Paycheque

by Fiona McCallum

  ‘We’re involved. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to her about Paycheque’s turnaround since Werribee last week – remarkable.’

  ‘Yes, it certainly is remarkable,’ Derek said, shaking his head.

  ‘So, what have they done?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

  ‘That’s what she said. What’s going on?’

  ‘Not for me to say.’

  ‘Aw, come on Derek. Give me something here.’

  ‘Not without Claire’s permission. Bill, you’re a married man. Rule number one: don’t piss the missus off, right?’

  ‘Well could you at least get her to talk to me? Here’s my card. I’m heading back to the members’.’

  ‘I’ll pass it on. You know, you could always do something on me – I own Humble Beginnings.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry mate. No offence, but there’s no angle in consistently average.’

  ‘Well, worth a try.’ Derek grinned. He turned and walked back to where Claire was doing up Paycheque’s rugs.

  ‘Saw you talking to that journalist,’ Claire said.

  ‘Bill Holloway? I’ve known him for ages – he’s harmless enough.’ He shrugged.

  ‘So, did you say anything? About us, Paycheque?’

  ‘Not my place.’

  ‘Good, thanks.’

  ‘But you probably should – give him his interview, that is. I think it would be a good idea.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it.’

  ‘He left his card – he’ll be at the members’ bar for a while yet.’

  ‘Oh, I’m nervous now. What do I say?’

  ‘Whatever you want. Just be your gorgeous, charming self and you can’t go wrong.’

  ‘Hope he doesn’t want a picture, I’m covered in horse snot and sweat.’

  ‘So, how did your first big media conference go?’

  ‘I had a drink with him – a ten-minute chat – hardly a big media conference, darling. But it was relatively painless. He’s going to try and get something in for Monday, so we’ll see then if we’re the laughingstock of the Spring Carnival.’

  ‘You told him about the cats, then?’

  ‘I had to. He was obsessed with Paycheque’s suddenly reformed character. I didn’t want him raising speculation we were into doping or anything.’

  ‘Good point. I wonder if he’ll do a serious piece or take the piss.’

  ‘You know what? I don’t care. People can laugh all they want, but the fact is, it worked.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ he said, hugging her tightly.

  Claire had been both eagerly and apprehensively awaiting the article and was surprised by how disappointed she felt when it failed to appear in Monday’s paper. She tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed, but Derek knew her too well. He gave her hand a knowing squeeze and her forehead a sympathetic kiss. She tried to put it out of her mind by being annoyed at the journalist for letting her down.

  But then she stopped. Why was she taking it personally? It was totally beyond her control. For all she knew the article had missed its deadline, or been too long for the allocated space. Even if they’d decided she wasn’t interesting enough to cover, it wasn’t her fault. She’d been pleased with how she’d conducted herself. She’d spoken honestly and openly, displaying a good mix of pride and humility, charm and determination. She expelled the tension with a slow outward breath, something she’d become very good at recently. Really, what good did worrying about things you couldn’t change do? She smiled up at Derek.

  Claire was startled when Jack burst into the caravan crying, ‘Check this out!’ He laid a newspaper open on the table in front of her. She stared – almost in disbelief – at the article stretching across two columns with small photo of her standing next to Paycheque peering out of his stall: ‘Cats Save Caulfield Cup Campaign’.

  In a move not dissimilar to Jardines Lookout being accompanied by Henry the Shetland pony, part-owner/trainer Claire McIntyre’s move to fly in two moggies has put her Caulfield Cup campaign back on track.

  All indications point to success, with the unorthodox move seeming to have worked wonders on the cantankerous Paycheque. Just over a week ago the pint-sized bay kicked up a storm at the barriers at Werribee, leaving those in the industry to scratch their heads over the McIntyres’ decision to nominate the horse for the Caulfield Cup. On Saturday he lined up in race four for his first run at Caulfield, and while his feisty nature could be seen bubbling just below the surface, he behaved every bit the perfect gentleman. He was unlucky, only managing fifth after a poor start and being pushed out wide on the first turn.

