Paycheque (15 page)

‘Another cup, Mr McIntyre?' the kid asked, already fossicking about in the trolley.

‘Yes, thanks – and for the hundredth time, my dear, it's Jack.'

The young lass blushed. With shaking hands she placed the two cups, rattling dangerously in their saucers, on the side table. She
grabbed Jack's empty one and backed away, mumbling for them to enjoy their tea.

‘All this “mister this” and “mister that” makes an old bushie like me a bit uncomfortable,' Jack said, reaching for his cup.

‘Probably part of their strategy,' Claire laughed, and picked up her cup. ‘To stop you wanting to stay too long.'

‘Yes, well, no problem there. You know they wake you up all through the night? All part of their strategy too, I suppose.'

Claire took a sip, put her cup back on its saucer and said with mock seriousness, ‘No, I think they really are checking your vital signs – death isn't too good for business, I hear.'

‘Of course, quite right,' Jack said, adopting a formal tone. They both laughed.

Suddenly feeling sentimental, Claire put her hand over her father's. ‘Dad, I was worried sick. I'm so glad you're okay.'

‘I know – gave myself a bit of a fright, too. Truth be told, if I hadn't heard your voice so much I might have just given up,' he said, staring into his cup.

‘So you heard me?'

‘Of course – every last word. Bill was here reading the paper, wasn't he? I had no idea what that bloody clicking was until Daphne showed me the jumper. It's really quite something,' he said, looking down his front.

Claire blushed, and drained her cup in an attempt to hide it.

‘Yes, and so many times I just wanted to tell you all to just bloody well shut up.' He laughed. ‘Especially when you took to singing.'

‘Yeah, sorry about that,' Claire said, dipping her head. ‘But I'd run out of things to tell you, and then I read about this Dr Burrows and his theories – blame him!'

‘Well, I'm glad you did because I think it worked. Though next time, read a book instead of singing. There's a good girl.'

Claire slapped his arm. ‘There'd better not be a next time.'

Jack put down his empty cup. ‘So,' he said, wringing his hands, ‘when can I get out of here?'

‘Whenever you're ready and the doctor gives the nod. Are you getting about okay?'

‘Yep, walked all the way down to the nurse's station and back yesterday. And lucky I did – they were making their picks for the Caulfield Cup. Needed to be set right.'

Claire was relieved to hear him mention the horses. He hadn't said anything about them since waking and asking after Paycheque. At least now she could stop worrying about whether she'd done the wrong thing finding the horse.

‘Speaking of which,' he continued, ‘how is the little lad?'

Claire's confused look was genuine. ‘Who?'

‘Paycheque, of course.'

‘Er, he's good.' Claire blushed slightly and looked away.

‘What aren't you telling me?'

‘Nothing. He's fine. Eating enough for two like he always did. He may be a little lonely on his own, but he's fine.'

‘Lonely? What about the others?'

‘Well…'

‘What, Claire?'

‘I sold them,' she blurted. ‘All of them. Even Paycheque.'

‘Oh. Right.'

‘I'm really sorry. I didn't see what else I could do… I didn't know if you were going to wake up, and I had so much to do at work, and I just couldn't take care of them as well. It was all too much. But I acted too hastily. I know that now. I should have…'

‘No point worrying about “should haves”. It's okay, Claire, I'm sure you thought you were doing the right thing at the time.'

‘But at least I got Paycheque back.'

‘Well, that's the main thing. If I'm honest, he was the only really serious bet anyway. So who ended up with him then – Mark Leonard?'

‘No.'

‘Jason Llewelyn?'

‘No, no one you know.'

‘Oh, I was sure he'd have been snapped up by one of the establishment – got a lot of potential for a little horse. Probably couldn't see past his size, idiots. Yes, that would be it,' he mused.

Claire was silently inspecting her nails, unable to look her father in the eye.

‘Claire, what else aren't you telling me? And don't give me that “nothing” crap again. I want the full version and I want it now, in all its gruesome detail, if that's the way it is.'

‘Okay,' Claire sighed, defeated. She proceeded to tell Jack the whole story, including how Derek had seen the horse at Morphettville. She watched her father redden with anger, and was relieved at no longer having to keep the secret. When she spoke of how Paycheque had ended up at the abattoir and what a close call it had been, Jack McIntyre's chin took on a determined jut and his eyes a steely glint that Claire knew was a signal of his desire to get even.

But she was unconcerned. Jack had never been confrontational or violent. He chose to hit back in an even more powerful way – by beating people at their own game, and usually as the underdog. Paycheque would be a success. She had no doubt now that Jack was back in charge. It might take a year, maybe more, but that little horse would return to Morphettville and not only pass his barrier trial, but also reign victorious over every trainer who'd dismissed him.

