Australian Dreams. Fiona McCallum

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      ‘Hello, Al Jacobs’s stables.’

      ‘Hello, I was wondering if Al is available to speak with?’

      ‘Sorry, he’s at Morphettville today.’

      ‘Oh, right.’ Claire could have kicked herself.

      ‘Is there something I can help you with?’

      ‘Maybe.’ The girl seemed friendly enough. ‘Do you have a horse registered under the name Paycheque there – dark bay colour, on the small side?’

      ‘I think I know the one you’re talking about. He was here, but only for a few weeks. I got on okay with him but Al and the others didn’t. Nearly ate us out of house and home, too.’

      ‘That would be the one.’ Claire put on a laugh. ‘Any idea where he is now?’ she tried to sound nonchalant.

      ‘I could check the journal. Why do you want to know?’ the girl asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.

      Shit! Claire hadn’t thought this far ahead. She took a deep breath. ‘Well, my father used to train him and he was sold off when he got sick and now…’

      ‘You mean Jack McIntyre? Why didn’t you say? How is he?’

      Claire was so taken aback she couldn’t speak for a few moments. ‘Actually, he woke up from his coma last night.’

      ‘Aw, that’s great – you must be so relieved.’

      It felt weird sharing something so personal with someone she had never met but who seemed to know so much about her father. One big family – and not necessarily happy – that was the racing fraternity. It was perhaps the thing Claire missed most, but also what she missed least. The fierce rivalry in the industry meant that people were often friends one minute and enemies the next and vice versa. She’d seen it so many times.

      ‘Yeah.’ Claire waited in anticipation. Would the girl help her or not? She could hear what sounded like heavy books and folders being moved, and pages being turned. Claire held her breath when the girl finally spoke.

      ‘He went to Todd Newman over at Gawler – a couple of weeks ago now. Al couldn’t be bothered with him after he threw a major hissy fit at Morphettville.’

      Claire cringed. She didn’t want to hear any more. ‘You wouldn’t have Todd’s number by any chance – save me looking it up?’

      ‘It’s right here.’

      Claire took down the number. ‘Well thanks for your help.’

      ‘No worries.’

      ‘Ta.’

      Claire dialled the number, hoping there would be someone at the stables.

      ‘Todd Newman’s stables – Graham speaking.’

      ‘Todd’s not available, is he?’

      ‘Sorry, no, it’s just me – everyone else’s at the races. I’m the stable manager.’

      ‘Oh right. Okay.’

      ‘What can I do for you?’

      ‘Um…’ Claire was thrown by his efficient, professional manner. She’d been hoping for another junior to pull the wool over if she had to. ‘Well it’s a bit of an odd question really, but I understand you got a horse registered under the name Paycheque – a small bay – from Al Jacobs.’

      ‘Did have, little monster. Had all sorts of trouble with him ourselves. We heard about his performance at Morphettville and thought maybe it was just Al being Al. But no, he’s a dud all right. Why the interest?’

      ‘Well my daughter’s looking for a new Pony Club mount. She saw him that day and took a bit of a liking to him. Loves a challenge – you know what kids are like…’

      ‘Oh don’t I just – got two myself. Well that one’s certainly a challenge, but I wouldn’t let my kids near him. Got a real nasty streak. Anyway, he’s gone to the dogs – literally. Truck came three days ago.’

      Part of her wanted to scream at this man who didn’t care, let him know she’d worked with the horse before, that Paycheque didn’t have a nasty bone in his body. The other part of her wanted to curl up and give up. But she couldn’t, she wasn’t doing this for herself. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

      ‘Thanks for the advice.’

      ‘Plenty of other horses around for your daughter. In fact, there’s a couple here if you want to bring her over.’

      ‘Right, thanks. I might just do that. Um, just out of curiosity, whose truck did Paycheque go on?’

      ‘Tom Bailey’s – we don’t use anyone else.’

      Claire hated how real lives were traded like this, how someone could make a living – and a good one, from СКАЧАТЬ