to touch the sky from what felt like only a paddock-width away.
Tully could have dropped the reins and Calypso would have taken her to the exercise track, he knew his routine so well. She giggled when the lumbering colt tripped over his feet staring at a girl in a suit, possibly a journo, hanging around the entrance to the track snapping pics on her phone and scribbling in a notebook. ‘I bet she’s not usually here, isn’t she, mate?!’ Tully laughed, giving Calypso a pat.
The track was similar to those she’d ridden before, but longer and wider and generally grander as everything here seemed to be.
After half a lap at a trot, and Tully was sure the entire staff of Germaine Racing should have had something better to do at eight in the morning than be standing at the rail, sipping more coffee and laughing at her.
She was shaking her head at them when Mr. Dodd appeared, calling out instructions. Tully nodded, taking Calypso up to a canter. His body resisted the work, stiff and unsure, but Tully could sense that he wanted to work through it. He stumbled at his lead change – lacking confidence, but super responsive and bursting to please. ‘You want to run for me, don’t you, mate?’ Tully whispered.
She held her head high when they breezed back past the crowd, reaching down to pat her mount proudly. ‘We’ll get you there, buddy.’
He strode like a champion hack back to the stable, Tully beaming as she got him un-tacked in the heated room she was supposed to have tacked up in, before taking him out to the sand roll. He kicked and bucked, then dropped to his knees, grunting with pleasure and rolling and rolling like it’d been ages since he’d been allowed the luxury. Once he’d stood up and had a good shake, Tully caught him up and took him to the wash bay to give him a hose off, then back to the heated stall for a good long groom. A few of the strappers and barn hands popped their heads in – these tasks were usually theirs, the track work riders hopping from horse to horse and not having a hand in getting them ready or hosing them off. Tully hoped she’d get to continue doing some of it with her horses once she officially started tomorrow morning.
When Calypso emerged from the grooming stall, head high and ears forward – proud as with his newly washed, shining coat, trimmed and brushed mane and tail and clean blanket – one of the barn hands let out a whistle. Tully grinned as Miena glared, stalking the other way.
Tully fed him a treat in his stall and left him whickering with a kiss on the nose. Then she headed past the whiteboard with the horses’ names and work and feed instructions to the feed room, where the whistling hand was mixing morning feeds, to check Calypso was getting everything. She couldn’t wait to see this gentle giant again.
Her phone was ringing when Tully made it back to the locker room, dug it out just in time. ‘Hi, darling!’ Fia sang. ‘I’m so sorry I missed getting you from the airport, did you make it to the stable okay?’
‘Yes, thank you, Aunt Fia.’
‘I’ll send you the address of your unit now, it isn’t far at all. Although I’m sure Miena would be happy to give you a lift home.’
‘Miena?’
‘Oh, yes, darling. She’s just a doll, isn’t she? She and the other girls will be your new roommates!’
‘Oh, fab,’ Tully said, her heart sinking. She instantly wished she’d taken up Fia’s offer to live with her in her inner-city penthouse, but Tully had hoped being close to the track with her colleagues would help her form new friendships and be accepted as one of them. Now she knew they’d already formed their opinions well before she’d even had a chance to introduce herself. Tully prayed she’d at least have her own room, not have to bunk in with Miena. What a nightmare.
‘I knew you’d love them, and they’d make you feel right at home,’ Fia continued. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’ve been flat out the last two days with this film crew shooting with this dear friend of mine, you might remember her – she and the girls came up for your sweet sixteen? Her husband owns three of the best horses I train.’
Tully nodded, then realised she’d have to say something. ‘Righto, yep. They were lovely.’ They actually were, she remembered – the glam group of Fia’s girlfriends. Tully wished they were the ones working the racing outfit.
‘Anyways, she’s being portrayed as one of the drama makers on The Real Housewives of Melbourne, can you believe it? She really is so lovely, and loyal, once you get to know her. Some of the others have been giving her a hard time, and they brought me on to back her up. They might even get out to the stable, and shoot at the June Raceday. Exciting, isn’t it? It’ll be great exposure for us. But, I’m sorry, again. I am usually around a lot more. I will be, for you. Now my girl’s in Melbourne!’
‘That would be great, Aunt Fia,’ Tully said, sucking in a steadying breath. ‘I got to ride Calypso this morning. He’s darling. Have you looked in on him lately?’
‘Really?’ Fia cleared her throat. ‘Was he good for you?’
‘Certainly not lazy. I reckon he just needs a gentle touch. I’d love to race him, and start taking care of him at feed times, and that, if that’s okay?’
‘He ran last in four of his six starts, Tull—then he refused the barrier. Surely you’d want to start with one of the others?’
‘No, I’d love to start on him,’ Tully said. ‘He’s really powerful, Aunt Fia, I reckon he’d make a great stayer, even a sprinter. He just needs to learn to run, and want to run. I’d love to work with him.’
‘Alright,’ Fia laughed, ‘I was planning to kick him to one of our spelling facilities out at Frankston, maybe even retire him—if he refuses the barriers again, he’s gonna get barred anyway. But, okay! I know better than to stand in the way of an Athens woman when she get our mind set on something . . . I’ll give you a few months with him, and of course that wonder horse of yours. She’s on her way now, Ashlea just rang to say they’d got away fine.’
‘I just got a text from Mr. Barnes saying the same, thanks again, Aunt Fia.’ Tully tingled with anxiousness to see her filly.
‘It’s me who should be thanking you, Tully. I have a feeling you’re gonna love it here, and be just what we all need to really get the wind back in our sails. I see the Melbourne Cup in your future, girl. Nothing’s gonna stop us.’
Tully decided to walk back to the unit as her phone
claimed it was only a few blocks away. She kissed Calypso goodbye, promised to see him bright and early to get stuck into training the next morning.
She struggled for breath in the freezing air as she exited the white gates, lugging her bags out onto the footpath of a busy two-lane road. Her skin was ice beneath her thickest jacket, the warmth of Queensland a pleasant, distant memory. Car fumes burned her throat with pure carbon dioxide, the traffic never-ending – honking, stereos pumping, sirens of police cars and ambulances piercing the city air. It was so bright and loud, with billboards screaming to: ‘buy, Buy, BUY!’, the concrete expanse in this area only broken by the odd sparse, languishing suburban tree.
Tully was praying to find an oasis in her room in the flat, maybe I can put some of my photos of home up and that’ll make this whole place seem a little less horrible, and lonely?
But when she made it to the address in the narrow, grotty street behind a row of convenience stores, Tully eyed the brick box of a building and any hope of comfort died out. She’d never felt further from the rolling, open paddocks of Avalon, from the majestic Border Ranges, from the silver-trunked gum trees rustling in a clean, country breeze. I have to do this.
I can do this.
Tully forced herself to climb the concrete stairs to the second floor of the cold, bleak building. Found her key stashed above the doorframe as Fia’s message had explained . . .
The tiny unit was like an icebox, smaller than the cottage at Avalon and void of any homily touches or comforting historic character. The low ceiling was already suffocating her. The white kitchen was plain and empty like no one ever ate here, the smell like hospital or concrete dust – she wasn’t sure which, but it left her stomach uneasy and sick.
Tully’s heart cried out for home as she wandered the length of the cold, stark white hall. The second and third bedroom doors were shut, but the first door to the right had been left open. She paused in the doorway, taking in the double mattress with no sheets or blankets set in the middle of the empty room, no other furniture or pictures to break the bleak wash of white.