‘Coffee, tea, more wine, anyone?’ Will asked, getting up and going to the open-plan kitchen behind the granite-topped bench.
Slowly David, Bernadette and Maddie unwrapped their legs and made their way over to assist Will.
‘A tea would be great, thanks, after you’ve pointed me to the nearest loo,’ Jack called, getting up.
‘End of the hall,’ Will called.
Claire cornered Jack in the bathroom while he was washing his hands. He seemed cheery enough, but Claire couldn’t leave it unsaid.
‘Dad, I’m really sorry you were left out…’
‘Sorry?’
‘Well, the television piece. I did say a whole lot about you – they must have cut it.’
‘I thought it was great. If I’d wanted to be included I’d have agreed to be interviewed.’
‘So you’re not upset?’
‘No. What makes you think I’d be upset?’
‘Dad, I saw you right at the end. The… You seemed upset.’
‘Oh that. Well don’t tell anyone, can’t have them thinking I’m a big old wuss.’ He put his arm around Claire and held her tightly to him. ‘Claire, the few tears, which I will never admit to again, were for you. I’m just so proud of how you’ve dealt with everything you’ve been through, especially this past year. You’re a remarkable person, Claire McIntyre, and wonderful horsewoman. And just like Howie and Paycheque, you’ve got nothing to prove: to me or anyone else.’
Claire managed a lip-trembling nod before putting her head on her father’s shoulder, and indulging in a few moments of unabated sobbing.
Jack McIntyre carefully turned his daughter away from him and said, ‘Come on, time to pull yourself together. We’ve still got a little way to go yet.’
‘Yeah, we have,’ she said, smiling through her sodden lashes.
First Jack and then Claire returned to the spacious living area where the goings-on had continued uninterrupted. One by one everyone returned to the sofas with their chosen beverages. Will put a mug in front of Jack. Claire noticed some odd looks and hushed words being exchanged between Bernadette and David, before Bernie disappeared and returned a few seconds later with a soft, squishy-looking package wrapped in gold.
Bernadette cleared her throat and spoke carefully. ‘This is a gift from David, Will, Derek and I, to commemorate the first of hopefully many interstate trips, and to say how proud we are of your journey, whether it includes the Cup or not. Here you are Jack, as the longest serving member of Team McIntyre.’
‘Thank you, all of you,’ Jack said, accepting the package and casting his eyes around the assembled group clutching their hands with childlike eagerness.
He spent a few perplexed moments trying to untie the gold ribbon before submitting to the cries of, ‘Just rip it open!’ With the package on his lap, he tore the thin paper off to reveal carefully folded silk fabric displaying their bright racing colours.
‘They’re beautiful,’ Claire whispered, as Jack held up the first of two brand new racing silks, tears clearly evident in his wise old eyes.
‘We had your old ones copied,’ David said.
‘They’re just perfect,’ Claire said, getting up and hugging each of her friends in turn.
She couldn’t believe how bright the gold and red shone: like shimmering flames. When they’d decided to make the journey, she’d wanted to suggest replacing the faded set, but hadn’t been able to broach the subject with her father. Theirs were more than bits of shiny cloth worn by their jockey – the current set had been made by her mother just weeks before her death. The design, taken from the McIntyre family crest, was a silent reminder of their need to stick together.
Once, Claire had dismissed her father and his apparent contentment in rural mediocrity for a life of corporate excess in the city. What was worse, she knew he had seen her disappointment and shame whenever she’d visited with Keith. Even as adults, children could be so cruel.
But they were past all that now, she told herself, as she accepted with a smile the silks being handed to her. Everyone in the room had played their part. But there was one absent person – Keith – without whom none of it would have happened. She studied the design of a red eagle with wings outstretched on gold background and black sleeves.
‘Look inside,’ Bernadette urged.
Claire frowned at the thin buttoned-up shirt. What was she looking for? What could be inside? After considerable searching, she finally found it. There was a black label sewn over the maker’s tag, embroidered with gold cursive print, not unlike Bernadette’s large sprawling hand. On it was their family motto in Latin: ‘Per ardua’.
