Page 53 of Buried In Between

But as he’d tried to sleep last night, another thought occurred to him. Would this fossil bind Ava to Bellethorpe? Make it become her home and the place she wanted to be? Would it be enough to make her stay? The prospect caused ripples of excitement but likewise, the disadvantageous attraction it might become, also made him nervous.

Otis brought the ball back and Noah rubbed the dog’s neck. ‘Let’s go visit Mum, hey?’ It had been on his mind for a while. He needed to visit his mother anyway, hadn’t check in for too long. But since his family law saga had begun, he’d developed a burning desire to ask his mother how she’d coped with a husband, like Lisa, who initially accepted the country and then rejected it. Perhaps these answers would help him see more clearly.

‘These things aren’t easy.’ Noah’s mother spoke slowly, thoughtfully as she drank her black tea, no milk, no sugar. They sat on her back deck, Otis picking up where he left off with his ball game. But yeah, Noah was kind of looking for more.

‘You’ve always been so accepting of the situation, of Dad leaving. You never spoke poorly of him. Why? How could you think what he did was okay?’

His mother shook her head. ‘No parent should denigrate the other to their child. But of course, I was hurt, devastated. This was my home; our home and he chose another life over the one we’d made together.’

Yes, Noah could relate to that sentiment.

Noah’s father had left when Noah was five-years-old and he’d severed contact. Maybe things were different back then. Easier? The mother’s responsibility was the child and there was no question as to who raised the children. Father’s roles were different. So, perhaps not easier, but the society’s view of parenting had considerably broadened since then.

That didn’t make him feel one iota better.

His father had been a city bloke who’d come to the country seeking adventure, found love instead, and stayed on. But not for long. Bellethorpe had never become his home.

How ironic that his situation was identical. Was it destiny?

Noah brushed away those woo-woo thoughts.

‘But eventually I realised, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t my fault,’ his mother continued. ‘If he was unhappy living here in Bellethorpe, I was never going to be able to fix that.’

‘If he’d asked you to move to the city, would you have?’

‘Probably,’ she said and took a sip of tea. ‘I would have done anything to make our marriage work. Keep our family together. But he knew the country life was my choice, what I loved and he didn’t ask that of me. I think Lisa was the same. She understood your passion for Bellethorpe and didn’t want to make you choose.’

He’d not contemplated that before. So, Lisa was the one making the sacrifice? Not wanting to upend him and his life? Leaving so he could be free to continue his life on the land?

Imagine if his mother had followed his father. Imagine him a city kid? That made him feel sort of sick. His mother was born and bred country; she was probably the only other person he knew who loved this life as much as him. So, to give that away for love. Noah was no longer convinced love was strong enough to combat all the ills in the world. And he knew without thinking too hard that he would have been very unhappy in the big city. And any such future would have been destined to fail.

‘How is Lisa?’

That was an interesting question. Most people asked about him, or Emily or the status of his family law battle, not after the welfare of his ex-wife.

‘I don’t know. Seems to be doing well if you consider she’s made a new life for herself in Brisbane, has a new partner, new house and is trying to destroy mine.’

‘Oh, Noah. You can’t let this situation eat you alive. You must overcome it, make the best of it. I believe in you. You are a kind-hearted, sensible man. And a wonderful father. Now is the time to demonstrate to your daughter what a great man you are.’

As had become her morning habit, Ava walked around the house, looked out each window, checked the surroundings in each direction, and then again. Only when she was satisfied that there was no immediate threat, did she unlock and open each of their screens. Next, she pulled the curtains across to allow the sunshine to fill the rooms with beautiful brightness. Any attempt to lighten her mood was a good idea. She was edgy, unable to keep still, a skittishness that had her pacing back and forth and twisting the opal silver ring on her finger. She hadn’t felt this way since they’d fled, since they’d arrived in Bellethorpe and into the unknown.

Perhaps Henry had thought the email address was wrong because she hadn’t replied? Had he thought he’d found her only to be disappointed? She didn’t know but there hadn’t been any further messages and it was easy to think they were okay, for the moment.

But she remained agitated.

At the back sliding glass doors, she stood and surveyed the lower paddocks. Nothing seemed different and yet her entire world was out of whack and tilted on an axis. Ava had a very real awareness of being alone, once more. A creeping sense of community had been developing and slowly embracing her, like an old fluffy blanket. Now, that certainty and comfort had been ripped away and frenetic energy rippled through her.

There was nothing to see.

Flicking on the television, she made a cup of tea in their new kitchen, only half-listening to the morning bulletin. The first sip of scalding tea and the world returned to some sort of rights. Until Jamila’s name rang out loud and clear and she turned to flashing footage of her friend outside the Old Bailey in London, people surrounding her, wrapped in winter coats, heads bowed. The powerful and rich Egyptian she recognised as Jamila’s husband, Mohammed, stomped up the concrete flight of stairs, a scowl obvious on his face. He’d flown to court on his private jet with his entourage to defend his case and inform the court of the elaborate lifestyle he provided his wife. She never wanted for anything was the catchcry.

Ava wasn’t aware of sitting until she landed on the couch with a thump, the hot tea spilling into her lap.

Yes, it was true, neither she nor Jamila had ever wanted for material possessions. Expensive jewellery, handmade conversative linen clothes, perfumes, anything a woman might desire they were lavished with. But it was the fundamental human rights that had been lacking. Jamila had thought her charismatic tycoon husband was divorced and marrying her, his third wife. However, it became apparent very quickly that her new husband had never divorced his previous wives and was choosing to remain married to each of them, and more startlingly, he was allowed to do so.

For Ava, it had been the pressure to convert to their faith. The basic segregation of men and women, the lack of personal freedoms like movement, who she spoke to, the clothes she wore and what she did. Slowly and subtly each aspect of her life was stripped from her as she was monitored, controlled and reported upon. Quite ironically she’d been like an exhibit in a museum display. While Jamila was blindsided by polygamy, Ava had married an Egyptian living in England and living a British lifestyle. Never, ever had she expected that their supposedly temporary move to her husband’s home country would result in her becoming a prisoner in her own home, a prisoner of her own life. And that her son would be raised with the values and beliefs of her husband’s family and culture.

Her gaze remained fixed on the screen as bile burned in her throat and nausea threatened. Crowds jeered outside the courthouse as Mohammed emerged. Tea sprayed from her mouth as the cameras panned to the man beside him. Henry. His face serious, hands out deflecting the crowd, flinching at comments flung at them, their personal security protecting them.

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