Making Her Mark

by Renée Dahlia

‘Shannon wouldn’t dare drink and drive, imagine what Mama would say.’

  ‘Imagine. She doesn’t often go off, but when she does …’ Rachel grinned. Serena was quite similar to their mother, while Rachel had taken after their father—personality wise anyway—they both had Mama’s petite stature. ‘Does it ever bother you how people assume that twins should be the same, but we aren’t at all the same?’

  ‘Nope. I like being my own person. Just because you don’t understand me, doesn’t mean I don’t understand you, if you get what I mean. I know you wonder how I can stay home and all that—’

  ‘Does that make me a bitch?’ Rachel reeled back against the seat, her eyes firmly forward, even though she sensed the Uber driver’s judgement beside her.

  ‘No. Not everyone is out to get you. You don’t have to fight the world so much. Sometimes, it’s fine to just enjoy a moment without stressing about who is judging you.’ Serena’s words struck a nerve. She’d assumed the Uber driver’s judgement. Did she do it too often with everyone?

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And no, it doesn’t make you insecure.’ Serena pre-emptively answered Rachel’s next question, ‘It just means that you care what others think of you.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘Of course, I do. Everyone does, it just looks different on me.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Rachel—I love the way you attack the world as if you alone can change everything, all the injustices, all the slights, everything needs to be fought against and conquered. It’s very brave of you, and I’ve always loved you for it. You know I love you, right?’

  Rachel nodded, her throat suddenly thick. ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘I have no goals to conquer the world. I only want to be seen for myself. I want a comfortable existence.’

  ‘Why do you race ride then?’ If it wasn’t for the glory, or the thrill of it, then why? Rachel had always assumed Serena rode for the same joy as she did.

  ‘For the horses. For the thrill of winning. The same reason we all do it. Just because I don’t want to push the system to give me the big stage, doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy winning. I’m happy being a country jockey, to win without fanfare, and make country owners happy. I love the community of country racing, and I expect I’ll give it up once I meet the right man to have a family. Just like Mum gave up her career as a nurse to be with Dad and look after us.’

  Rachel swallowed, she didn’t know what to say. All the options sounded ugly, or judgemental.

  ‘Rach, I can hear you thinking. It’s okay that we don’t want the same thing. I like babies, and family, and a country life. Not everyone desires success on a grand stage, or all the media attention. Some people only want to be content, and to bring small victories to people.’

  ‘Alright?’ Rachel couldn’t ignore the flicker of uncertainty. Had she always misjudged Serena by assuming she ought to want the same things Rachel did? Maybe it simply came down to a different personality, not bravery. Honestly, Rachel often thought her brave exterior was more bravado than reality: confidence lost, everything lost. Serena rode with a quiet confidence, and a calmness which really suited flighty horses. She wanted to ask Serena for assurance, again, that she hadn’t spent years being a bitch to her.

  ‘Plus, I saw you on telly after Darnation’s win. I couldn’t do that. The idea of all those cameras makes me shudder.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘In the steward’s room with all the media. You were so brave, defending yourself. I’d choke on my own words under all the attention. I don’t want the media in my life.’

  Rachel shrugged, ‘You get used to it with practice.’

  ‘Says the jockey who has been in the steward’s room after a Group One—once. Don’t dismiss it as nothing. That’s the difference between you and me, you like confrontation. I don’t.’

  Rachel gasped at the sudden truth, she loved confrontation. No wonder she’d ended up in Jacob’s bed, and all the ones before him, because she couldn’t walk away from a challenge, and he’d thrown down the gauntlet, so to speak.

  ‘Defending myself and Darnation was all that mattered. I didn’t even notice the cameras.’

  ‘And what about afterwards? I saw the media crush, all those bodies, and microphones, and …’ Serena’s voice wobbled, as if the thought of being in the centre of a crowd bothered her.

  Rachel snorted out a cynical laugh, ‘Bloody Driscoll did that. I doubt it’d be like that without him.’

  ‘Driscoll? The guy who pulled out of Tsuyoi Red. Man, he’s a tool.’

