But out of the corner of her eye she saw it, just as the race caller announced it. There was something wrong with Howie. Maddie had dismounted, was comforting him and checking him over.
Claire tried to keep them in sight as she pushed past the people in the stands and on the stairs. Sensing her urgency, they parted.
Will was already at the gate with his black bag, trying to convince security to let him through. Claire shoved him ahead, thrust her pass into the guard’s face and then followed Will onto the track.
Apart from the comments from the race caller trying to be upbeat, and keep the crowd from thinking too much about what was unfolding just beyond the finish line, the strained, collective silence was noticeable.
It felt like hours, but was only minutes later, when Jack, followed by Will, led a severely lame Howie from the track. The crowd seemed to collectively avert their eyes, as if embarrassed at being caught enjoying the spectacle.
Derek walked behind and tried to put his arm around Maddie. But she resisted and shrugged him off. She ran to catch up to the hobbling Howie.
‘Jack, I’ve got to get to weigh-in!’ she cried.
‘There’s no point, love,’ Jack said, putting a hand gently on her shoulder. ‘The win’s not worth having now.’
Maddie pushed his hand away. She undid the girth, dragged the saddle from Howie’s back, and started walking back to the enclosure.
Back at the Fitzpatrick stables, Will diagnosed a badly strained near shoulder and called for volunteers to do stints of rigorous massage. The good news was that the injury was neither life-threatening nor career-ending.
For Claire, the relief was so immense she had to escape to the solitude of the caravan for a good weep. Curled up on the floral covered bed, she thought about the irony of Bernadette’s note tucked away safely in her pocket: ‘Enjoy the Ride’.
That night, entwined in a comforting embrace, Derek and Claire dissected the rest of the day’s events. Derek’s Humble had been bullied to the line to win in the fifth, an important lead-up race to the Caulfield and Melbourne Cups. It was an exciting result overshadowed by Howie’s injury. Claire felt a little guilty about it, but Derek didn’t seem to mind.
‘Can you believe Maddie thought to take Howie’s gear and front up for correct weight with all that was going on?’ Claire said.
‘At first I couldn’t understand what she was on about – she practically had to belt me to stop me dragging her off to the stalls.’
‘I didn’t even give it a thought. We would have been disqualified.’
‘She’s always been cool in a crisis. When she was nine her Pony Club Mount – Duke – cut his leg on a fence. He probably would have bled to death if it’d been left to me. She rang the vet and applied pressure while I sat on a bucket with my head between my knees feeling faint.’
‘Actually, I thought today you were looking a little green.’
‘Why do you think I took care of the jockey and stayed away from the horse? Just seeing them in pain is enough for me.’
‘Poor sensitive baby,’ Claire crooned, hugging Derek tighter. ‘Thank God Will was here. He really is a miracle worker, isn’t he?’
‘Without a doubt.’
‘What a day! I’m exhausted.’
‘Too exhausted to…?’ he said, running a finger lightly across her breast.
‘Sorry. Too exhausted even for that.’
‘Darling, you’ll be needing an agent soon,’ Derek said, arriving at the caravan with two takeaway coffees and a newspaper tucked under his arm.
With raised eyebrows, Claire relieved him of the paper and a coffee, and settled down to read: ‘Vet Works Miracle’.
When Hazardous Waste pulled up lame after winning the Underwood Stakes at Caulfield just over two weeks ago, it seemed this promising stayer’s Cup campaign, possibly even his career, was over. But in what is becoming their trademark, the McIntyres have again chosen an unconventional approach.
Shunning course vets, the McIntyres turned to holistic vet Will Douglas, already at the course, to examine the horse, leaving racing traditionalists shaking their heads. Fellow racehorse owner, Derek Anderson, defended girlfriend Claire McIntyre’s decision. ‘I would have said the same a year ago, but what he did for Paycheque can only be described as miraculous. The normal vet who showed up told them to put the horse down after he tore a tendon in a training accident – most vets would have. But Will reckoned he could help and, well as you’ve seen, the rest is history.’
