Race Girl (18 page)

Tully's body went ice cold, shaking so hard she couldn't control it. She stumbled back against the wall of the stall, holding out her hand to her filly. Dahlia trotted forward, rested her nose in Tully's hand, sniffing and tickling with her whiskers, her eyes wide and deep with concern.

‘You right, sweetheart?' Fia said from behind Tully. A hand squeezed her shoulder.

‘I'm so sorry, Aunt Fia,' Tully struggled to speak through the sobs. Tears drenched her cheeks, the salt piercing her eyes like needles.

‘Don't you dare,' Fia said, wrapping a strong arm around her. ‘It's me who should be apologising. I've brought a storm with me to Avalon, and it isn't fair for you to have to bear the worst of it.'

‘It's been raging already, Aunt Fia,' Tully said. ‘You're like my life raft.' She stepped forward and buried her face in her aunt's warm shoulder, heaving thick, painful, refreshing sobs until the sound of her wailing made her hate the fact she was breaking down in front of her.

‘It's okay, sweetie,' Fia said, soothing a hand down her back. ‘Let it out, girl. Let it go.'

Tully struggled to take a rough breath, then another. She kept her eyes closed, taking slow, deep breaths. Then she gritted her teeth and pulled herself up.

‘We should just call it off,' Fia said.

Tully studied Fia's face. Mascara and eyeshadow stained her cheeks in streams from her clear green eyes.

‘I'm so sorry, girl.'

‘No,' Tully said.

‘We can just have something smaller here,' Fia said. ‘Make your dad a little more comfortable—'

‘
No
,' Tully said. ‘Dad's already told me to make my own decisions . . .' She turned away, wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. ‘And that's exactly what I'm going to continue to do.' She pulled a treat from her pocket, held it out for Dahlia. ‘It's okay, girl,' she said gently, stroking her filly's strong, rounded jaw.

Fia squeezed her tight. ‘You're just as brave as she was,' she said, her voice breaking with emotion.

Tully's heart tightened, pain shooting through her. ‘It was
my
fault, wasn't it?'

‘What was, sweetheart?

‘Mum got pregnant with me,' Tully said, grinding a treat in her hand, the crumbs falling through her fingers. ‘That's why she never made it. She
never
made it to Flemington to be with you, she
never
rode the Melbourne Cup like she'd dreamed of doing ever since she was a little girl. She was stuck here with me. If she'd gone to Melbourne . . . Maybe she'd still be alive.'

‘Oh,
no
,' Fia said, releasing Tully and standing back, arms crossed. ‘No, no, no
… no.
She was on a lame horse that day, did you know that?'

Ice trickled down Tully's spine.

‘The horse had been lame in both front legs, for months,' Fia said. ‘But they kept pumping it full of cortisone injections and drugs to keep it going. My ex knew the trainer well, he was a bloody dodgy guy – as slippery as they come. He was suspended after the accident, thank God. Heard he passed away in a drink driving accident a few years back. Thank heavens for karma,' Fia took a deep breath before continuing, ‘I didn't find out she was riding the colt, not until after it had happened . . . It crushed me,
completely
crushed me that I hadn't been there to stop her from taking the ride. The trainer lured your mum in with the promise of a huge, unheard
of
percentage on a win, and in a terribly slow field, even the lame colt was a shoe-in. She should have refused, but she was getting older; fewer wins, fewer rides . . . It was a complete bloody unnecessary tragedy, one that most certainly was not your fault,
or
your father's, although I'm sure he's shouldering the full weight of it . . . Have you ever seen the birth announcement?'

Tully gritted her teeth, shook her head.

‘Here,' Fia said, reaching into her back pocket. She pulled out a folded piece of newspaper, handed it to Tully. ‘They took out a half page and she's in the foreground, cradling you like eight and a half pounds of gold, with her best horse and your father behind her.

‘Look at the way she's looking at you, Tully! The day you were born my sister fell head over heels for you, and everything else in her life, all of her dreams, faded into the background.' Fia took a step back, the tears flowing freely. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans, leant her shoulder against the stall. ‘I was jealous when I first saw that photo, jealous of you—what a
horrible
feeling to have about the most gorgeous little thing I'd ever seen! But I couldn't help it. It was clear how besotted Dahlia was, and I knew then she'd never make it to Melbourne. And I didn't want her to, in the end. I wanted her to stay here with you, no matter how much it hurt me. I've never wanted kids, and I knew then that I'd never feel that kind of love. I wanted so badly to meet you, and to tell her I was sorry. But she wouldn't have it—wouldn't have anything she thought could be dangerous near you. Such was the strength of her love.'

Tully reached for her aunt, wrapped her arms around her.

‘Please, Tully. Look at it.'

Tully sucked in a full breath, before holding the paper up into the stable light. The picture was just as Fia had described and the look of pure love, devotion, and . . . pride in her mother's electric blue eyes sent shockwaves through Tully's heart.

‘The truth is in that picture – you can see it right there. She was proud of you the second you were born,' Fia said, smiling down at the photo. ‘Your life is yours to live, Tully—don't you forget it. It's yours to explore, to find your fit in this world – wherever that might be. All she would have wanted was for you to be happy.'

Tully pressed the picture to her heart and rested back against Dahlia's stall, sliding down into the shavings. Fia sat down beside her and they cried and cried, remembering the great woman they knew they'd never see again, but at the same time, enjoying the closeness to each other. Dahlia even pressed her nose to the paper, sniffing then trying to lick it, making them laugh.

