Paycheque

by Fiona McCallum

  ‘How about I give you a brush,’ Claire said, deciding she needed to stop looking like a bouncer outside a nightclub. She grabbed a brush from the box on the ground, opened the gate and entered the bulky chestnut’s stall. He stepped aside to let her past. She undid the straps of his rug and folded it back onto itself. The horse let out a deep sigh as she settled into the rhythm of long strokes along his sleek coat.

  Suddenly there was a shout from outside the stall. ‘Oi! Bloody menace!’

  Claire’s heart flip-flopped as Howie snapped to attention, nearly planting a hoof on her foot. In two strides she was at the gate and had to put her hand to her mouth to quell the rising laughter.

  Paycheque had something in his teeth and Todd Newman was standing, beetrootred, trying tug-of-war style to retrieve it. ‘Give it back,’ the man growled. Claire stayed hidden in the shaded stall, peering out from beside Howie.

  At that moment, Bernadette arrived carrying two takeaway cups. ‘What do you think you’re doing to that horse?’ she demanded.

  Todd let go of the book and turned to Bernie. ‘Bloody menace bit me. I’ll sue, I will.’

  Paycheque disappeared into his stall.

  ‘I’ll give you the details of my insurer, after you’ve shown me the damage. Hang on a sec. I’ve got a camera on my phone.’

  ‘Well there’s no mark as such,’ he stammered, peering down at his chest.

  ‘Looks like you’ve been slobbered on, not bitten. Sort of goes with the territory though, wouldn’t you say? I’m happy to pay for the dry-cleaning…’

  ‘Just make the damn horse give my form guide back. It’s in his mouth.’

  ‘Ooh really? What a clever boy.’

  Claire nearly erupted as she watched.

  ‘Just go in and get my bloody book will you!’

  ‘No thanks. Maybe if we ask nicely. Paycheque? Do you have the nice man’s book?’ There was a shuffle and Claire saw Paycheque’s head reappear in the doorway.

  ‘Doesn’t look to me like he’s got anything.’

  ‘Well he took it from my pocket. He must have dropped it in the stall.’

  ‘You’re welcome to go in and check,’ Bernadette offered with a shrug.

  ‘He’s bloody dangerous.’

  Bernadette shrugged again, put the second cup down, and made a show of engrossing herself in removing the lid from her coffee.

  ‘It’s my bloody form guide – I need it.’

  ‘Here’s two dollars – buy another one,’ Bernadette said, fishing a two-dollar coin from her pocket. They’re selling them over by the gate.’

  Claire cringed. She really should warn Bernadette who she was messing with.

  ‘Not today’s form guide you stupid woman. Anyway, what would you know about form?’

  ‘Diddly-squat apparently, because I happen to think those horses you wrote off are destined for great things.’

  Shit, she does know who he is, Claire thought, torn between wanting to cheer her friend on and slapping her to shut her up. She started to gather her wits in preparation for her entry into the firing line.

  ‘You’re right about one thing: you know absolutely fuck all about form. Keep the book, you clearly need it.’ He let out a cynical laugh and strode off.

  Claire breathed a sigh of relief and emerged from Howie’s stable.

  ‘Ah, that’s where you were hiding. Did you hear that smug bastard?’

  ‘What did you have to antagonise him for?’

  ‘Someone’s got to defend those who don’t have a voice of their own. Bastard deserves to be brought down a peg or two.’

  ‘No, all you did was set us up for further failure,’ Claire groaned.

  ‘Lighten up, you’re giving him way too much power.’ Bernadette sat heavily on an upturned bucket and handed the second cup to Claire.

  ‘I just so badly want to beat him.’ Claire sighed and plonked herself on another bucket.

  ‘I know. And you will. Many forms can winning take. Many forms.’

  ‘Thanks Yoda, but I prefer the old-fashioned way: first past the post.’

  ‘Patience, my dear, patience.’

  They were startled when there was a slap and a small booklet appeared on the ground between them. They laughed.

  ‘Had your fun, hey? Cheeky boy,’ Bernadette said, reaching up and poking the lips that hung over the door.

  ‘Careful,’ Claire warned.