Claire confirmed the story, adding that Dr Douglas is a traditionally trained vet specialising in alternative therapies. ‘He’s not a quack like people are making out. We would never put the welfare of our horses at risk, but they do deserve the best chance of recovery we can give them. Too often vets are just reaching for the gun without looking at alternatives. As I’ve said before, we consider our horses part of the family, not just a business, so of course we’re going to try anything for a good outcome. If other people have a problem with it, then so be it.’
When asked about Hazardous Waste’s injury and prognosis, Claire said, ‘It’s not as serious as first thought. Just a strain to his near shoulder – probably when he lunged right at the finish.’ She said the horse had responded well to massage, acupuncture and herbal supplements.
Asked about his name still being on the ballot for the Melbourne Cup, Claire said, ‘He’ll start back with a gentle workout next week. We’ll see then how he is, but at this stage we’re not ruling him out.’
With the McIntyre horses tucked away at Ian Fitzpatrick’s stables, no one has seen Hazardous Waste in the flesh. But if he truly does recover for the Melbourne Cup in just over two weeks, then we really will have seen something of a miracle.
‘I don’t see why the concept of natural medicine is so hard to grasp,’ Claire said with a sigh, closing the paper and pushing it aside.
‘Come on, Claire. Even you were questioning it not so long ago,’ Derek said.
‘Well not anymore. I hate the way he suggests we would have ignored Howie’s welfare if Will hadn’t been there. And not saying up front that he’s a fully qualified vet.’
‘You’re reading too much into it. He’s just doing his job – trying to sensationalise. And it’s not like he’s misrepresented the facts or what we said.’
‘No, you’re right, I’m just being too sensitive. Hopefully the publicity will be good for Will.’
‘And no one died, which is what really matters.’
‘You’re right – as usual,’ she said, rolling her eyes.
‘Yes, and don’t you forget it.’ He laughed, and gave her a hug.
Chapter Forty–five
An image of Claire, clad in jeans, R.M. Williams boots, chambray shirt and navy sleeveless microfleece vest, came into view on the large plasma screen.
‘Oh my God,’ she groaned, blushing and burying her head in her hands. ‘The camera adds ten pounds, not five.’
‘Shh, it’s starting,’ Bernadette scolded, slapping at her friend’s leg.
They were assembled at Will’s sister’s house to watch Claire’s interview, which had been filmed the week before. It was the only place where the whole of Team McIntyre – as they’d begun calling themselves – could comfortably be accommodated. David had insisted on working out how to record it, even though she’d told him the station was sending her a copy.
The opening was the quintessential racehorse training scene – fog of early morning, steamy breath issuing forth from nostrils and mouths and off the rumps of sweaty horses wandering past. Other than the fact she was all hips and arse, Claire thought it looked perfect. And so it should: it had taken almost half an hour to get right. They had just finished filming when the fog lifted to reveal the dilapidated corrugated iron stables with piles of rolled fencing wire and other discarded farm refuse rusting behind them.
They’d wanted to start at five-thirty to capture the atmosphere of early morning and the rising sun. Claire got them to agree to do t
heir opening shots without her so she could turn up with the horses nearer six-thirty.
Even still, poor Paycheque had his nose puckered into a sneer of distaste, and the crew were lucky they hadn’t got too close. Otherwise it might have ended in tears. Howie showed his objection to the early hour with a few pigroots – he impressed the television people but merely caused the sure-seated Maddie to laugh.
They’d asked Claire to yell orders but she’d refused, opting instead for their second choice: studying the stopwatch, nodding, and muttering with approval before making notes in her pocket-sized spiralbound notebook. Part of her had wanted so badly to giggle, but thankfully her nerves had suppressed it.
Now Maddie giggled.
‘Oi, enough of that,’ Claire said, trying to glare stonily but failing. ‘They made me, all right,’ she whined.