‘I'm going to need your help, Claire – I'm not as nimble as I used to be.'

Claire dipped her head again.

‘What? What else aren't you telling me?'

Claire took a deep breath. ‘That's the other thing. I am, was… I was made redundant. I've got all the time in the world at the moment,' she said with a grim smile.

‘Well of course I'm sorry about you losing you job, but I can't help being happy to have you around full-time. Those bastards didn't
appreciate you anyway. Don't worry, we'll be a success in no time and you won't need their lousy job.'

The phrases ‘famous last words' and ‘if only' ran through Claire's head. As far as she knew, Jack McIntyre had only ever made enough to keep one step ahead of the bank – just. Oh well, she had a year to see how things panned out. Though the lows in the horseracing game tended to last a lot longer – impatience was a dangerous trait in a trainer.

‘Well, come on Claire Bear. Get me out of here,' Jack suddenly said, throwing the covers back and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

‘What, now?'

‘Yes, now. We've got work to do. Go and find a doctor to give me permission to leave, will you?'

‘As long as you're okay,' Claire said, eyeing him warily.

‘Absolutely. Now off you go,' he said, making shooing gestures at her.

When they got back to him, Jack McIntyre was already dressed and sitting back on the bed, pulling on his R.M. Williams dress boots.

The doctor was almost as surprised as Claire. Only two days before they'd had to cajole him into getting out of bed for some exercise.

‘Hi doc. Here to give me the all-clear, I hope.' He beamed.

‘Doesn't look like I have a choice.' He laughed. ‘I do have one condition, though.'

‘Name it.'

‘You call me the instant anything untoward occurs – the slightest twinge, dizziness, anything at all.' He looked from Jack to Claire and back again. ‘Agreed?'

‘Agreed,' Claire and Jack said in unison. They laughed.

‘Well then, if you just sign this discharge form you can be on your way.'

Their forty-minute journey back up into the Adelaide Hills was made mostly in silence, Jack staring intently out the window, as if seeing everything they passed for the first time. Claire was still a little dazed by the apparent speed at which he'd come back to health.

Jack was like a teenager home from school for the holidays. He was barely in the house long enough to appear polite and offer thanks for all the work Claire and Bernadette had put in. Claire, wary of tiring him out, insisted they sit for a cup of tea before heading out to see Paycheque.

Jack was like a tightly-wound spring: gulping his tea, then sitting with eyes darting about, fingers fidgeting, while he waited for Claire to finish. After ten minutes, Claire gave up stalling and pushed her cup aside. Jack leapt up from the table with the energy of a man half his age and was at the back door pulling his boots on before Claire was halfway across the kitchen.

Claire followed as he trooped along the worn track between the old pepper trees, past the almond beside the disused chook shed. Every now and then he slowed, struggling in the sand that had come to the surface through years of journeys back and forth to rug, feed and exercise horses. From behind, Claire noticed his shoulders taking on a different shape as he went. He was like a snake shedding its skin
– shrugging off the tag of convalescing patient and becoming a proud horse-trainer once again.

He seemed to pause for a beat when he rounded the abandoned dog compound and saw his uptight, undersized racehorse standing in the yard like another overwound spring. There was instant recognition: the horse neighed and Jack called, ‘There you are,' in a voice that threatened to crack.

Claire's throat tightened. She stopped, stayed back a few steps so as not to intrude. The reunion was like something out of
The Horse Whisperer
.

‘G'day there,' he said, leaning on the rail and putting a hand out for Paycheque to sniff.

Claire moved to the railing and leant on it.

‘Bit of a butterball, don't you think?' Jack said, scratching the horse behind the ears.

Annoyed at the reprimand, Claire scowled under her Akubra and behind her sunglasses.

‘Claire, he's meant to be a sleek racehorse, not a heavy hunter.' Jack laughed.

‘I decided he needed some pampering after his ordeal,' Claire shot back. Nonetheless, she coloured with shame; Jack was right, she had completely forgotten he was meant to be smooth and lean.

‘Well, we'll just have to get you out of here and into some exercise,' Jack said, slapping the horse on the neck.

Claire relaxed, telling herself to lighten up, her father had always teased her in this manner. She thought she'd developed a thicker skin being a number on someone's payroll.

‘Sorry I let you down, little mate,' Jack said quietly. He cleared his throat. ‘Right, tea time. Come on, we'll start fresh in the morning.'

Jack strode off towards the house. Claire followed silently, already starting to formulate a fitness regime for the horse in her mind.