  ‘What? I think he’s been significantly cheered by his little victory. He looks like he’s ready to take on the world.’

  ‘No, I think he just wants your coffee.’

  ‘Well you can’t have it. Auntie Bernadette needs her caffeine fix – she got up way too early.’

  Claire checked her watch. ‘Shit, I’ve gotta have Howie ready in an hour. Where’s that bloody jockey, anyway?’ She drained her lukewarm coffee and got up. ‘I’m going to look for him.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Make sure his lordship here doesn’t pick anyone else’s pocket. Since you’re feeling so game you can brush him if you like.’

  When Claire returned – the jockey still nowhere to be seen – she found a small, lean, twenty-something girl in jodhpurs and a loose green knitted jumper leaning on Paycheque’s gate. Paycheque seemed to be lapping up the attention – there was not a twisted nostril or flattened ear in sight. The girl stepped aside and Bernadette emerged from the stall with the brush in her hand.

  Claire was about to continue on her way when Bernadette turned and spoke to someone out of sight. Don’t tell me David’s here as well, she groaned inwardly, instantly annoyed with her childishness.

  As she rounded the corner the person Bernadette was talking to came into view. Claire almost dropped her bundle of tack.

  ‘Derek, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m in this game too, you know.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Claire said, surprised to find herself blushing violently.

  ‘Great to hear you got your own training ticket,’ Derek said with a grin.

  Claire opened her mouth. How could he possibly know that?

  ‘What? You’re really a trainer – in your own right, not just with Jack? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Bernadette cried, leaping forward and hugging her friend, startling Paycheque into the darkness of his stall, and causing Howie to open his eyes and check out the commotion. Over Bernadette’s shoulder Claire noticed the young lass was still at Paycheque’s gate, speaking to him in soothing tones.

  ‘Oh, just some red tape someone managed to cut through or something,’ Claire said, withdrawing from her friend’s embrace, but keeping her eye on the girl at the gate.

  Paycheque was back, peering out warily as the girl stroked his face. ‘See, you big goose? Nothing scary out here, just people doing silly people things.’

  Claire stared, perplexed, impressed.

  Derek cleared his throat. ‘Sorry Claire, this is my daughter Madeline. Maddie, this is Claire McIntyre.’

  ‘Hi,’ Madeline said, beaming and putting her hand out. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Claire shook the hand while appraising Derek’s daughter. She could see a slight resemblance. Their eyes were a similar blue-grey and both had long, narrow noses.

  ‘Derek, I didn’t know you had a daughter.’

  ‘Hasn’t been around much – ran away to join the horsey world, didn’t you sweetheart?’ he said, putting his arm around the blushing girl.

  ‘So, are you a jockey?’ Bernadette asked.

  Madeline didn’t get a chance to answer because just at that moment Jack McIntyre sauntered up to the group.

  ‘Derek, great to see you again,’ Jack said, thrusting out his hand.

  ‘Likewise, Jack. These two look like they’re coming along,’ Derek said, nodding at the horses.

  A few pieces of jigsaw fell into place for Claire. ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she demanded of Derek.’

  ‘What? What was me?’

  ‘The one who told Dad about the changes for traine
rs?’

  ‘I might have mentioned it.’

  ‘Suppose I’m meant to thank you for interfering in my life?’

  ‘Claire, don’t be like that. He’s done us both a favour,’ Jack said.

  ‘Dad, rarely does Derek Anderson do anyone a favour, unless there’s something in it for him. So what is it this time?’

  Bernadette and Madeline were shifting on their feet, looking about awkwardly. Madeline was blushing violently, obviously totally embarrassed.

  ‘Well, er…’ Derek stammered.

  ‘See, you can’t just do something nice for someone – there’s always a catch.’

  Derek had recovered his composure and was now looking Claire in the eye. He had a grin on his face, which annoyed her even more. He grabbed her by the arms and before she had a chance to protest said, ‘If you would stop being so bloody prickly, Claire McIntyre, you would know that Jack here rang me to see if Madeline would come by and meet Paycheque. Seeing as he’s as prickly as you, we thought a woman rider might be the answer. Female jockeys aren’t getting much of a look-in at the moment.’