  ‘Sure is. He’s been buying up lots of nice fillies lately, and he has shares in Yanko’s Bride who ran second.’ Rachel gasped as she remembered how The Palace had recognised him. Maybe it was time to start asking some questions about him before she jumped to conclusions. The car pulled up at the gates.

  ‘I have to go. It’s been great chatting to you.’

  ‘We should talk more often. I miss having you around the house,’ Serena said.

  ‘Tell Shannon I’ll call him later.’ Rachel hung up, thanked the driver, and leaped out of the car. She marched through the jockey’s carpark to her car and clicked open the boot to grab her spare trackwork clothes.

  After another good day of racing, Rachel hopped in her car at Bairnsdale to drive back to Melbourne. She’d set a few whispers in motion among racing folk about Driscoll, letting people wonder about where he got his money from, and why he was suddenly interested in racing. Most people seemed to think he was in banking, or something—just another of the waves of rich people who wanted some of the promises of racing. Expensive lotto, that’s how some owners described owning racehorses. Most of the time, a horse cost more to feed and train than he will ever earn, but occasionally an owner will get lucky and nab a share in a champion. Rachel was always amazed at how city folk, who’d hardly even touched a horse in their lives, could turn up to the yearling sales, listen to a bloodstock agent wax lyrical about a horse, and end up spending more money than she’d earn in a year on a horse because it had a pretty face, or striking leg markings. Or the agent talked up how a yearling had a great walk, best walking horse on the ground, as the saying went, when it made no sense to Rachel. Horses didn’t win walking races. Justa Lad had a choppy walk in front, slightly upright in the pasterns. He was no champion, however, he was a solid sound horse, better on the softer winter tracks, who’d earned his owners about the same as they’d spent on him, and they’d had loads of fun with him. Soon the tracks would get too hard, and he’d go out for a spell. After his last win, Rachel had overheard the owners discussing whether they should take him to New Zealand to extend his season on the wetter surfaces over there. She wouldn’t mind a trip over the ditch to ride Justa Lad, so she hoped they’d take the punt.

  Her phone rang as she hit the main road, and she pressed answer on her hands-free kit.

  ‘Rachel speaking.’

  ‘Hey, it’s Matthew. Nicely done today.’

  ‘Thanks. Just to confirm, I have no rides tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘No. You said you preferred to have Mondays as your weekend day off.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. I’m going out to the farm to catch with Shannon, and he wants me to ride their new Japanese import in fast work.’

  ‘I’ll call him. And Shelley wants me to let you know that you’ll be keeping the ride on Darnation. He responds to you, she said, but she’s giving three weeks before his next run and will aim at the Cox Plate.’

  ‘Are you saying I have a Cox Plate ride?’ Rachel tried not to squeal.

  ‘Hmm. I’d love to say yes, and lock it in, but Shelley is being cagey. She’s not the most loyal trainer to jockeys, so I’d guess it depends.’

  ‘On how I go on him next time,’ Rachel confirmed, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, unable to contain the excitement at the prospect of having a potential ride in one of Melbourne’s greatest races.

  ‘Yes,’ Matthew paused, ‘the reason I’m ringing isn�
��t about Darnation though.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I heard you were asking some questions about Driscoll at trackwork this morning.’ Matthew sounded oddly cautious with a hesitation in his statement.

  ‘It’s nothing much, just a hunch.’

  ‘Leave it. Okay?’

  Rachel blinked, ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Leave it. Leave Driscoll alone. He has connections you don’t want to get involved with.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ The authorities would want to know if criminal syndicate money was being washed through racing; they had rules around who could own horses and convicted criminals were on the banned list.

  ‘It’s only rumour.’

  Rachel scoffed. ‘Racing runs on rumours. Tell me so I know what to stay away from.’

  ‘They say he works for a big punting syndicate out of the States. One of those genius maths people who have found a way to win consistently.’

  ‘Like a punter’s club?’ Rachel’s hackles rose at the coincidence.

  ‘Those are all bullshit.’ Matthew spat out his agreement with her, ‘I’ve heard this syndicate bets on Northern Hemisphere racing, mostly Europe and America, but wants to expand into ownership and we have the best prizemoney, so they’ve employed this Driscoll guy to buy up racing stock for them. I don’t know how he got the gig.’

