Paycheque (53 page)

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 actually 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.

‘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.