Paycheque (48 page)

Claire looked around the borrowed caravan that would be home for the next eight weeks. The brown, orange and cream floral curtains matched the bedspread, and perfectly picked out the orange in the vinyl of the upholstered bench seat. It was dated, but clean and comfortable. More importantly, it was free: a loan from a friend of a friend of Derek's. It had seemed to take forever to get organised, make the trip, and finally get the horses and themselves settled.

‘Well you've worked hard, you deserve it.'

‘Had a bit of luck too, don't forget.'

‘Nothing wrong with using luck to get your way – we've all done it more than once.'

‘Yes, but…'

‘I know, sweetheart,' he said tenderly, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘But he's up there wishing us all the best, just like Amy. It's meant to be.'

‘But I still feel a little guilty.'

‘We can't keep going over this. If you weren't meant to be here, the money wouldn't have come through.'

‘But what if I've wasted it? It's terribly self-indulgent.'

‘No, it's not.'

‘It will be if we don't win anything back.'

‘Have you seen the joy on your father's face? This is a dream come true for him. When you consider that, how could it possibly be a waste – or self-indulgent, for that matter? Just enjoy the opportunity.'

‘You're so wise. I love you Derek Anderson,' she said, leaning over and kissing him.

‘I should think so,' he said, kissing her back.

Claire sipped her tea. ‘I'll never forget seeing how excited Dad looked standing outside Paycheque's stall earlier. Like a kid at Christmas.'

Claire stared into her cup. A big grin lit up her features as she thought what a great feeling it was to be able to bring that sort of joy to someone. She felt a lump forming in her throat and swallowed it back, offering a silent thankyou to Keith as she did so.

‘It's going to be interesting to see how they cope with the crowds.'

‘Howie's pretty relaxed – he'll be fine. Paycheque will either freak out or revel in the attention.'

‘I'm hoping for not freaking out, but he's always full of surprises.' Claire laughed. ‘I hope Todd Newman is here to see the horse he sent to the knackery entered into the Caulfield.'

‘He's here – tied up with Dick Hayworth's team.'

‘Well I hope we beat him.'

‘Word of advice,' Derek said gently. ‘Focus on your own race. Don't get caught up in worrying what anyone else is doing.'

‘I know you're right. It's just that it still riles me when I think
about what Paycheque went through. It's hard to believe he's even here, let alone entered in a big one. Sorry, darling, enough about me. When are you catching up with your team? How's Humble?'

‘I'm only an owner, Claire. No need for me to get too involved. I've found it works best to stay out of the way – just be available for the odd comment, photo, acceptance of trophy. My main job is to keep you calm.'

‘Thanks – I think I'm going to need it.'

‘Claire McIntyre, I've got to say, you're particularly gorgeous when you're vulnerable.'

‘Well don't get used to it, mister.'

‘Seriously Claire, I'm so excited and proud of you. I really am,' Derek said, hugging her tightly.

‘Same here, Derek. I just know Humble is going to do well. Maybe we can get first and second in the Caulfield.'

‘Who first? You or me?'

‘Doesn't matter.'

‘That's my girl – not that I believe you,' he said, kissing her on the nose and then down her neck.

The caravan door opened and Maddie appeared. ‘Sorry, am I interrupting something?' she asked with raised eyebrows.

Claire sat up and straightened her clothes.

‘Don't be silly, come on in,' Derek mumbled, and put some distance between himself and Claire.

‘Well they're settled,' Maddie said, flopping onto the nearest bench seat. ‘Jack will be here any second. He's just offering Paycheque a few extra words of advice.'

‘Hopefully he's telling him to ease up on the food. That horse is such a greedy guts,' Claire said.

Maddie was bleary-eyed and snippy after her third night sleeping in a spare stall at the stables. She mumbled vague greetings and pretended
to engross herself in her Weetbix. Ordinarily, she was chirpy and full of energy after taking the horses out for their morning exercise. Derek and Claire exchanged concerned frowns.

‘How were they this morning?' Claire asked, feeling a little guilty for having slept in while the horses were just lightly exercised. Not that the average person would consider eight o'clock a sleep-in.

‘Howie's fine, no different from being at home. I reckon he's up to a full workout tomorrow.'

‘And Paycheque?'

‘Pain in the arse. He's all over the place: nutty one minute, sluggish the next.'

‘Was he any better last night?'

‘No. I don't think he slept a wink – neither did I. Again. I can't do another one. Sorry, but I'm going to have to cramp your style here tonight.'

‘What do you think is wrong with him?' Derek asked Claire.

‘I don't know. Maddie, any ideas?'

