Their silent trance was shattered by the phone. Instinctively, the first thing they did was check their watches. Claire’s hand went to her pounding chest. Jesus, no! Not more bad news; not today, not tomorrow, not this year. Bernie’s eyes were wide as she untangled her legs and went to get the handset from the small hallstand.
Claire watched her friend’s back as she picked up the phone and answered, feeling guilty for bringing her bad karma to Bernadette’s home. She felt a strange sense of relief when she heard her say, ‘Yes, I’ll just get her for you.’ Maybe she hadn’t cursed her after all.
‘It’s for you, the hospital. Your mobile must be turned off,’ Bernadette said, handing her the phone. Claire’s stomach knotted in dreaded anticipation.
‘Hello, this is Claire McIntyre.’
‘Claire, my name’s Abby Lawson. I’m calling from the hospital. It’s about your father…’
Claire held her breath and crossed her fingers harder than she ever had before.
‘We thought you’d want to know straight away…’
‘Yes?’ Claire silently begged her to get it over with.
‘He’s woken up, just a few minutes ago.’
For a moment, Claire thought her bowels might let go. She took a gasping breath.
‘Ms McIntyre? Claire, are you there?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m here. Sorry. Oh, that’s great. Thank you so much for calling. What happened? Is he okay? What has he said? Should I come in?’
Nurse Lawson waited until Claire’s torrent ended. She’d obviously done this before. ‘He’s fine, calm, lucid. None the worse for wear as far as we can see. Of course, the doctor will have to confirm that in the morning. He seems to know who and where he is, and what year it is. But there was something odd – one of the first things he said after waking. Something about a paycheque. It might be something that’s come up from his past. But he was quite adamant that someone needed to find this lost paycheque. Does that make any sense to you?’
‘Yes,’ Claire sighed, smiling now. ‘Paycheque was one of his racehorses.’
‘Oh, right, well I guess that makes sense then. Look, I’d better get back to my other patients. I just wanted you to know.’
‘Thanks so much for calling.’
‘It’s my pleasure – nice to finally have some good news. Sorry for calling so late.’
‘No problem, it was worth it.’ Claire was about to hang up when she thought of something. ‘Nurse?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you please tell him I’ll be in to see him in the morning?’
‘Doctor will be doing his rounds until about ten, so if you come after that we’ll know more.’
‘Okay.’
‘Goodbye then.’
‘Goodbye, and thanks again.’
Claire put the phone down and looked at Bernadette. They stared at each other in wonder for nearly a full minute before grabbing at each other and whooping with delight like they used to do at the end of exams.
They slumped back onto the lounge, and almost immediately began yawning. Five minutes later they had cleaned their teeth and were saying goodnight and turning off lights.
Claire lay in bed staring into the blackness above, wide awake. But it wasn’t her father’s waking that kept her mind ticking over, nor thoughts of the day’s events, but Paycheque.
The time was coming when she’d have to tell Jack what she’d done. She couldn’t check on the horse and just leave it at that. Not now. No, she had to get him back, give her father something real to come back for. But what if someone had discovered his potential, or perhaps worse, realised his sentimental value? She couldn’t afford to pay big bucks for him, but couldn’t afford not to. For all she knew she might even be too late. If things had gone as badly at Morphettville as Derek had said, he might have already been sent to the knackers. God, she couldn’t bear to think about that.
As the grey light of the new day began to peep under the blind, Claire decided she’d start by ringing Al Jacobs. And with that thought, she finally drifted off.
Chapter Eight
Claire woke to the sound of water rushing through pipes and beating on the bathroom wall next door. She smiled at Bernadette’s off-key rendition of ‘It Must Be Love’. She lay there until she heard her friend in the kitchen, not wanting to upset her morning ritual and risk her being late opening the shop.
When she thought about the day before, a shiver ran the length of her spine. Twelve months out of work. What if she’d forgotten everything she knew by then?