  After the race I asked Claire McIntyre about the turnaround in his behaviour. ‘Well it seems he’s no different to the rest of us,’ Claire said. ‘He gets cranky when he doesn’t get enough sleep. I just underestimated how much influence the cats had.’ Apparently Paycheque sleeps lying down with two cats, Sandy and Terry, curled up against his chest, and when he was here without them, he spent his nights fretting and pacing.

  ‘Maddie, our jockey, was sleeping nearby and being kept awake. We had to do something and thank goodness it seems to have worked,’ Claire said.

  After thirty years as a trainer out at Mount Pleasant, this is Jack McIntyre’s first Melbourne Spring Carnival. Look out for the McIntyres’ other promising mount, Hazardous Waste, in the sixth at Sandown Wednesday.

  ‘Not bad. Not bad at all,’ Jack said with obvious pride.

  ‘Wish I sounded more intelligent,’ Claire said, blushing. ‘I thought he’d paraphrase, make it up.’

  ‘Be grateful he didn’t or else we could have come across the freaks of the carnival.’ Jack laughed.

  ‘Nah, Bill’s one of the good guys,’ Derek said.

  ‘Let’s hope Howie lives up to the hype,’ Claire said, closing the paper and pushing it aside.

  Chapter Forty–three

  Claire began to eagerly await the Monday morning newspaper, which devoted a considerable space to the weekend’s horseracing coverage. She’d scour the small print for references to them and their horses, filling with apprehensive excitement when she found one, and increasingly disappointed when she didn’t.

  It was like a drug of increasing dependence; after the first few articles she’d begun to expect coverage, and then crave it every week. She spent hours feeling disappointed if she hadn’t featured. Even Derek commented that it wasn’t healthy to let the media have so much power over her.

  Claire had to admit he was right. She’d been doing so well at being chilled, had really eased the pressure off herself, the horses and Maddie. Until that first article appeared. Since then she’d been on a gradual slide backwards. Why did she care, anyway? It wasn’t like she’d change her training methods or what races she entered based on what was written. Exactly! It really doesn’t matter what they write. She wished Bernadette was there to help keep her grounded. But she wasn’t.

  One Sunday afternoon, when Claire was alone, she wrote herself a note on a scrap of paper: ‘I do not give a shit. The media has no power over me.’ She folded it and put it in her pocket with the note Bernadette had given her almost exactly a year ago. Bernie’s note was now so tattered it barely held together at the folds. She no longer needed to refer to it, but continued to keep it with her out of habit.

  ‘It seems we’ve finally made the paper because of our form, rather than our ratty horses and weird training methods,’ Jack said with a laugh the following morning. He slapped the open paper on the caravan table. ‘You even rated a mention today, Derek,’ he added. They all jostled for a view of the article: ‘Favourites Trounced as South Aussies Clean Up at Sandown’.

  Little known South Australian horses Hazardous Waste (owner/trainers Jack and Claire McIntyre) and Humble Beginnings (owner Derek Anderson, trainer Blue Jackson) were convincing winners at Sandown on Wednesday, leaving connections of Melbourne Cup favourites Inferno and Mystery Girl scratching their heads and no doubt rethinking t
heir Cup preparations.

  The McIntyres enjoyed further success with Paycheque winning by a length in the fourth, proving he is certainly one to watch over the coming weeks. Claire McIntyre said she thought winning was more about luck than anything else, but was especially pleased to see Paycheque doing so well after such a bad year. Claire refused to elaborate further, except to say the horse had made a brave comeback after a training accident. ‘He’s really special to us – not just a horse we’re training, but part of the family,’ she said.

  Recently we reported on Paycheque’s penchant for feline stable mates, but something tells me this isn’t the last we’ll hear of this eccentric little horse from Mount Pleasant.

  ‘Now that’s good coverage,’ Jack said, puffing his chest out.

  ‘Yeah, nice to finally share the limelight with you guys,’ Derek said.

  ‘Paycheque’ll love being referred to as eccentric.’ Claire laughed.

  ‘Not to mention “one to watch”,’ said Jack.