  ‘It’s true, Claire,’ Jack said. ‘I thought maybe we needed a female jockey, since you can’t race him.’

  Now it was Claire’s turn to burn beetrootred. ‘Oh right, well then I’m sorry, especially to you Madeline. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’

  ‘No worries,’ Madeline said. ‘Could I have a ride? I know he’s not going to race today, but…’

  ‘Well he hasn’t actually been scratched,’ Jack cut in. ‘Why don’t you hop on? There’s an hour until his race. If you feel comfortable we’ll give him a run – no pressure, mind. What do you think, Claire?’

  ‘Don’t see why not. I’d just be happy to get him into the barriers and then onto the track without disaster. But I’ve got to warn you, Madeline, he can put on a real turn.’

  ‘She knows,’ Derek said. ‘She saw him last time.’

  ‘I’ll take him steady, see how we go.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Thanks, Madeline, that’d be great,’ Claire said, feeling relief flow through her. If this worked her grand plan might just look doable.

  ‘I’ll just go and get my helmet,’ she said, starting to walk away. She’d only gone a few steps when she stopped, turned back and said, ‘Oh, and my friends call me Maddie.’

  ‘I know she’s my daughter and I’m totally biased, but she really does have a way with horses,’ Derek said as they watched her leave.

  ‘Wow, isn’t this exciting,’ Bernadette said, clapping her hands. ‘I’m going to go for a wander – does anyone need anything? More coffee?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Claire and Derek said.

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘No thanks. I’ll be too busy getting Howie ready.’

  ‘Okay, I’m going to get myself one. See you later.’

  ‘Sorry about before, Derek.’

  Derek kicked at a piece of straw. ‘It’s okay. You had a right to be suspicious – you worked with me for long enough.’

  Claire laughed.

  ‘But I’m changing. I’ve come to realise a few things these past couple of months.’

  They both looked at the ground. Claire fidgeted with her zipper.

  ‘Haven’t we all?’ Claire laughed, trying to break up the awkwardness.

  ‘So, truce?’ Derek said, putting out his hand.

  ‘Truce,’ Claire said, shaking it. ‘But don’t think that means we’re going to go easy on you on the track.’

  ‘Ah yes, but if Maddie’s the jockey, it’ll still be a win for me.’

  Claire laughed. ‘All right, you got me there.’

  Derek checked his watch. ‘I’d better get cracking. Places to go, people to see. I’ll catch you later.’

  Before Claire had a chance to object, Derek had put his hands on her shoulders, pecked her on the cheek and was striding down the laneway between the rows of stables. She stared after him frowning, her heart beating slightly faster.

  Jack led Howie out of his stall. ‘Righto Claire, can you lead him around, stretch his legs while I go and try to find his jockey?’

  Claire snapped back to reality as the reins were thrust into her hands.

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t find him before.’

  ‘That’s okay, I know exactly where he’ll be. You head straight out to the floats.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ Claire called to the large chestnut beside her, and began walking.

  Claire had only met the jockey once before and wasn’t at all impressed, but had to agree with her father that with no other options presenting, they couldn’t afford to be picky.

  She thought about Howie’s gentle nature and hoped they weren’t letting a cowboy loose on him. But then, how many times had she heard you had to be tough to succeed in this game?

  She walked the horse up to the mounting area where Jack stood with the jockey kitted out in the McIntyre colours. The faded state of their red and gold silks was a little embarrassing, but forking out for a new set was a luxury they really couldn’t afford right now. Anyway, Jack probably wouldn’t hear of it: Grace had made these not long before her death.

  Claire took a new dislike to the jockey when he began aggressively slapping his whip against the palm of his hand.

  She had never used whips in training – didn’t see the point in belting a horse when it was doing its best. All it served to do was distract the animal and unbalance the rider and, in turn, the horse. She couldn’t believe the racing industry’s occupational health and safety people hadn’t seen the potential danger in jockeys only holding onto the reins with one hand. Not to mention leaning wildly to one side to provide a better angle for connecting the whip with the horse’s flesh.

