On the Right Track

by Penelope Janu

  We leave the clubhouse not long after Tor joins us on the balcony. He takes my hand as we walk down the stairs to the grounds. ‘We’ll meet you back here in an hour,’ he says, lightly kissing my mouth. ‘Be careful.’

  He’s smiling nicely enough when he releases me, but his shutters are down so I have no idea what he’s thinking.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be with the horses.’

  I pass Solomon as I skirt around the marquees on my way to the exercise area and stalls. He looks uncharacteristically flustered, barely acknowledging me. He’s racing his big grey stallion Altona today, so perhaps he’s thinking about him. Altona is a three year old—his owners will want him to do well in the country races so he can qualify for the city ones next year.

  None of the strappers turn my way when I walk through the gate. Tomas is standing next to Altona at the entrance to his stall. He stiffens when he sees me.

  ‘Hi, Tomas.’

  He nods abruptly before turning his back to fiddle with Altona’s halter.

  I duck under a rope and stroke the stallion’s muzzle. ‘Hey, boy, aren’t you magnificent? His race is at two, right?’

  ‘Right.’ He sidles further away, pretending Altona’s rug needs straightening. He’s still facing the horse when he speaks. ‘What’s going on with the Norway guy? I don’t want you talking to him.’

  ‘I won’t say anything that will get you into trouble.’

  ‘If Solomon finds out I’ve kept this to myself he’ll get rid of me quick smart. I’m fifty-eight with a crook back and a car loan. Can’t afford to lose my job.’

  Is Tomas worried about dangerous men, or Solomon? ‘I understand. I just want to put my mind to rest.’

  Tomas untangles imaginary knots in Altona’s short mane. Finally he faces me.

  ‘Your dad was nothing like me,’ he says. ‘He was cocky and full of himself, the life of the party. We didn’t get on great but I respected the way he rode.’ He nods towards my leg. ‘Before your fall you rode just like him—you were a natural, and you had guts. The other jockeys and me, we used to sit back and watch you ride, gobsmacked.’

  ‘You said my father was protecting the jockeys.’

  ‘You know about the Randwick race? The one the board wanted to know about?’

  ‘Yes. The Queen Elizabeth Stakes.’

  ‘The horse James rode was a chance for third or fourth, nothing better. Your dad was only on him because his regular jockey was,’ he rolls his eyes, ‘under the weather.’

  ‘That was a lie?’

  ‘You bet. There were two clear favourites in that race, both ridden by apprentice jockeys. They were given cash in brown paper bags to lose the race, and that’s what they did. One of the jockeys quit riding after the board looked into the result—it gave him a shock, I reckon. A few years back he died of cancer. The other jockey’s dead too.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Killed in a car accident a couple of years after your dad left the country. He was a bit of a larrikin was Dane, like your dad. He was twenty-three when he passed away, left a partner and two little kids behind.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’ Altona pricks up his ears when a gust of wind rattles the clips on the twisted rope tied across the entrance to the stall. I wait for Tomas to settle him. ‘But … how do you know all this?’

  Tomas shuffles his feet. ‘Dane was my sister’s bloke. She never took up with anyone else after she lost him. The kids are grown now, like you, Gumnut.’ He smiles uncertainly. ‘Taller though. A girl and a boy. Their father was on his way to a race when he was killed. The trainer he worked for, and others in the industry, they gave my sister a lot of support, treated her real good. My niece and nephew, they’re proud of their dad, the rider he was.’

  ‘Because no one knew what he’d done?’ There’s bitterness in my voice. ‘Was my father involved too?’

  Tomas blinks. ‘No bleeding way! He’d never fix a result. Not in a million years, not James Saunders.’

  ‘That’s what Grandpa always said. Which is why he couldn’t work out what my father had done wrong.’

  Tomas looks left and right, but no one is paying us attention. There are more stalls than horses, so only every second one is occupied, and the other strappers are grooming or looking at their phones. A few are idly talking.

  ‘James worked out what was up midway through the race. He had a sixth sense with horses, your dad. He could read his own horse, and the horses around him. The young blokes were doing things the trainers and stewards couldn’t see, not firing up their horses like they should have been. But what could your Dad do about that? He rode his horse hard like he always did and won the bloody race. The crooks that set it up couldn’t have been happier. They made a fortune out of it.’