  ‘Must be a good talker.’ Rachel rolled her eyes, maybe the big talking, shoulder barging, toxic behaviour appealed to a bunch of geeks from America.

  ‘Must be. I don’t know why they couldn’t use a proper agent.’

  She bit back a laugh at Matthew’s jealously, ‘You just want to spend someone else’s money on horses and take all the credit for their success.’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Matthew laughed. ‘I’d love to be a bloodstock agent, they make the real money. I just don’t have the capital to get started. You know all those big agents started out with a few horses of their own before they hooked big clients.’

  ‘Except Driscoll.’

  Matthew snorted, ‘Just because he’s showed up recently doesn’t mean he hasn’t been doing it for a while overseas. Makes sense they want a piece of Aussie racing, we have the best prizemoney in the world.’ Prizemoney he earned a percentage of whenever one of his jockeys won a race, with his cut of their five per cent, Matthew must have a reasonable income. Her portion had increased substantially with Darnation and Static Alarm’s wins.

  ‘Japan has better prizemoney than us.’ Rachel’s sister-in-law Toshiko had taught them all about racing in her country of birth.

  ‘They do? How do you know that?’

  ‘My brother’s missus is from there.’ Rachel didn’t like using such shorthand, it always felt cringey.

  ‘Shannon, the trainer? I didn’t know he’d hooked up with someone.’

  ‘Matthew! Jesus, do you know everyone’s business?’

  ‘It’s my job to know all the gossip. That’s how I knew you were asking about Driscoll. Are you sure about Shannon? I heard he was screwing his apprentice.’

  Rachel growled. ‘No, and no. My older brother John is engaged to Toshiko, whose brother owns a stud farm in Japan. She’s a vet. And Shannon wouldn’t dare do something so obvious. People are always assuming trainers fuck their female apprentices, and most of the time it’s not true.’

  Matthew laughed, ‘True. Everyone said you were fucking about ten different trainers when you were an apprentice, but then I also heard you kissed some chick at the pub after Static Alarm won, which is obviously just dumb gossip.’

  Rachel forced herself to breathe slowly and calm the tight rage in her chest before answering. She had fucked around a lot when she first came to town, hiding her hurt in a bunch of mindless sex. The hurt right now came from Matthew erasing her relationship with Lisa. She rolled her eyes, she’d love to erase the drama of cheating Lisa, but never the fact that she’d fucked women as well as men.

  ‘Racing gossip is wild. Next they’ll say I’ve hooked up with a footy player or something.’ She took the opportunity to put out a new rumour before it started with a smirk in her voice.

  ‘Which footy player? Hey, I heard something about you being seen with some of the North Melbourne team on Saturday after the races.’

  ‘See, you can’t trust the rumours. You want to know the truth?’ she asked.

  ‘Always.’ Matthew’s voice filled with a hunger, and Rachel could imagine him leaning forward with anticipation.

  ‘My housemate is the sister of a Norths player. There is no hooking up going on. I’m focusing on my career.’ And if she could just stick to her plan, her lie would become reality. Did once count as hooking up? She fanned her face at the sudden heat—once with Jacob definitely wasn’t enough.

  ‘Oh, that’s boring. The truth is never as fun as the rumours. You know I reckon that Driscoll has made up the whole American syndicate thing because he doesn’t want people to know the boring truth.’

  ‘Why did you feel the need to ring me and warn me away from him?’ Rachel wanted to know what the whole point of this phone call was, not that it really mattered, she still had another three-and-a-half hours’ drive to go before she got home.

  ‘He’s not a nice man …’

  Rachel rolled her eyes again, ‘I guessed that myself.’ Thanks for implying she couldn’t look after herself.

  ‘Just stay clear of him. We don’t want a repeat of yesterday’s drama outside the steward’s room. It’s all over the internet.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Rachel answered tightly.

  ‘Super. Thanks. I’ll email through your rides for Wednesday and Thursday tonight, and I’ll ring your brother to talk about his Japanese horse.’