‘Come on, you two,’ Bernadette said.
The shot faded to reveal Claire seated on a canvas director’s chair, mug in hand, backed by the wall of the caravan. The interviewer was out of sight.
With her lower half hidden, she didn’t look too bad on camera. The shoot hadn’t stretched to professional hair and makeup, but Claire had seen enough training videos at work to know she’d look ghostly pale if she didn’t apply a stack of foundation and concealer. She’d felt subconscious at appearing so obviously overdone, but was now relieved she’d made the effort.
Derek gave her shoulder a squeeze with the arm he had draped around it. ‘You look great,’ he whispered, before kissing her on the ear.
Claire hoped she didn’t have one of those voices that sounded all right to its owner but like an alley cat being strangled to the rest of the world. But after the first question was answered, she gave a sigh of relief and settled back into the plush cream leather couch to watch:
‘I have with me Claire McIntyre, who recently joined her father Jack’s stables near Mount Pleasant in the Adelaide Hills. Jack has over thirty years’ experience as an owner/trainer, but this is their first Spring Carnival. Their horses, Hazardous Waste and Paycheque, have treated us to some spectacular highs and lows over the past six weeks, and with both horses entered in the Melbourne Cup, the story isn’t over yet.
‘Claire, I’m sure there is much the whole of Australia is dying to know, but first, what’s the story with the long stirrups? Every other jockey as far back as we can remember has worn their stirrups short, but not yours. Why?’ He laughed.
Claire remembered how it had immediately put her at ease.
‘Well Mike, it really comes down to safety. They say the reason for short stirrups is that being directly over the withers improves the horse’s balance. But if your weight is evenly distributed, what’s the difference if your legs are down the horse’s side or up under you? My view is that if you have a lower centre of gravity you’re more likely to stay on if the horse stumbles. Also, with more leg on the horse, you’ve got a better chance of steering them away from trouble. I guess we’re just looking at things a little differently,’ she added with a shrug.
‘Speaking of which, you have a strong objection to the use of whips too, don’t you?’
‘Absolutely. In my opinion they serve no useful purpose…’
‘Doesn’t it encourage the horse to run faster? And I’m told it doesn’t hurt.’
‘Well that’s the theory, but if you belted yourself with one, I’m not sure you’d agree…’
‘You go girl,’ David said to the television, pumping a raised fist.
‘…As to running faster, I can’t see how. They’re like any other athlete: if they’ve got the desire to win, they’ll run as fast as they can. If not, no amount of whipping is going to help.’
‘You’re actually trying to get whips banned completely, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. When the Cup Carnival is over I’m going to start actively lobbying the various racing bodies. Currently most jockeys carry a whip, except ours of course. So what would be the difference if nobody did? Everyone would have the same advantage or disadvantage.’
‘But don’t jockeys also use the whip to keep the horse straight?’
‘So I’ve heard. But I think there’s a lot to be said for jockeys keeping both hands on the reins and not having the distraction of a whip, not to mention the disruption to balance. We’ve worked hard to train our horses to move away from the leg so Maddie, our jockey – a very talented and compassionate horsewoman – can put them where she wants on the track. Take Howie’s – sorry, Hazardous Waste’s – run in the Underwood Stakes. He ran wide and avoided being caught up in the kerfuffle on the turn…’
‘Hope we’re all going to rate a mention,’ Bernadette said.
‘And what part have you played, my darling?’ David asked.
‘Um…’
‘My point exactly! Be prepared to be disappointed, sweet pea.’
‘Well, I did send the cats.’
‘Shush, you two,’ Claire said.
‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot,’ David said, smiling sweetly. ‘I’m recording it – on DVD – so it’ll be available for all eternity.’
‘Speaking of Hazardous Waste, how is he doing?’
‘Almost completely back to form.”
‘That’s amazing – only a month ago people were saying his career might be over.’
‘Well as we all know, Mike, the Spring Carnival brings about all sorts of melodrama. But seriously, it might have been, had it not been for our vet, Will Douglas.’