  ‘And my father?’

  ‘The man behind the fix was a Chinese bloke. He was grateful James kept quiet at the inquiry—even though he’d done that for the young blokes—so he slipped him a thank you.’

  The bank transfer from Tor’s Hong Kong criminal. My legs are shaking and I’d like to sit down but I don’t want to spook Tomas. ‘Right.’

  ‘Your dad had a baby on the way, one he hadn’t counted on, and he was broke. He took the money.’

  I lean against the railing that separates the stalls and force myself to take deep breaths. My father flew first class and stayed at good hotels. He had expensive girlfriends.

  ‘And he continued to take it,’ I say.

  Tomas shrugs. ‘He was on the hook the minute he swallowed the first time. He went to Hong Kong in case it all caught up with him.’

  ‘I was two years old the first time he saw me.’

  ‘That was the year Dane died. My sister had a box of stuff that Dane had kept hidden, and I gave it to James. Not sure what was in that box but James was happy to take it—he called it his insurance policy.’

  Insurance policy? That’s how Grandpa labelled some of the documents in his folders, including the form guide for the race that was fixed, the one Tor found on my bedside table. He asked me who had made the notes and predictions, and I told him it wasn’t my father’s writing, or Grandpa’s. Maybe it was Dane’s.

  Tomas takes off Altona’s rug, and sweeps a brush over his flecked grey hindquarters.

  ‘Do you know how my grandfather got involved?’ I say.

  Tomas shrugs. ‘Your dad wasn’t stupid, and he had his insurance. Reckon he set things up so your grandpa got paid if something happened to him.’

  ‘Did Grandpa know where the money came from?’

  ‘I only know about James. He helped my sister by keeping things quiet, and she got treated much better than you. That’s what made me feel bad. Thought you should know your dad never fixed a race—and that something good came out of what he did.’

  ‘Was anyone else involved?’

  Tomas stills. ‘It was a long time ago. The other bloke’s done nothing wrong since.’

  Only an hour ago Tor said that even if Garcia was involved, there was no proof, and as far as they know he’s been clean ever since.

  I speak quietly. ‘It was Alessandro Garcia, wasn’t it? His horse won that race.’

  Tomas turns his head to the side. He mumbles, ‘I’ve said enough.’

  ‘My father was chosen by Garcia to replace the jockey that was pulled, wasn’t he? Did he cover for Garcia as well as the apprentices?’

  ‘You’ll get nothing else from me.’ He shuffles his feet. ‘Off you go. I’ve got a horse to get ready.’

  Finding Tor is suddenly the most important thing in the world. He wants me to trust him and he’s promised not to hurt me. We have to talk about my father and Grandpa. And then we can talk about us.

  CHAPTER

  39

  As I walk into the clubhouse, I bump into a barman. When I ask him about a meeting room, he directs me to a set of stairs that leads to a basement. I can’t hear what’s being said through the door at the end of the hallway, but I make out Tor, Nate and Alessandro’s
voices. I recognise other voices too.

  I’ve been winded before. I fell off my Shetland pony, and Fudge, countless times. When I was fourteen and exercising one of Sol’s horses at Randwick, he stumbled and I somersaulted over his head. I pretended I wasn’t hurt because I was afraid Grandpa would change his mind about letting me ride track work, but it felt like my lungs were on fire when I pulled myself up by the railing. The chest pain I feel now is as it was then, but I don’t remember feeling as nauseous as this.

  I turn the handle and step inside.

  Tor is sitting at a table and facing the door. I guess that’s because he’s a spy—he has to be ready for anything. The expression in his eyes is perfectly straightforward: What the fuck are you doing here? Nate turns and faces me too. He enjoyed the fight last night. He’s not happy about seeing me now. I thought I knew his character, but I was wrong.

  Alessandro, handsome and beautifully groomed, lifts his pen and stiffly smiles. Solomon is sitting next to Nate; he rolls his eyes and loosens his tie. Marc senior nods as if he’s surprised I’m here but pleased to see me. Eric straightens the lapels of his suit jacket.

  ‘Were you eavesdropping?’ he says.