  What annoyed her most was that no one seemed to see that if whips were banned no one would be advantaged or disadvantaged. All whips or no whips, what was the bloody difference? She shook her head.

  ‘Yep, got you, you’re the boss,’ the jockey said, nodding his head. But the look of disdain on his face told her he wasn’t listening to a word this old codger said.

  Claire put the reins over Howie’s head with deep feelings of misgiving. His ears went up and his nostrils flared as if he too felt the mood change.

  ‘Righto, let’s see what you’ve got,’ the jockey said, gathering the reins and putting his foot out for a leg-up.

  ‘Just take him easy, it’s his first time out for a while,’ Claire said.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I heard your old man. Just leave him to me. You go and settle yourself comfortably in the stands,’ he said, waving his whip in the air.

  Claire scowled at being patronised. She flinched as Howie got a slap with the whip and instantly became a different horse: up on his toes, darting about, looking fearful and bewildered. She shot Jack a concerned glance.

  ‘They’ll be right,’ Jack said, but looked as concerned as she. ‘It’s out of our hands now,’ he added. ‘He’s a sensible horse, he’ll be okay.’

  Claire glanced back at the horse dancing about and felt sick to her stomach. She wished she hadn’t had coffee. Part of her also wished she’d kept her involvement to swanning about in the corporate boxes at Flemington and only occasionally helping out her father.

  She chose a spot at the rail halfway down the straight, and stood there reminding herself to breathe. Howie went past in his warm-up, head down fighting against the bit, already beginning to sweat.

  ‘Jesus, let go of his mouth,’ Claire growled, wanting to climb under the rail and rescue the horse from the pint-sized brute. But as hard as it was, it was business, she told herself. Howie was half a tonne of horseflesh – the punk didn’t stand a chance if it came down to it.

  Anyway, they had been lucky to get a jockey at all. The best jockeys usually went hand-in-hand with the best stables – two-bit operations like theirs got the dregs.

  Claire gritted her teeth. What they needed was a good name for themselves. Not that what she was seeing would go any way towards that. Howie was now rearing u
p and refusing to go into the barriers.

  ‘Stop reefing at his mouth!’ she pleaded under her breath. ‘And Howie, for God’s sake, stop giving him something to pull against.’ Claire wasn’t sure what she feared more: the humiliation of their horse leaving the track unraced, the commentator’s announcement of their withdrawal, or the jockey’s fury. She closed her eyes and put her head on her arms folded across the rail. Howie, just let him have his way and I promise you’ll never have him on you again.

  The crash of the barrier gates and thunder of hooves brought Claire’s head up. She looked around, expecting to see Howie being led away in disgrace, but he was nowhere to be seen. She looked back to the mass of horses flying towards her. Her heart surged. There he was, dead last by a long shot, but there nonetheless. But she could see the defeated, exhausted hang of his head.

  Jesus, was that blood at his mouth? Claire thought with a start, but the horse was already too far away.

  The race was over before it had begun. Howie struggled all the way around, coming past the post a distant last.

  ‘Oh well, better luck next time,’ Jack said, appearing at her side and putting a hand on her shoulder.

  She looked up at him, eyes blazing. ‘That was nothing to do with luck and you know it.’

  Jack squeezed her shoulder a little too hard. ‘Not here, Claire,’ he warned.

  She wanted to scream. Why not bloody here? The poor horse wasn’t given a fair run because of some reject, upstart jockey. But looking around she realised Jack was right – this was not the time and this was definitely not the place for raised voices.

  At that moment Todd Newman sauntered past, tipping his Akubra towards them. A grin was spread across his face. Jack offered a tight smile back and tipped his own hat. Claire tightened her grip on the cold railing.

  ‘Come on, he’s not worth it,’ Jack said, pulling her by the shoulder.

  He was right, but it didn’t stop her wanting to thrust her steel cap into his groin.

  ‘Where did you get to, anyway?’ she asked as they walked over to wait for the horses to emerge from the track.

  ‘I was behind the barrier – thought I might have to retrieve Howie.’

  ‘That bloody jockey should be banned,’ Claire growled through gritted teeth.