Race Girl (45 page)

Tully heard her phone crash against the floor, felt the cold metal of the locker behind her connect with her face as she fell to the side.

Darkness.

Arms were around her, Fia speaking softly, asking her what was wrong.
Did I pass out?
Tully was mumbling, ‘
Dahlia
. . . Mum, Dad . . . Dahlia?' But she couldn't fight forward, restrained by the darkness. She opened her eyes, but the world was spinning, her heart bursting, her head pounding with splitting pain. Her hands were hot and stained red from blood, her face throbbed; it felt warm and sticky.
Is it cut? Is this a nightmare?!

Her phone revved from the floor, skidding along the dirty concrete from the force of the vibration. She reached out to answer it . . .
I need to talk to Brandon,
she suddenly thought, the reality of what was happening beginning to sink in.
Dahlia is in danger . . .
and then it hit her.

Tully was an orphan now. Alone. She never thought she'd be so alone. She'd fought with her father, never even made amends. And now he was dead; her father was dead. Gone forever like her mum. The regret, the despair that ravaged through Tully as the full weight of this new reality struck her was paralyzing.

‘
Dahlia!
'

Tully sat bolt upright, but the room spun and she fell back into Fia's arms. ‘My mobile, I need . . .' she gasped.

Fia held her tight, ran a warm hand over her forehead, then handed her the phone. ‘
Please,
Tully—tell me what's happened?'

Tully blinked down at the screen of her mobile, holding it in both hands, willing her eyes to cut through the dizziness, her hands to stop shaking. Her stomach heaved and she spun to the side, the sick acid burn coursing up her throat until she power-spewed at the locker next to her.

‘Oh,
lord
,' Fia cried, holding back her hair. ‘Tulls, what's happened?!'

Tully wiped her mouth, sat up shakily, holding her phone close to her face. She had messages, she realised,
could they be from Brandon—about Dahlia?!

Fia helped her dial Messagebank, held the phone to Tully's cheek. ‘You have two new messages,' the automated woman's voice said. ‘And no saved messages.'

Tully's breath came in short gasps, her whole body trembling.

Her father's voice met her ears and she found herself falling in towards her phone. ‘Daddy?' she said, staring straight ahead as images of their happier times flashed before her eyes – of her father laughing with her mother in their stable, of the glowing admiration in his eyes when he watched her mother ride, of the love when he'd brought Bear home for his girls that Christmas when she was five. ‘
Daddy?!
'

‘Hi there, Tully—' It was her father's voice, but she couldn't touch him now. ‘Sorry I missed you, and for not calling sooner. I should have told you about Dahlia, love, I should have talked to you first. I was wrong, and I'm sorry for that.' Tully's hand shook so much she dropped the phone, Fia fetching it and holding it back up to her ear. ‘I'm coming down to Melbourne,' her father was saying. ‘Hopefully to bury the hatchet with Pearce and sort this all out. It wasn't fair of me to steal your chance to ride the Cup, to put the mare through this. I was against the wall, and I was scared, Tull. It's the longest, most gruelling race in the country; heck, one of the toughest in the world, and my little girl was riding in it. My little girl.

‘I let your mother mount up that day—I
wouldn't
let you, Tulls. I couldn't lose another one of my girls, the only love I have left. It was selfish, I know. I know it now . . . I found a note for you, from Mum. I was going through her things; felt it was time to, finally.
Oh
—sorry, I guess I probably shouldn't be saying all this in a message, eh? Is this thing going to cut me off?'

‘
No!
' Tully cried, pressing the phone hard against her cheek. ‘Don't stop, Dad!'

‘Well, hopefully it won't. We've gone far too long with all this left unsaid – I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I dug out your mother's silks and our colours for you. You deserve to wear them, Tully. She would be so proud,
I'm
proud. See you soon, sweetheart. Kisses from your old dad.'