‘There’s your mention, Will. Only me and Bernie left,’ David said.
‘Don’t forget Sandy and Terry. They’ve played a part in all this,’ Will joined in.
‘And the caravan,’ David added.
‘No, that’s already covered – it’s the backdrop,’ Will said.
‘Ah yes, so it is.’
‘Would you lot just shut up and let me enjoy my fifteen minutes of fame,’ Claire snapped.
They made a show of shooting each other pained expressions of guilt before returning their silent attention to the screen.
‘…Yes, I’ve heard him described as a miracle worker.’
‘Well to us he is. Paycheque’s career – his life, in fact – was considered over before he intervened.’
‘Would you care to elaborate?’
‘Well, a traditional vet, who shall remain nameless, advised euthanasia after Paycheque tore a tendon during training. But we sought another opinion and were lucky to find Will.’
‘And is it true you had saved Paycheque from the slaughterhouse previously?’
‘Yes. When Dad became ill last year the horses were dispersed. Apparently Paycheque clashed with a number of trainers and ended up there. I tracked him down and bought him back – it was terrible, I prefer not to think about it.’
‘What inspired his name?’
‘Well it’s a bit ironic really. Dad called him Paycheque in the hope that the potential he saw would pay off. And when I found him again it was part of my redundancy payout – effectively my last paycheque – that paid for him.’
A collective sigh of ‘ahh’ reverberated around the room.
Claire shot them all a sharp glare. A couple of suppressed giggles escaped before silence was restored.
‘Well it’s certainly paid off, so to speak, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And no doubt there’s more to come. Claire, can you give us an exclusive? Will he line up for the Cup on Tuesday? And what about Hazardous Waste?’
‘Sorry, Mike. We’re yet to make a decision ourselves. About either horse.’
‘Will it be down to track conditions?’
‘Of course, the track is a consideration, especially given their recent injuries, but it will more come down to how they feel on the day.’
‘Sorry, I don’t follow…’
‘Well, we all have good and bad days.’
‘You’re saying it’s somehow up to the horses themselves?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, you’d actua
lly consider scratching one or both horses when they’re in form and have a chance of winning Australia’s most prestigious race?’
‘We’ve had a great run, really enjoyed the Carnival. For us, there really is nothing more to prove. If they want to run, we’ll let them. If not, they won’t.’
‘But how will you know?’
‘Intuition, gut feeling, the way the pieces of the puzzle of the day fall into place.’
‘You’re not serious, are you?’
‘Well Mike, hindsight tells us most things happen for a reason. By being more aware of the bigger picture, there’s a chance of avoiding a lot of the things that can go wrong.’
‘You mean God?’
‘Not necessarily. Call it what you want, but there’s a lot in life that’s beyond our control. I’ve learnt the hard way that life becomes easier if you just let some things go…’
Derek squeezed Claire hard to him.
‘There are viewers out there right now saying you’re mad.’
‘Only the narrow-minded, Mike.’
‘Well that’s all we have time for. Thank you, Claire McIntyre, for taking time from your busy schedule. Now it’s back to the studio for the latest racing results and other sports news…’
Claire smiled to herself. They made it sound like a live interview, which of course it wasn’t. And there had been many more questions she’d answered. It seemed her ideas were a little much for the butch sports reporter, or the powers that be back in the editing suite. She wasn’t surprised – a year ago she would probably have had the same reaction herself.
The group on the cream sofas began cheering and clapping.
‘That’s my girl. Claire, the enlightened spirit,’ Bernie said with genuine pride.
Jack quickly brushed at the corner of his eye and swallowed deeply. He’d remained silent during the interview, and now Claire wondered with a stab of guilt whether he was feeling overshadowed, left out. She really should have insisted on including him. What if his initial protests had just been out of politeness? Her throat constricted. The whole trip was just one big roller-coaster of emotion.
Paycheque Page 33