  Claire was pleased to feel a healthy detachment from the words. Her handwritten mantra was working, and she was back on track too.

  Claire was enjoying a middle-of-the-afternoon lie-down when there was a gentle double-knock on the flimsy aluminium door: Derek’s trademark warning he was coming in, with company.

  ‘Claire?’ he called. ‘You decent? We’ve got visitors.’

  She got up and moved the length of the caravan while smoothing her appearance and forcing herself from her dozy state.

  ‘There you are. Nice snooze?’ Derek gave her a peck on the cheek.

  ‘Lovely, thanks,’ she said, looking past him and wondering who was visiting.

  ‘Surprise!’ Bernadette yelled, leaping into view. David and Will appeared behind her.

  ‘Wow!’ Claire cried. ‘What are you doing here? It’s so good to see you. Come in! Come in! How did you find us?’

  ‘They were lurking around the horses,’ Derek offered. ‘Clearly up to no good.’

  ‘We had enough trouble finding this place – just trying to make sure we had the right one,’ David said.

  ‘But we spotted Paycheque and his harem of cats. I can’t believe they made that much difference,’ Bernie said.

  ‘Thank goodness they did – he’s a different horse now.’

  ‘So, the piece in the paper was accurate. Fancy that,’ David said.

  ‘You’d better add felines to your list of alternative treatments, Will,’ Bernadette said, chuckling.

  They all thumped up the steps into the van and crowded around the laminex table.

  ‘This is cozy,’ Bernadette said, looking around.

  ‘It is. We’re having a ball, aren’t we, Derek?’

  ‘We are, now that I’ve convinced her to calm down and just enjoy the ride,’ he said, giving Claire a squeeze and Bernie a knowing expression.

  ‘So, where are you all staying?’ Claire asked. ‘Sorry, no room here at the inn, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Will’s sister is away so we’ve got plenty of space. We’re very lucky – it’s just near Flemington,’ Bernadette said.

  ‘It’s so good to see you, I was beginning to get homesick,’ Claire said, putting her arm around her friend.

  ‘Hey, what about me?’ Derek asked.

  ‘But Bernie’s my bestest friend forever,’ Claire whined.

  ‘So, you’re here to stay? Till the end of the Carnival?’

  ‘Yep, day after the Cup. I hope that’s all right – we’ll try and keep out of your way.’

  ‘God, of course it’s all right. And don’t you dare keep out of my way.’

  Derek, David and Will began chatting amongst themselves while Bernadette fired questions at Claire about the famous trainers, horses and celebrities she’d seen.

  ‘It’s not nearly as exciting as you’re thinking,’ Claire said. ‘Though you’re welcome to hang out and see for yourself. Anyway, I could do with the moral support,’ she said, hugging her friend.

  ‘What about me,’ Derek said, pouting. ‘Aren’t I moral support?’

  ‘Of course you are, darling,’ Claire said, grabbing his hand across the table. ‘It’s just that now it won’t need to be twenty-four seven.’

  ‘And of course, Derek, we’ll be relying on you for some good tips for the betting ring,’ David said.

  ‘So, all’s well with Paycheque then?’ Will asked after a pause.

  ‘Absolutely. Wouldn’t know he’d even been injured thanks to you. So, are you working with other trainers while you’re here?’

  ‘Not at this stage.’

  ‘Good, we’ll have you all to ourselves.’

  ‘Well I’m actually hoping to get amongst the action – try and drum up some business. You can put in a good word for me.’

  ‘Absolutely, it goes without saying. Derek knows heaps of people. Darling, you’ll put the word around too, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course. How about you spend Saturday with me at Caulfield.’

  ‘Thanks, appreciate it.’

  ‘Okay, who’s for a glass of red? Then we were planning on testing out the local Chinese restaurant. Who’s game?’ Claire said.

  The following afternoon, Claire and Bernadette watched Maddie put Howie through his paces on the practice track.

  ‘He’s looking good, Claire.’

  ‘Yeah, isn’t he?’

  ‘You must be really stoked about being here and everything. It’s terribly exciting.’

  ‘And nerve wracking.’