  ‘Tsuyoi Red.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The horse—his name is Tsuyoi Red.’

  ‘Ok. Thanks, can you text that to me later. I’ll look up his record.’

  ‘He ran second in the Japanese Derby last year, you’ll find him.’

  ‘Cool. See you later.’ Matthew hung up and Rachel’s car switched back to the radio automatically. She turned the sound down and drove in silence for a while, trying to figure out what on earth Matthew had not been saying about Driscoll. It would be so easy to pin the whole punter’s club scam on him, the slimy toad, except they didn’t really know if it was a scam or not. She needed to stop making Driscoll into the enemy just because he was awful. The idea of connecting Driscoll to The Palace’s punter’s club seemed unlikely, just because he was an arrogant asshole, didn’t mean he was scamming people.

  ‘Car, call Allira.’ Her phone rang a couple of times then went to voice message. ‘Allira, just me. I’m driving back from Bairnsdale now. I’ll be home in about four hours, so don’t make any dinner for me. I’ll grab something on the way. See ya.’ She took a breath, ‘Car, end call.’

  The automated voice informed her that it had done as she’d asked, before the radio came back on, and Rachel relaxed into her seat to drive again, humming along to the tunes on offer. The kilometres disappeared as she sang loudly to each song. She might have a Cox Plate ride. A Cox Plate ride. Like a bad poem, those four words repeated themselves over and over. The excitement at the prospect took over completely, and the odd niggle that Matthew, her agent, had deliberately pushed her away from Driscoll disappeared. Her phone rang, and her automated voice spoke, ‘Allira is calling.’

  ‘Answer.’

  ‘How are you, Rachel?’ Allira’s voice rang through the car’s speaker system.

  ‘I’m good. And you? Did you get my message?’

  ‘Yes. Hey, remember when you first moved in, you said I should chat to Shreya?’

  ‘Shreya?’

  ‘At work. You said—’

  ‘Oh, I remember. And during an emergency, is she just concentrating on the task? With the same focus as you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Allira’s emphatic answer filled the car. ‘Yes, you were right. She was totally cool about it, and I don’t know why I hesitated so long to talk t
o her about it. In fact, she said she liked that I was all about the task during an emergency. It gets the job done without all the drama.’

  ‘Brilliant.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to say I told you so?’ Allira teased.

  Rachel chuckled, ‘Nah, you already know it. I don’t have to say it.’

  Allira burst out laughing, ‘True. We are both too old for that kid’s poem. Na na na pa ha.’

  ‘Oh my god, you always used to say that wrong when we were at school too. It’s na na nana na.’

  ‘Whatever. I say it my way, you say it yours.’

  Rachel laughed, it was so nice to have a friend like Allira to chat too. She wished she had the same ease of friendship with Serena, or that it had been real with Lisa, not the cheating reality. She sighed, if Allira could sort out the issue with Shreya, surely she could apologise for her self-centred distance at high school. After all, Allira had been the only one to turn up when it mattered—both when she was sixteen, and again the other day in the pub. A true friend, one worthy of proper honesty no matter how difficult.

  ‘Hey, I was chatting to your brother earlier, and—’

  ‘Why? I thought there was nothing going on between you two.’

  Rachel’s cheeks heated, and her fingers gripped the steering wheel. She cleared her throat. ‘I may have … um, slept with him?’

  ‘What?’ Allira’s shout thundered through the car. ‘But … What? Are you shitting me?’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, except I’m not. Not really. I think it was just a once thing.’ Rachel scrambled to articulate anything.

  ‘A once thing? Like isn’t he good enough for you?’

  Rachel turned up the air-conditioning in the car, blasting cold air all over her hot skin. ‘That’s not the issue.’

  ‘So?’ Allira stretched out that tiny word to infinity and beyond.

  ‘Um, it’s me, not him.’

  ‘Really? That old cliché?’

  ‘I don’t want a relationship right now. I mean, like Lisa, and stuff.’ Rachel hoped Allira would recall their long drunken discussions dissecting her failed relationship with Lisa, her big messy sobs, the general shittiness of betrayal. All that.