  Tor is at my side before I’m conscious that he’s moved. He speaks quietly. ‘Golden, come and sit with me.’

  Between him and Alessandro? ‘No.’

  ‘Sit down, Gumnut,’ Solomon says, ‘before you topple over.’

  Even if I wanted to sit I’m not sure that I could. It’s like my body is in a rigid frame that stretches from the top of my head to the soles of my feet.

  Marc senior gets up from his chair. He smiles as he pats my arm. He speaks softly. ‘Hello, little Gumnut. Long time, no speak. This isn’t as bad as it looks, you know. Come and sit down.’

  My throat is so tight I have to force the words out. ‘Is this the ghosts of Christmas past? Where’s Marc?’

  ‘He’s a blabbermouth,’ Marc senior says. ‘Wouldn’t dream of admitting him to the club.’

  ‘So it’s a club?’

  Tor mutters under his breath. ‘It’s not a club.’ He touches my shoulder but pulls back when I flinch. ‘Golden, sit down.’

  ‘I said no. Why are all these people here?’

  Alessandro puts his thick gold pen in an inside jacket pocket, pulls up the cuff of his sports coat and looks at his watch. ‘Please excuse me,’ he says. ‘I’m on the racing committee—the horses will be called to marshal soon so I’d better get back on duty.’

  It’s lucky I can’t move because when he kisses my cheek I want to shove him in the chest and keep shoving until he’s backed against the wall. Then I’m not sure what I’d do. He was crooked like my father but clever enough to know when to stop.

  At the door he hands Tor a business card. The handwriting is upright and bold. ‘Here are the details,’ he says. ‘I hope you can make it. It’ll be well worth the trip from New York.’

  After the door clicks shut behind him I glare at the men who are left. ‘Why are you all here?’

  Tor speaks for them. ‘They knew your grandfather well.’

  ‘As did I. Why didn’t I make the cut?’

  ‘Would you have come?’

  ‘It would’ve depended on the agenda. You wanted to leave me behind at Grasmere because you’d arranged this, didn’t you?’

  Tor lowers his voice. ‘I worked out last night that Garcia wouldn’t talk about your father. This was Plan B, finding out what I could about your grandfather.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that last night? When did you call Eric?’

  ‘Don’t do this, Golden.’

  ‘When!’

  ‘First thing this morning.’

  ‘Guess I slept through it. What have you found out?’

  ‘Your meeting with Tomas Farmer. How did that go?’

  I’m winded all over again. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It wasn’t difficult to work out. I told you to stay away from him—you did the opposite. Nate followed you.’

  ‘Now I don’t have to feel guilty about keeping it from you.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘My family. How about you? Have you been talking about your family?’

  ‘Golden—’

  ‘Tell me why they’re here!’

  Sol grunts. ‘My horse is racing at two o’clock. Hurry up and tell her.’

  When Tor’s lips stay closed, Marc senior looks from Tor to me, and taps my arm again. ‘Tor wanted the lowdown on your grandpa, Gumnut. That’s about it.’

  ‘He was a good man, no matter what any of you think.’

  Marc senior tut-tuts. ‘He understood why we did what we did.’

  ‘You let him down.’

  Sol rolls his eyes. ‘John went through your father’s papers after he got cancer. That’s when he worked out the payments were dodgy.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me that?’

  ‘He didn’t want you to think badly of your dad. On the other hand, he was worried you’d cop it after he’d gone. That’s why he went to Eric, to bring it out in the open.’

  Eric addresses the room like he’s in parliament. ‘The first payment to your father was substantial. Even so, the authorities never detected it. The other payments were smaller and not detected either. Nevertheless, John told me he wanted to repay the money. He came to me and I reported the matter to the police. The rest you know.’

  I turn to Sol. My voice catches. ‘Why didn’t you come to his funeral?’

  ‘John was afraid that whoever paid the money to James, and then him, might come after you.’

  Marc senior nods. ‘John was worried about your dad’s crooks. Nearly had a coronary when he found out what Marc had been up to.’ He mutters ‘Angelina’s money’ under his breath. ‘We told him Eric’s involvement, and calling in the cops, would be enough to scare them off because things would be out in the open, but he wanted to make sure, to distance you from racing. Sol warned off the trainers, I got the bookies on side, Alessandro had a word to the breeders and owners. We encouraged them to think the worst, that John was on the take just like his son.’