  ‘But Derek said you were calm, enjoying the ride.’

  ‘Yeah, got him fooled. I just wish I could fool myself.’ Claire laughed.

  ‘You seem okay to me.’

  ‘I’m constantly telling myself to not give a shit – even wrote a note, see?’ She pulled out the tightly folded piece of paper and handed it to her friend. ‘Trouble is, it’s not working.’

  Bernadette read it, nodded, silently refolded it and handed it back.

  ‘So what do I do? At this rate I’ll have a nervous breakdown before we even get back to Caulfield. Won’t the media have a field day then?’

  ‘You’re more worried about what people are going to say about you than about the horses doing badly?’

  ‘Of course. The horses do their best with what they get on the day – a lot of it’s down to luck. Anyway, after Paycheque’s tantrum the other week, they probably couldn’t embarrass me now if they tried – nothing to fear there.’ She watched Howie through the binoculars for a few moments, rocking in time as if riding his stride.

  ‘So what is it – the money?’

  She lowered the binoculars. ‘No, actually. It’s like Derek said, it’s already spent – even if they don’t race.’

  ‘Well you’ve managed to chill out about that, Claire. And let’s face it: money’s always been your thing to worry about.’

  ‘I know. So why am I feeling so out of control?’

  ‘Because you are.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Darling,’ Bernadette said, putting an arm around her friend. ‘You’re just being you – you want to be in control and you’re not. You know you can’t be so it’s sending you crazy. It’s an inherent part of who you are.’

  ‘Great, the old control freak chestnut again. Haven’t we had this conversation before?’

  ‘Exactly. After the big upheaval, you’d finally put your life back into a manageable box and learnt to cruise along. Now you’re here, and it’s a little too out of your new box.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here, you’ve no idea.’

  ‘Not sure I’m helping much. It’s all very well to point out the problem.’

  ‘Well they do say recognising the problem is half the solution.’ Claire shrugged. She brought the binoculars back up to her eyes.

  ‘Hmm,’ Bernadette said thoughtfully, watching Howie way off in the distance. ‘Can I borrow some paper?’

  ‘Sure.’ Claire handed over the small notebook and pencil she used to write down the horses’ time
s, performances and any other observations.

  ‘He’s looking as good as any of the other horses I’ve seen,’ Claire said, again peering through the binoculars. ‘We’d better get back and see what Maddie has to say about his run. Come on.’

  ‘Here, same deal as last time: as often as needed,’ Bernadette said, handing over the folded piece of paper with all the solemnity of a doctor handing over a prescription.

  Claire grinned, accepted the note and unfolded it. ‘Enjoy the ride. There’s nothing to prove’, was written over two lines in Bernadette’s large flowing script.

  ‘Maybe it’s the magic of my handwriting that does the trick,’ Bernadette offered with a shrug.

  ‘Thanks. I hope you’re right.’ Claire folded the note and tucked it into her jeans pocket. She gave her friend a hug. ‘You’re a lifesaver. I’m so glad you’re here.’

  ‘Permission to slap you about the head every time you’re looking stressed?’

  ‘Permission granted.’ Claire laughed. ‘Come on, time for the wash-up.’

  As they strode across the paddock, Claire patted the pocket where Bernadette’s new note sat. She knew it was ridiculous, but as with the previous one, which had finally fallen apart only a few days before and had been left beside her bed, she felt certain she could actually feel its warmth. No matter how silly her mind told her it was, Claire really did feel Bernie’s note held some kind of power. She shook her head at how nutty she’d be considered if she told a journalist that. But somehow it was like putting her worries into her pocket.

  Chapter Forty–four

  Claire was sweating, having practically ridden Howie herself for the last five hundred metres. She lurched, nearly losing her balance in the stands, as he made a final lunge to finish first by a nose. She stared – eyes wide, mouth open – at Bernadette jumping up and down beside her.

  ‘He won! He won!’ Bernie cried, throwing her arms around her friend. Claire hugged her back, unable to speak because of a large lump lodged in her throat. Around her, Jack, David, Derek and a multitude of strangers hugged, slapped backs and offered congratulations.