‘Through difficulties,’ Claire translated quietly.
Epilogue
They were in the Flemington enclosure on the first Tuesday in November. In less than half an hour, Australia and much of the world would stop for the three and a half minutes it took for the Melbourne Cup – The Race That Stops the Nation – to be run.
Claire was shaking with nerves as she struggled to hoist Maddie into the saddle, but for once Paycheque made it easy by standing still. Everyone had been relieved to find him in a good mood that morning. Claire had barely slept, and now she was beginning to feel headachey and wobbly on her feet, just like she’d felt every time she competed at Pony Club.
Back then it was pressure from her mother. Today, she tried to tell herself it was excitement, that they’d come so far they really couldn’t fail. But she knew that wasn’t true. The Cup had gone global. Practically the whole world was watching. This was their chance to prove themselves.
‘Now Maddie, you’re totally sure about this?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Really, it’s not too late to back out.’
‘Not a chance. I’m fine.’
‘Honestly, we won’t think less of you.’
‘Claire, it’ll be all right. We’ve talked about it. I’ll take him easy – keep him out as far away from the others as I can. We’ll be okay. But seriously, you need to calm down. You’ll have a heart attack or something.’
‘I can’t. I…’
‘And breathe! Claire, you’ve got to breathe!’
‘I’m just nervous because of all the hype, the cameras. But please don’t think that means there’s pressure on you. Honestly, I just want you both back safe and sound.’
‘I know.’
Paycheque stood with his head hung slightly. Claire was pleased he was calm, but he hardly looked like an athlete primed for the race of his life. He looked half-asleep. Well better that than naughty and badtempered, she supposed.
‘You look after her, won’t you, mate?’ She stroked his face. ‘Maddie, whatever you do, steer clear of both Todd Newman’s runners. Who knows what he’s put his jockeys up to.’
‘Claire, I know.’
‘And remember. Don’t let him get near the rail – either of them.’
‘You already said that.’
‘Right, yes, so I did – sorry.’
‘Claire, it’s time for me to go.’
‘Yes, yes, but there’s something else I have to tell you – I know there is – but I can’t remember.’
‘We’ve gone over everything a million times – what’s going to happen is going to happen. Look, I’ve really gotta go.’
‘Yes, go. Good luck and stay safe, Maddie.’
‘I will. But we’re not going anywhere if you don’t let go of my reins,’ Maddie said with a laugh.
‘Shit! Sorry, I didn’t realise.’ Claire’s hand was fused around the reins and she had to consciously tell herself to open it. ‘Good luck,’ she said, stepping back to let Maddie pass.
‘Thanks. See ya.’
Claire stared after Maddie. She couldn’t believe how calm the kid was. This was the Melbourne Cup and Maddie looked like she was just going out for a casual stroll. She watched as Paycheque joined the queue and was swept out onto the lush green track. His small stature meant he was dwarfed by the bigger horses around him. Only when h
e was cantering up the straight towards the barriers did she turn back to the grandstand where the rest of Team McIntyre were waiting.
Derek appeared beside her as she left the enclosure. ‘All well with them?’ he asked.
‘Yep. It’s only me who’s a mess of nerves,’ she said, trying to laugh it off.
‘Well, Maddie’s always been pretty good under pressure. Come on, Bernie and the others have saved us a great spot.’ Derek grabbed her hand and tugged.
They edged their way between the small groups of people sitting on chairs and lounging on picnic rugs on the grass, the effects of too much sun and alcohol apparent in their dishevelment and the litter around them.
‘I really hope I didn’t upset her with my rambling,’ Claire said to Derek, speaking loudly to be heard over the roar of the goings-on around them.
‘She knows what you’re like. She won’t have given it a second thought, so stop beating yourself up!’ he shouted back. ‘Quick, come on.’
They fought their way in slow motion through the crowd standing shoulder to shoulder in the area below the stands. No one wanted to let them through and risk losing their position.