  I wipe a hand across my eyes. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’

  ‘Not everything,’ Sol says. ‘We’d promised John we wouldn’t let on about your dad. But after Tor’s investigation, there’s not much you don’t know.’ He raises his voice. ‘It was meant to be a year, Gumnut.’ He slaps the table with the palm of his hand. ‘But you wouldn’t have that. Do you remember what you said?’

  I nod but can’t speak.

  ‘You said we were as dead to you as your grandfather was!’

  Marc senior taps the side of his head. ‘Reckon my hearing’s never recovered from the ear bashing I got.’

  ‘You’d rung me for my birthday. I was at Clovelly.’

  Sol harrumphs. ‘All in the past now. Best forgotten.’ He looks at his watch and curses. ‘Bloody hell. C’mon Marc, it’s rising two.’

  Within a minute Sol and Marc senior have gone. When I sit on the edge of the table Tor stands next to me. Eric stands on my other side.

  ‘I agree with Solomon,’ Eric says. ‘This is all in the past.’

  My voice is unsteady but I’m determined not to cry. ‘You wouldn’t have made a promise, Eric. How much did you know?’

  ‘I suspected your grandfather and his cronies were hiding something.’

  The lump in my throat gets bigger. ‘You didn’t ask for the truth because you wanted to think the worst. Just a few weeks ago, you said Grandpa was a crook. Do you remember how much food I prepared for the wake, hoping some of his friends would show up? But none of them did. You know how much that hurt me.’

  ‘To be frank,’ Eric says, ‘I welcomed your disassociation with racing.’

  ‘Like you welcome my disassociation with my home?’

  ‘The decision on that has been made. Tor agrees it’s for the best.’

  ‘Nate, show Eric out,’ Tor says. ‘I’ll call you when I’m done.’r />
  ‘No!’ I stand and walk to the far side of the room. ‘Eric can go. I want Nate to stay.’

  ‘You’re overwrought,’ Eric says. ‘And after the altercation at the party last night, it’s best that you go home. Would you like me to drive you to Lilydale?’

  I step out of his reach and shake my head. ‘I want nothing to do with you.’

  I feel the men’s glances, and imagine the looks they exchange as they shake hands. When Eric leaves, Nate shuts the door quietly behind him.

  Nate leans against the wall with his legs crossed at the ankles. I return to the table, sitting on the edge. Tor breathes deeply and evenly in front of me. I look over his shoulder when I speak.

  ‘I’m glad Grandpa had Solomon and Marc senior until the end of his life, that they didn’t let him down after all. Thank you for finding that out.’

  He speaks so softly I can barely hear him. ‘You’re pale, sweetheart. I’m not angry, I don’t care that you spoke to Tomas. Look at me, Golden, please.’

  There are no windows and the door is closed but a draft comes into the room from somewhere. The cobwebs hanging from the cornice slowly lift and fall.

  ‘There are things you should know,’ I say, ‘things I found out from Tomas. He was afraid, but I’m sure he told the truth. My father didn’t fix the race at Randwick, but he worked out during the race that the other jockeys were holding their horses back. Afterwards, your Hong Kong criminal gave him money as a thank you, because he’d kept quiet about what had happened. Garcia knew about the fix, he was probably involved. But Tomas won’t confirm it—he spoke to me in confidence, and he’s worried about his job.’ When Tor touches my arm I yank it away and jump up from the table. My ankle pulls and I gasp. ‘Let me finish!’

  I walk gingerly until I can stand on both feet. Tor has the faint line above his eyebrow that I couldn’t detect until I knew him well, the line that signals concern.

  ‘My mother gave me to my father,’ I tell him. ‘When I was a few days old, my father filled out forms making Grandpa my guardian. After my fall, Grandpa gave me to Eric to keep me safe, and I went back to Grandpa when I’d finished school. Since Grandpa died, besides being in debt to Eric, I’ve lived my own life. My home and my sister, my horses and my work. Then you came along. I’ve learned a lot about all sorts of things, but now I’ve had enough. I want my life back.’