Claire reached for the folded piece of paper from the bedside cupboard. There it was in black and white: she was having a year off. End of story. Nothing to worry about for ages. She read the note twice more to further convince herself. Anyway, for the next two weeks she was really on holidays – well that’s what she’d keep telling herself. And of course her father.
Claire climbed out of bed and dragged on the worn blue robe that always hung on the back of the guest room door. She breathed in its comforting fresh floral scent. They used the same laundry products – regularly comparing notes on such things – but somehow Bernadette’s linen always smelled sweeter, fresher. She pulled on long purple socks and padded out to the kitchen where Bernie was pouring milk into two mugs.
‘Ah, there you are. Good morning,’ Bernadette said.
‘Morning.’
‘Here you go,’ she said, passing Claire one of the mugs.
‘Thanks.’ Claire took a deep whiff of the bitter, earthy aroma of instant coffee, psyching herself up before taking a sip.
‘Toast?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘So, other than going down to see Jack, what are your plans for the day?’
‘Well I’m going to wait until after ten when they think the doctor will have finished his rounds. Are you at the shop?’
‘Only until noon. I couldn’t find anyone else to cover for me until then – I tried before you arrived yesterday. Otherwise I would have liked to go with you to see Jack.’
‘Well I can hold off a few hours – it’s been two months, another few hours won’t matter. Bill and Daphne will most likely be there anyway. No doubt she’ll be frantically stitching the jumper together now she knows he’ll be able to wear it soon.’
‘Haven’t they been amazing?’
‘Hmm. It’s been so good to know they were there all the times I got caught up at the office. I’m going to have to get them something to thank them for everything they’ve done. Any ideas?’
‘They really wouldn’t expect you to. Just knowing Jack is okay would be enough for them.’
‘I know. But their support really has meant a lot.’
‘I’ll give it some thought.’ Bernie glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better get going. You’re sure you’re happy to wait until I finish at the shop?’
‘Absolutely. It’s always better visiting with company. And he’d love to see you. Anyway, I’ve got some phone calls to make that will fill in the time.’
‘Right. To let people know he’s woken up.’
‘No, I’m going to wait until I know more before I start doing that.’
‘What other calls then?’ Bernadette eyed Claire suspiciously.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not looking for a job. I’m going to try and track down Paycheque. Remember him? Apparently Dad was asking for him when he woke up. Sign of a true horseman when he asks for a horse before his daughter,’ she added, rolling her eyes.
‘Well, at least it means his memory’s relatively recent.’
‘Yeah. So I need to find out where the horse is so I’ve got something to tell him.’
‘Well, the phone’s all yours. Cheaper for local calls than your mobile.’
‘Bernie?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thanks for everything.’
‘You’d do the same for me – I know that.’ Bernie hugged her. ‘Well I’d better skedaddle. Remember, the shop’s on speed dial two if you need me.’
&n
bsp; ‘Thanks.’
‘Right, I’ll see you later. Good luck finding your horse.’
‘Hello, Al Jacobs’s stables.’
‘Hello, I was wondering if Al is available to speak with?’
‘Sorry, he’s at Morphettville today.’
‘Oh, right.’ Claire could have kicked herself.
‘Is there something I can help you with?’
‘Maybe.’ The girl seemed friendly enough. ‘Do you have a horse registered under the name Paycheque there – dark bay colour, on the small side?’
‘I think I know the one you’re talking about. He was here, but only for a few weeks. I got on okay with him but Al and the others didn’t. Nearly ate us out of house and home, too.’
‘That would be the one.’ Claire put on a laugh. ‘Any idea where he is now?’ she tried to sound nonchalant.
‘I could check the journal. Why do you want to know?’ the girl asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.
Shit! Claire hadn’t thought this far ahead. She took a deep breath. ‘Well, my father used to train him and he was sold off when he got sick and now…’
‘You mean Jack McIntyre? Why didn’t you say? How is he?’
Claire was so taken aback she couldn’t speak for a few moments. ‘Actually, he woke up from his coma last night.’
‘Aw, that’s great – you must be so relieved.’