‘Bet the crowd parts like the Red Sea for Gai Waterhouse and David Hayes,’ she growled, but her voice was carried away by the noise of revellers.
Claire was exhausted by the time she got to the foot of the stairs. Looking up at the stands looming in front of them, she really didn’t think she had the stamina to climb all those steps.
‘Quick, come on,’ Derek urged. ‘We don’t have long.’
‘I don’t think I can,’ she said, clutching at the stitch now forming at her left side.
‘Well you won’t see a thing from down here,’ Derek growled, stopping and facing her.
‘Might be a good idea, though. In case something happens and Maddie needs me.’ They were being bumped by people all around them trying to get into the stands.
‘There’s nothing you can do now, it’s out of your hands. I’m sure as hell not missing it, and neither are you. Come on!’
Claire allowed herself to be practically dragged up the steps and into the middle of the stand to where Bernie, David, Will and Jack were spread out, saving extra space for them. They were directly opposite the finish line and had a great view of the giant screen. But they were so far up, and the stand was so steep, that Claire felt dizzy when she looked down at the crowd they’d just made their way through.
‘You okay?’ Bernie shouted. ‘You look terribly pale.’
‘No. I want to throw up I’m so nervous,’ she shouted back with a tight laugh.
‘Well focus on something else, like how well you’ve done to get here.’
Claire cast an eye across to where Jack stood beside Will. He was an awful grey colour, looked even worse than she felt. He gave her a thumbs-up sign and a broad smile. As he did, a little colour returned to his face. She grinned and gave a thumbs-up in return, and let herself feel a tiny sense of relief.
‘God, I hope he’s going to be okay at the barriers. Maybe I should have stayed down…’
‘Shut up, Claire!’ Bernie, David and Derek said in unison.
She turned her attention to the screen beside the finish line, as one by one the horses were shown leaving the circling group behind the barriers and entering their stalls. She was just in time to watch Maddie turn and walk Paycheque forward into his allocated space.
‘He’s in,’ she muttered, and let out a sigh of relief.
Within seconds the orange light atop the barriers was spinning, signalling that it was safe to start the race. A split second later the gates sprung open and the caller announced, ‘And they’re off and racing…’ The horses leapt out in a mass of colour. They began making their way down the track before splitting into two groups and taking a side each.
Claire glanced at both groups but couldn’t make out Maddie and Paycheque in either. She grabbed the binoculars from Bernie, put them to her eyes and looked for them coming up the straight. Paycheque suddenly appeared: behind the horses that had left the two groups to make a third in front.
Claire was pleased to see him out on his own, but she didn’t like how fast he seemed to be travelling. They still had over three thousand metres to go. Going out too hard could be a fatal move in a race this long.
‘Come on, steady now. Ease him back. Let him settle,’ she whispered, barely able to hear her voice above her heart beating against her ribs, and the pounding of blood inside her ears.
And as she watched through the binoculars, he did settle slightly. Maddie was low over him and there was a nice curve to the reins along his neck. Claire nodded in time with his rhythm, trying to count the beats of his stride between hundred-metre markers, in an effort to both keep herself calm and calculate his speed.
But as the horses came in front, Claire pulled the binoculars away and let herself enjoy the deep, hollow thunder of nineteen sets of hooves on the turf, and the flap of leather as they whizzed by in a blur below the stands. She loved those sounds, savoured them every Cup Day.
She returned her eyes to the hard black sockets of the binoculars. Paycheque was holding his own now in the middle of the second pack. Despite his speed, he seemed to be in a great rhythm, calm. He was starting to darken with sweat but no more than all those around him. He was still on a nice long, low frame, but not too low to suggest he was tiring. With the pounding of blood in her ears, Claire could hardly hear the race caller or the crowd going wild around her. She was being bumped and shoved from all directions, but still she kept the binoculars to her eyes and her focus on the horses completing the first turn. Paycheque was now on the far side of the track and out of her line of sight.