The beep indicating the end of the message pierced Tully's brain like a needle into her skin and she crumpled into Fia's arms, the sound of her father's voice and his words asking for forgiveness, acceptance and love – and giving back the same. Words she'd been yearning to hear since the death of her mother – replayed over and over in her mind. Her father's forgiveness from beyond the grave.

Goosebumps raced over Tully's flesh and she re-played the message a second time, holding the phone out so Fia could hear, then whispering to Fia the news of the plane crash.

Fia reminded her to press ‘6' to save when it was done.

He was bringing Mum's silks,
Tully thought, blinking through the tears.
The Athens silks, the Avalon colours, the very ones my grandmother wore. He was bringing them for me, coming to see me ride, to help get Dahlia back from the Westons.

My father was finally coming for me.

Tully set her phone down gently on the bench beside them, before sobbing hard into Fia's warm arms. The grief from her mother's death, and then her father's, was compounded by her hunger to feel Brandon's love and her fear that she would lose him. The joy at hearing her father's words conflicted with the fear she'd experienced from pushing herself to earn those words, to become the woman she knew her mother had been. And overriding it all was her fear that everything in her life was spinning out of control . . . The whole storm of emotion poured from Tully like a long awaited summer rain.

Every event in her life had boiled down to this moment, Tully realised, opening her eyes wide and focusing on the light peeking in from the barn aisle, beams of silver light painted with flecks of dust. Through the cyclone of grief, one clear, concise thought formed in her mind: this was one of those single, defining moments in life. One of those moments where she had the power to choose, to fight, to live, to make a decision that would determine her fate.

She found herself sitting up, wiping her eyes and her nose and her mouth.
Moments like these when we're given the choice to fight or crumble. To live or die. Well, friggin' bloody flippin' hell,
Tully thought.
I choose to live.

Tully trundled across the yard of Fia's barn into the pouring, drenching storm, too consumed by her own thoughts and feelings to feel the cold, propelled by a blast of adrenaline.

Fia trailed behind her calling out questions, but Tully didn't hear her aunt's worried voice. She had made her decision.

She needed to let go of what couldn't be changed and work with what could. She didn't
have
to ride, even if she'd always wanted to. The Cup didn't matter, or the history books – none of that. Dahlia mattered, and Brandon, and Fia, and Avalon. Her family, her home. Her duty now was to keep them safe, to fight for them.

Rain and wind swirled around her, soaking her to the core. Her hair fell in slick tendrils, sticking to her cheeks and neck. She would convince Pearce to let her strap for Dahlia, Tully decided, taking the right turn past O'Grady's down towards Richard's barn. She'd ask as nicely as she could to be included in Dahlia's life, in her racing career. She didn't have to own Dahlia to keep her safe – if Pearce would just let Tully be at Dahlia's side, she would be settled enough to stay in his stable. Maybe even to win. Dahlia was a fighter: she loved to win, lived to win. And to please Tully. Tully needed to be there for her mare, and for Brandon.

Fia caught up, took Tully's arm in hers, walking tall and proud next to her niece through the punishing rain. They strode straight past the guard at the front of Barn One, into the settled shelter of the stable.

Pearce and Richard and a few girls Tully didn't recognise looked up from the end of the aisle, the men's thick eyebrows raising in surprise. Richard held an iPad over his chest as if he imagined Fia might pull a gun and shoot him, but Pearce stepped forward, meeting them in front of Dahlia's stall. His cool blue eyes studied the obviously disheveled and drenched pair in front of him and he glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Give us a minute,' he said to Richard and the girls. Richard pursed his thin lips in disgust, but they all turned and moved slowly down the barn aisle, leaving Tully, her aunt and Pearce Weston alone with the sounds and the smells of the horses and the hay and the grain.

Dahlia snorted and pawed at the mats of her stall.

‘It's okay, Dahls,' Tully said, reaching for the latch. Pearce didn't stop her as she swung the top of the stall door open, then slid open the rest to let herself in. ‘I'd like to help with Dahlia please, Mr. Weston,' Tully said from her mare's side.