‘Your father is just as proud, even if he's letting the fear and the guilt beat him at the moment,' Fia said. ‘But I'm hardly one to talk—I've been carrying a piece of paper around for fifteen years.' She shook her head, sitting up straight against the stall door. ‘Don't be like us, Tully. I don't want to tell you what to do – you're a big girl now. Just know, please, that your life is not to be lived for the approval of your parents, or anyone else. You live for you. Do what makes you
happy and what makes your heart and soul sing. Do that, and you'll make
yourself
proud.'

17

Paradise Found, or Lost?

Tully slipped the birth announcement under her laptop next to the card with Brandon's number, beside her little bay Breyer horse. She considered sticking it up on the wall alongside her other pictures, but it seemed too precious to be on show. To expose to the world.

She'd felt a shift inside her tonight as she spoke to her aunt, like she could finally be free from the constraints of her own perception: how she thought she should feel and act and be. She'd been so concerned, Tully realised, with being the type of person she
thought
her mother would have wanted her to be, that it was keeping her from becoming who she wanted to be. She
could
ride, and she loved it more than anything – even though she was restrained by fear now and then. She loved
Avalon and she loved the intense, thrilling freedom of being on a horse's back. Hearing the truths her aunt had been keeping made Tully realise that she didn't need to worry about being perfect, or being a replica of the Athens jockeys who had gone before her. Like Brandon had shown her that first morning on Greg, she could always improve. Relax –
overcome the fear
. It was up to her, and she was ready to go for it.

Her journey would begin with a date . . . And Tully's desire to embark on an adventure with the boy from next door had never been stronger.

The road trip to Tully's sweet sixteen began with Brandon arriving right on time at Tam's, the afternoon of New Year's Eve. Tully had told her father she was going to the party with Tam and Fia had printed him out a guest list with her address and mobile number to call in case of emergency. Tully had assured him ‘mainly old family friends and
some
people from racing were invited', along with Bucko and Grace, who pulled out at the last minute – much to Tully's relief. Tully knew Bucko wouldn't be happy about her going with Brandon, and would've likely felt he needed to tell her dad. He'd probably find out through someone else anyway, but Tully hoped by then she'd be able to convince them Brandon was doing his best to help, and that he seemed to be on their side. An ally inside Weston Park could be the very thing to save them. But Tully still padlocked Dahlia's stall in case her father found out the whole truth before they got back from the coast.

The girls met Brandon on the front verandah, bags packed and slung over their shoulders, Judy trailing behind.

Brandon winked up at Tully, taking the steps two at a time.

Tully had thought he was ridiculously hot riding the grey that day and later, wearning nothing but his boardies when they saw him on the road down by the river. Tonight, in a white collared shirt rolled up to the elbows, black tie, dark jeans and black leather boots, his hair slicked up and wavy, Tully thought Brandon Weston was truly the most handsome guy on the planet.

Please be cool!
Tully told herself, flicking her hair around her face and fidgeting with the skirt Tam had lent her. She'd paired the black skirt with a royal blue singlet and her best shoes – a pair of newish black rubber thongs. Tam had gone more provocative, in an emerald bandage dress and sparkly heels. Tully
had
let Tam do her hair and put some makeup on her though, and she did like how the mascara and splash of eyeliner brought out her eyes, the pink lip gloss with matching toe nail polish, and her hair in long natural waves.

‘Hi, Mrs. Thompson. Tam.' Brandon nodded, then locked eyes with Tully. ‘Hey, Athens,' he grinned, ‘You look smokin'.'

‘Ah—' Tully's eyes went wide and she choked back a grin— ‘Um, thank you.'

‘Sorry, I wasn't sure about the dress code.'

‘Neither were we, really.' Tully giggled, her hands finding the strap of her bag. ‘I think you look . . .'
Perfect
.
Irresistible. Gorgeous…!

‘Alright yourself,' Tully stammered, lamely.

‘Thanks, Athens,' Brandon said, stepping forward and dropping an arm around her shoulder. ‘You pair scrub up not bad at all.'

‘You kids better get going,' Judy said. ‘Drive safe.'

‘Always,' Brandon said.

‘Thanks, Mrs. T.' Tully pecked Judy on the cheek, before following Brandon and Tam down the steps. ‘See you tomorrow.'

‘Thank
God
Dad's at work,' Tam said as they strode across the gravel turn-around towards Brandon's ute. ‘Always gives guys the third degree.
Beyond
mortifying.'

Tully hopped in the front, Tam took the bags into the back seat. Tully was surprised how tidy Brandon's ute was, with its new car leaf hanging from the rearview and polished black dash. He'd brought a footy duffel bag with a white tee, Nike runners and a Weston Park cap peeking out the top . . . She snuck a glance at his bag on the floor of the back, next to a stack of racing magazines and form guides, one open to details of a race on the Gold Coast.

Tully had been to ‘the Goldie' a few times as a young girl to watch her mother ride at the Gold Coast Turf Club, but never as far as the famous, glittering strip of Surfer's Paradise. She recognised the two-lane highway as they headed out of town, couldn't wait to wind up through the country villages and the beautiful mountain town of Canungra, with its lush green scenery and black and white Tudor-style hotel.