Claire lowered the binoculars and looked around her. Bernadette was biting on her fingernails, David on his bottom lip. Both had their eyes glued to the big screen, barely blinking. Will’s lips were moving as if he was saying a mantra over and over. She accidently bumped Derek as she looked across at Jack. He moved his binoculars away long enough to offer Claire a quick grin before returning to the action on the track.
Jack had his binoculars clamped hard against his face – the same set he’d carted everywhere for the past thirty-odd years. He too was nodding in time with the rhythm of the horses, his lips muttering encouragement and instructions to Maddie and Paycheque, and curses to those getting too close. Claire couldn’t hear him but had stood beside him at enough races to know what was likely being said. She wondered if he was the mess of nerves inside that she was – he looked so damn calm. Then he mouthed the words, ‘No! Maddie watch out!’
Quickly Claire refocussed on the last group of horses making their way down the straight at the far side of the track. She was just in time to see a jockey in Todd Newman’s colours come in close to Paycheque and elbow Maddie in the ribs.
‘Leave her alone!’ Claire growled. She searched the track for an escape route for Maddie, but other horses were closing in around her. Both of Todd’s horses now flanked Paycheque, their sixteen-plus hands dwarfing his fifteen. Maddie was turning her head from side to side, no doubt giving each jockey a mouthful.
They were approaching the final long sweeping turn. As Claire watched, Paycheque moved across closer to the outside. They’d talked about Maddie staying out wide until halfway round and then cutting the corner as much as she could, depending on how balanced Paycheque felt and how tired he was. Then, once the corner was complete and they were heading up the final straight, Maddie was to take him as far away from the others as possible, to avoid the flurry of whips and flapping reins, and prevent him losing his focus and getting a fright.
If the majority then went wide she’d take Paycheque nearer the middle, but if they hugged the inside rail then she’d take him right to the outside. But the leading horses were still in two groups – against both the inside and outside rails. Behind them was a group coming up the middle and closing in fast. Paycheque was about to be swallowed up by the larger horses. Shit, where was she going to go?<
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Claire closed her watering eyes for a split second while she wondered what advice she’d give Maddie if she had the chance – not that it mattered; she didn’t. She opened her eyes and refocussed on the race unfolding down below to her far left. About six horses were right on Paycheque’s heels. His head was too low now, he was starting to fade.
‘Hang on, mate. Hang on – nearly there,’ she urged. There were now less than four hundred metres to go.
At that moment the group came alongside Paycheque, and Claire realised the colours on the bobbing helmets of the jockeys either side of him were those of Todd Newman.
‘Maddie, get out of there,’ she whispered.
But there was nowhere to go – they were stuck. She saw Maddie’s head turn twice – taking note of who was alongside. Claire didn’t want to watch, didn’t want to think about the argy-bargy and intimidation that was going on. She hoped Derek wasn’t watching but when she heard him shout, ‘Bloody hell!’ she knew he was seeing what she was. Her heart was in her mouth. They were well on their way down the straight now. The crowd was a deafening, screaming roar, and people were leaping up and down. The people on the grass surged towards the fence to urge on the horses they’d backed. There were three hundred metres to go.
The last group of horses had fallen way behind, joined by a couple who’d gone out too fast at the start. She couldn’t see Paycheque, but he had to be between the large chestnut and the grey – he hadn’t surged forward and he hadn’t dropped back. The jockeys were flapping their whips furiously – Paycheque would be copping it on the shoulder and neck from both sides. The poor thing must be terrified, she thought, biting her lip.
‘Just pull him up, Maddie,’ she urged. ‘It’s not worth it.’
There were now only one hundred and fifty metres to go. The frontrunners seemed to be slowing slightly, despite the furious flapping of whips and pushing of hands up and down necks urging them on. Paycheque and Todd’s two horses were now right behind them. Claire had been so worried about Paycheque being caught between the two horses that she hadn’t taken notice of where the group was in relation to the rest of the field.
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