It felt weird sharing something so personal with someone she had never met but who seemed to know so much about her father. One big family – and not necessarily happy – that was the racing fraternity. It was perhaps the thing Claire missed most, but also what she missed least. The fierce rivalry in the industry meant that people were often friends one minute and enemies the next and vice versa. She’d seen it so many times.
‘Yeah.’ Claire waited in anticipation. Would the girl help her or not? She could hear what sounded like heavy books and folders being moved, and pages being turned. Claire held her breath when the girl finally spoke.
‘He went to Todd Newman over at Gawler – a couple of weeks ago now. Al couldn’t be bothered with him after he threw a major hissy fit at Morphettville.’
Claire cringed. She didn’t want to hear any more. ‘You wouldn’t have Todd’s number by any chance – save me looking it up?’
‘It’s right here.’
Claire took down the number. ‘Well thanks for your help.’
‘No worries.’
‘Ta.’
Claire dialled the number, hoping there would be someone at the stables.
‘Todd Newman’s stables – Graham speaking.’
‘Todd’s not available, is he?’
‘Sorry, no, it’s just me – everyone else’s at the races. I’m the stable manager.’
‘Oh right. Okay.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Um…’ Claire was thrown by his efficient, professional manner. She’d been hoping for another junior to pull the wool over if she had to. ‘Well it’s a bit of an odd question really, but I understand you got a horse registered under the name Paycheque – a small bay – from Al Jacobs.’
‘Did have, little monster. Had all sorts of trouble with him ourselves. We heard about his performance at Morphettville and thought maybe it was just Al being Al. But no, he’s a dud all right. Why the interest?’
‘Well my daughter’s looking for a new Pony Club mount. She saw him that day and took a bit of a liking to him. Loves a challenge – you know what kids are like…’
‘Oh don’t I just – got two myself. Well that one’s certainly a challenge, but I wouldn’t let my kids near him. Got a real nasty streak. Anyway, he’s gone to the dogs – literally. Truck came three days ago.’
Part of her wanted to scream at this man who didn’t care, let him know she’d worked with the horse before, that Paycheque didn’t have a nasty bone in his body. The other part of her wanted to curl up and give up. But she couldn’t, she wasn’t doing this for herself. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
‘Thanks for the advice.’
‘Plenty of other horses around for your daughter. In fact, there’s a couple here if you want to bring her over.’
‘Right, thanks. I might just do that. Um, just out of curiosity, whose truck did Paycheque go on?’
‘Tom Bailey’s – we don’t use anyone else.’
Claire hated how real lives were traded like this, how someone could make a living – and a good one, from what she’d heard of Tom Bailey – from unwanted horses. They were often healthy creatures in their prime, got rid of because something better had come along. And in the case of Paycheque, simply because nobody had taken the time to figure out what made him tick.
Tears prickled behind Claire’s eyes. Her throat was jammed and her stomach a ball of knotted dread.
‘Look, I’d better go,’ she croaked. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘No worries, cheers then. And remember, bring your daughter up sometime.’
Claire hung up without another word, sat down on the couch and pulled a cushion to her. The poor little horse. What he must have gone through. She had one last phone call but didn’t want to make it, didn’t want to know any more. What would she tell Jack? Could bad news send him back into a coma?
With trembling fingers, Claire thumbed through the phone book. She stared at the entry: ‘Tom Bailey – pick up all unwanted horses anywhere, anytime’. No different from the ads for antique furniture or bric-a-brac.
Claire pressed each number slowly and waited, holding her breath, while the phone connected and started to ring. She let it ring three times, four times… There, she’d tried. She was about to hang up when it was answered.
‘Tom Bailey.’ He sounded almost cheery. Claire felt the anger welling up inside her.
‘Yes, hello.’
‘Got an unwanted horse for me, luv?’
‘Uh, no… Actually I’m looking for one you picked up three days ago from Todd Newman’s.’
‘Hey lady, if you sent the wrong horse it’s got nothing to do with me – I only take what’s handed to me.’