Dahlia studied her, neck arched, nostrils flaring in surprise. Her dark eyes met Tully's and she let out a soft whicker, before trotting forward into Tully's outstretched arms. ‘Hello, lovely, gorgeous girl,' Tully said, stroking her muzzle and burying her face in Dahlia's neck. She glanced up to see Fia and Pearce standing close, watching her and the once-fire-breathing mare that had turned into a pussy-cat under the hands of her girl, her master, her partner.

A ripple of muscle flared along Pearce's jaw and he looked down at his boots, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark denim jeans.

Tully revelled in this moment with her mare. After this whirlwind of a week, she felt a soft veil of peace settle over her. The storm raged outside with claps of thunder and bolts of lightning, but here with her horse, with her blood kin beside her, Tully couldn't help but sense that everything was going to be all right.

But as so often was the case, Mother Nature seemed to have other plans. A darkness descended over the barn, as if the eye of the storm had settled over Flemington. A bright crack of lightening lit the sky, followed immediately by a clap of deafening thunder.

Dahlia flinched and pushed her nose into Tully's hand, turning into her body as if to shield and comfort her.

‘We've come here to ask nicely to be involved in Dahlia's life, please, Mr. Weston,' Tully said, pulling her eyes from her mare's fierce, kind gaze into the calculating glare of Pearce Weston. ‘All I ask is to be able to help you with her, that's all. Please, Mr. Weston. I promise I won't cause any trouble.'

Fia stiffened, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowed on Pearce.

‘
Please
,' Tully said. Dahlia tossed her head, jumping nervously at the sound of another boom of thunder. Rain pelted hard on the tin roof of the barn, the wind howling down the rows of stables, ricocheting out across the epic track to the buildings of the city. ‘Please?' Tully said again, raising her voice over the thunder and the rain.

‘How
could
you
ever
beg this man for anything?'

The sound of a voice she hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime shook Tully from her peace, jolting her heart as if one of the lightning flashes had struck her. She turned slowly, her voice rusty from shock and confusion and a new, seeping fear. ‘
Bucko?
'

Kyle Buckley stepped out from behind Fia, the glinting blade of a hunting knife in his hands. He opened Dahlia's door slowly, the blade raised at Pearce. ‘
In
, both of you,' he said.

Dahlia snorted and danced at Tully's side, her eyes darting from Bucko to Pearce, but sharpening on Weston.

Tully's mouth fell open as Bucko raised the knife to Pearce Weston's thick throat – the sleek, deadly blade of the knife she'd seen him use so many times around their farm. ‘In,' he repeated, squaring his shoulders to push Pearce into the dark box stall.

Tully reached forward, grabbed Fia by the arm and pulled her over next to Dahlia in the back corner of the stall. Dahlia squealed, lashing out at Pearce with her near-fore. She snorted and tossed her head, pacing across the middle of the stall – a lioness assessing her prey.

Pearce puffed in annoyance, creeping along the wall of the stall, his whole bulky body craning away from the glint of the blade. ‘How the hell'd you get in here, Buckley?'

Bucko's jaw tightened, he glanced across at Tully. ‘He hurt you?'

Tully shook her head. ‘No! No, Bucko, of course not. Please—' She took a tentative step towards him— ‘Please, Kyle. Put the knife down, okay? You're scaring Dahlia. You're scaring me.'

Bucko threw his head back and laughed, his black spiked-up hair catching in the light of another bolt of lightning. ‘So that's how it's gonna be, is it, Tully? Siding with the Westons, huh?' He narrowed his wild, dark eyes at her and shook his head, his mouth twisting with disgust. ‘
Couldn't
believe it when you brought one
home
with you. Then you go and leave us, leave the farm, to run off with that traitor—' he jerked his chin in Fia's direction. ‘Then
he
gets a hold of our girl, our horse that I helped you save.' He pushed the blade closer to Pearce's skin and the daggers of sheer hatred in his eyes sent terror racing down Tully's spine.