Page 80 of A Home Among the Snow Gums
The woman in the officials’ tower calling the races announced the first maiden race. ‘They’re moving in now for the Adaminaby Maiden Plate, Red Calliope giving her handler some grief … there they go, and Fuller Cross the last to go in.’
‘The jockey in the fluoro green is on Manson Rous,’ Tom said. ‘Hemi Markell, who I’ve never heard of, have you?’
‘Tom, the only horse racing I watch is the Melbourne Cup, and it’s pretty much tradition at the clinic that we’ll get an emergency callout at three pm on the first Tuesday of every November. That’s what me, Josh and Sandy make bets on, not the Cup.’
‘They’re all set … and they’re racing! Red Calliope bolted out and took the early lead, Fuller Cross close behind—’
‘She looks good, doesn’t she? Steady pace, she’s not shy about getting in with the pack. Look! The jockey’s trying to move her into the rail … will she make that gap?’
Tom’s hand had found hers and Hannah didn’t think he’d noticed he’d grabbed her.
‘Manson’s doing great. Look, she’s on the inside rail now, and there’s clear space in front of her! Go! Go!’
A toddler in the row in front of them was staring over his father’s shoulder at Tom, who was caught up in the moment and urging Manson Rous on to greatness. The kid had chocolate smeared over his cheeks and his thumb was jammed into his mouth like a snorkel while his other fat little arm was wrapped tight about his father’s neck. He had big blue eyes and pale, silky baby hair. The toddler’s colouring was so like Tom’s, he could have been his son.
‘At the four hundred it’s Fuller Cross then Purple Prose, then Red Calliope and Faramar Lady swooping up from the outside.’
Or—the realisation landed like a fist in her ribs—he could have been their son. Hers and Tom’s. That could be Tom’s neck being gripped by a chubby little arm. They could be out at a picnic race day in the country together. A family of three.
She took in a long breath and held Tom’s hand a little more firmly. Just because she could.
Now that she’d opened her mind to one image, a billion others popped up: visions of children with straw-coloured hair asking her if they could help out at the vet clinic after school. If they could have pancakes if they helped Dad muck out Buttercup’s stable. A vision of Tom, on the surface a calm, serious bloke who didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve and who grumbled about attending family dinners, but who arrived early and stayed late and actually loved every noisy second.
‘We’re seeing a shake-up at the two hundred. Manson Rous is making up ground, and Turn The Tail is dropping back. Purple Prose has lost her lead and Red Calliope is neck and neck with Fuller Cross.’
She sighed. She was getting ahead of herself. Again.
‘And out of nowhere, sprinting down the outside, it’s Love Yer Guts, and Love Yer Guts has snatched the win from Red Calliope, and Fuller Cross over the line in third.’
Tom had let go of her hand. ‘What do you think?’
‘She looked awesome.’ Hopefully, because Hannah had grown a little distracted at the end there. ‘How do you feel about finding that coffee?’
‘Let’s go. If you don’t punch anyone, I could even be persuaded to buy you a lamington.’
She laughed and linked her arm into his. Okay, he wasn’t on the same page as her as to what their relationship could be, but that didn’t mean this wasn’t a good day. This was fun. This was jokey, and sweet, and nice. This was more dates—well, technically they were non-dates—in one week than she’d had in a decade, so there was nothing to be sighing about.
Anyway, she was supposed to be proving what fun company she was. ‘Have you been to many race days, Tom?’
‘Not many. My dad took me and Josh out to the country races at Echuca once when we were kids. I remember being near the rails when the winner thundered past us at the finish and I think that’s what stirred my interest. That gallop, the power of it travelled down the horse’s legs, through that turf and up into my chest. I’ll never forget it.’
Hannah rubbed her hand over her own breastbone. She understood that sort of power all right. ‘I don’t remember getting invited along.’
‘Brat, your brother and I invested a lot of time and ingenuity working out ways to ditch you.’
She grinned. ‘Nice.’
‘Well, you know, girl germs being what they are.’
He really was adorable. How had she not noticed that when she was younger? ‘Now you remind me, I do recall you both ditching me at the Hanrahan Show.’
Tom turned to her and raised an eyebrow. ‘Did we? I can’t remember Hanrahan ever having its own show.’
‘Maybe it was a church fete or one of Marigold’s events. I was … seven? Eight? Whoever was running it had built a temporary fence so only ticketholders could get in. You idiots decided we should climb the fence behind the portaloos so no-one would see us and save ourselves the dollar coin entry fee. I got stuck because one of my arms was in a plaster cast and then some angry bloke showed up and you two ran away like the brave heroes you are.’
He chuckled. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘My backside didn’t forget about it for weeks. Wire mesh and the humiliation of getting stuck leaves its mark.AndI was grounded. Mum threatened me with ballet classes if I didn’t learn how to behave like a young lady.’