Claire swallowed hard, building up the courage to say the words. ‘You took the right horse – it was someone else’s mistake.’
‘Well nothing to do with me,’ he said, sounding relieved. ‘Anyway, we’re way too efficient for people to go changing their minds.’
‘Do you remember where he went? Which, uh, facility?’
‘There’s only one, love: Packers, just outside Williamstown. But you’d be wasting your time. If he went three days ago he’ll be long gone – in cans on his way to a supermarket by now.’
‘Right, okay, thanks for your help.’
‘Bloody women,’ he muttered before hanging up.
Claire fought the urge to call him back and give him a piece of her mind. She looked around her friend’s cluttered home, searching for some other way to vent her anger and frustration. But nothing would bring Paycheque back. She’d have to find a way to come clean to her father.
Claire buried her head in her hands and began to weep – for Paycheque, for Keith, her mother, her father. But after a few moments, with a force she didn’t know she had, she stopped. She couldn’t drown in self-pity now. No, she had to do something, get her mind off it. But the distraction that had been there all the other times was gone – her job, her never-ending list of emails.
Maybe Bernadette had been right – maybe she had been using the corporate world as a smokescreen, as one big fat excuse for everything that had gone wrong – and right – in her life. What had she been doing for the past twelve years? What had she achieved, other than a healthier bank balance and an only slightly smaller mortgage? Claire’s tears dried.
At least Bernadette brought joy to people’s lives – she’d seen customers arrive at the shop, daunted by the work ahead, only to leave brimming with excitement at improving their surroundings. Bernadette genuinely made a difference, with advice that was about so much more than simply gardening. So what did she
have that Claire lacked, apart from a green thumb?
Passion. Bernadette had passion. Like she’d said only recently, she felt blessed that she could earn money doing what she loved. Claire looked around at the mishmash of her friend’s décor – mostly from op shops. Claire had lived the peasant life – as a kid with her parents – and there was no way she could go back to that.
From somewhere in the depths of her memory she heard the big Texan drawl of Dr Phil. ‘And how’s it working for you?’ Even from the few shows she’d seen over the years, Claire knew there was no pulling the wool over Dr Phil – he was like the air, nowhere but everywhere. She squirmed inside. Her life had taken less than a year to unravel, and she’d have to face up to a few things if she was going to stop the fraying. Claire wasn’t yet sure what she had to do, but wondered if just knowing was a start.
Chapter Nine
Claire felt less confined in her compact Corolla than Bernadette’s lounge room. Sitting behind the wheel she felt more in control. She paused at the end of the driveway with the motor running. She had a choice: left out towards her father’s farm at Mount Pleasant, or right towards the regional township of Angaston.
Three days too late. If only she hadn’t been so damn stubborn, had taken time off when Derek had suggested it. Bloody Jack – if he’d woken a few days earlier… Claire banged her hand on the steering wheel. There’d be other horses to get her father back on track – there had to be. There was nothing more she could do. He’d have to believe her.
But in the back of Claire’s mind she wondered how – when she didn’t believe it herself, when she felt so desolate, devoid of hope. It’s only a horse, she told herself, and began saying it over and over in her head. It didn’t help, and she gave up. She couldn’t face the farm knowing she’d failed Paycheque, failed her father.
‘Retail therapy,’ she muttered, putting her right indicator on, then drove carefully out onto the open highway.
Claire had a plan: she’d go shopping in the quaint old town of Tanunda instead of the larger Angaston, buy Bernadette a thankyou gift and some gourmet food for lunch. Then they’d head to the hospital to see Jack. She couldn’t wait to see him. Then she could get on with her life, get back to normal – well her new jobless normal anyway. And she’d forget about Paycheque; enough experts had said he wasn’t worth pursuing anyway. Yes, it was probably all for the best. It would save Jack the humiliation and money. There was probably a better opportunity just around the corner. Claire smiled wryly; she was beginning to think like Bernadette. Maybe the redundancy wasn’t all bad after all. Maybe a year off was a good idea.
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