‘I'm too bloody tired to think. I thought he might be scared of the dark or something – even left the light on for him last night. Don't tell old man Fitzpatrick, he'll have a fit.'

‘Did it help?' Claire asked.

‘Nope, not a scrap. He still paced and stomped about – sounded like he even started kicking out at the walls.'

‘Well let's just hope he gets his act together and doesn't embarrass us at Werribee,' Claire said.

‘I wondered where you'd got to,' Claire said, looking up from her paperwork as Derek came into the van with both arms full of newspapers.

‘Thought we should keep up with what's going on – know our competition, as they say.'

Claire snorted. ‘Know our competition! We're hardly competitive thanks to Paycheque's little performance yesterday.'

‘Howie's doing all right. Maybe Paycheque just needs longer to settle.'

‘He's had a week. Little shit! At this rate we'll be the laughingstock of the Carnival.'

‘Least the journos will be too busy watching the big guns – they usually are.'

‘Small mercies. Cup of tea?' she asked, getting up.

‘Yes, thanks.' Derek opened
The Age
and went straight to the sports section. Claire stood by the kettle, waiting for it to boil.

‘I just wish we could do something – I hate him being so unhappy,' she mused.

‘Least he's still eating.'

‘Like I said, small mercies.'

‘Uh-oh.'

‘What?'

‘You wouldn't believe it, Claire, but you've made the paper.'

‘Great,' she groaned. ‘So much for Gai and David hogging the spotlight. Here, let me look – it can't be good.'

‘It's only tiny, just on the side.'

‘Give it here,' Claire growled.

‘Well okay, but you're right, it's not good.' He gave a sympathetic wince as he turned the paper towards her.

The small bold title read: ‘Paycheque should be “canned”, says former owner.' Claire's mouth dropped open. She read on:

South Australian horse Paycheque showed some of the form that saw him previously banished to the abattoir. Former trainer Todd Newman said, “Difficult is an understatement. He was a bloody menace. Ate too much. Had a shocking temper. He deserves to be canned – literally.”

‘Only because you don't know how to handle horses,' Claire growled before reading on.

Stewards at yesterday's meet at Werribee might possibly agree, after the horse put up a fierce battle at the barriers before finally relenting to run last by what could only be described as a country mile. One can only wonder at trainers Jack McIntyre and daughter Claire's logic in nominating the horse for the Caulfield Cup
.

‘Jesus. It's humiliating,' Claire said, pushing the paper aside and rubbing her hands over her face. ‘And why would Newman care enough to comment anyway?'

‘Because he was asked. You know what he's like – always looking for his five minutes of fame. Probably feeling threatened too – heard
around the traps how well the horse he'd condemned was doing.' Derek shrugged.

‘What am I going to do? It's a bloody disaster.'

‘Nothing you can do. You can't make a horse behave any more than you can control what these idiots write. You can only do your best to get the horse in a good frame of mind. Then it's up to him.'

‘How, though? I don't even know what's upsetting him. It's not like he's on his own, and Howie seems fine.'

‘But he hasn't been through what the little guy has. We all handle pressure differently. Could be he's just picking up on your stress.'

‘I am stressed. What if all the progress we've made with him this year has been lost?'

‘You need a different approach.'

‘Like what? Seriously, Derek, if you've got any suggestions, I'm listening.'

‘Take the pressure off him.'

‘How do I do that?'

‘By taking it off yourself for a start. You're already a success because you're here: he's qualified for the Caulfield Cup. Treat the rest as a bonus.'

‘I can't put him in it like he is.'

‘So don't. What does it matter?'

‘Well the money for a start – it cost us a bloody fortune.'

‘See, there's my point – too much pressure. Claire, the money's spent, gone. Let it go.'

‘But…'

‘It's like people who insist on eating everything on their plate at a restaurant, even when they're so full they feel sick. What do they achieve?' He shrugged. ‘The meal is the same price, regardless of how much is eaten.'

Claire threw her hands up. ‘So, I'm meant to pretend none of this matters?'

‘Yep. Just chill, enjoy the ride. Continue with your plans, but lose the high expectations.'

Claire thought about what Derek had said. It made perfect sense, if only she could do it. But she had to, didn't she, for Paycheque's sake. He'd come too far to become a nervous wreck again. If only she'd inherited more of her father's easygoing genes.

That night they went to the pub for tea, all keen to escape the unravelling of their dreams. But they'd been seated less than five minutes before Paycheque again became the main topic of discussion.

‘So, what's different for him here than at home?' Derek asked.

‘Everything, nothing.' Maddie shrugged. ‘He's stayed in plenty of other stables and been fine. He's eating and drinking okay, so he can't be too distressed.'