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Again, she shook her head, words of denial forming.
‘It’s for the research.’
‘Papa, Papa! Come and see!’ Ish yelled from inside. Henry sought her permission to enter and he went inside the house and sat on the floor where a racing track and garage had been constructed. Ish showed him how the cars spun along the track and jumped into the air at one point. They laughed together. Henry bent his head low, their foreheads touching. She couldn’t hear the words spoken, but Ish gazed up at him, his eyes watering, his nod, barely discernible. Henry kissed him on the head and rose.
But Ava needed more. This wasn’t enough.
‘Henry?’ As soon as he stepped out onto the deck. He paused mid-stride.
‘I need to go, there’s a meeting I must return for.’
‘Please, I need your reassurance that we are safe here. Your family won’t hurt us, you’ll let us live in peace. No surprises?’
‘You have my word.’ A curt nod to her and he started to move away. ‘Oh, and one more thing. This is for you. A parting gift.’ He placed a small package into her hands before skipping down the stairs. Clive stood at the fence, his horses near, him petting one on the neck. The commotion would have had him intrigued; Ava was sure. Instead of Henry striding back towards the helicopters, he headed towards the fence where Clive received him with a wave. The men chatted for a few minutes, hands gesticulating in speech. Henry patted Clive on the arm and departed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘The father gets screwed over again. Noah, you must fight this. You have to stand up for your rights and fight for your daughter.’
The members of the father’s support group spoke over each other, expressing their rage at the recommendation of the report writer in Noah’s family law matter.
Usually, he found solidarity and support in the group; a place of comfort and of a united front, sometimes the only place he felt heard. They could discuss and agree on action and sustain each other through the painful times. Today he was hollow. He listened to their outrage, and part of him agreed with their sentiments, but none of the comments registered, the rallying did not buoy him like it usually did. It was like they were talking about someone else, not him, not his life.
For the first time since this disaster had started, he thought about moving. Not stealing Emily in the dark of night and finding a new home this time, but him relocating to the big city. A place he hated and didn’t want to visit, let alone live. But if Emily was the most important factor in this scenario, a fact made clear by the social worker, then surely, he could, should, make the sacrifice to spend equal time with his daughter. If he was prepared to move, there was an alternative recommendation that he and Lisa share equal time with Emily. Live with their mother and father on a week about rotation. The implementation of this shared care arrangement had been hard fought by advocacy of this very group and the win celebrated.
But the reality of his precious Emily being transferred like cargo to a different bedroom each week didn’t fill him with any joy. What sort of life was that? He couldn’t even imagine it. It simply didn’t seem right. He kept those views to himself.
Then he flipped his thinking. He’d stay in Bellethorpe and give it twelve months of commuting and see how everyone coped, including him with the long periods of transport. You never knew how a situation would play out until you’d tried it, right? Yes, it wasn’t ideal. But if he thought of it as temporary, it might be manageable.
And then his thoughts flip-flopped again, and he was outraged once more: at himself, his situation and life in general. At the unfairness of it all. And that view was being rammed down his throat repeatedly by his father friends. However, he was slowly learning that he could cry foul, but the proclamations didn’t change anything. Didn’t deliver his daughter back to him or make the recommendation more palatable.
So, he could wallow in his own misery or accept his fate.
‘We will support you, Noah, through the entire process. We can assist with the costs, do a fundraiser, make some noise, advocate on your behalf.’
Only a short time ago, it would have been the advice he’d have given, too.
‘Thank you for your support. I’m grateful and appreciate it. But I’m not going to fight anymore, I’m tired and can’t contemplate an ongoing battle.’
There were nods of recognition, some disappointment, partial understanding but many vehement shakes of heads in disagreement.
‘You can’t give up, man.’
‘I’m not. I’m stopping the fight. There’s a difference and perhaps we need to learn that, too. I’m no longer prepared to fight with my ex-wife about custody of our daughter. I’m no longer prepared to fund lawyers and the court system. I’m choosing my daughter. I’m choosing her happiness and if the experts are telling me she needs to be with her mother for the moment, I’ll agree. It is not healthy for anyone to be involved in this conflict.’
His monologue was met with silence.
What he’d not told anyone was Emily’s wishes. When asked directly by the social worker who she wanted to live with, her answer had been her mother. The words on the report blurred as his tears had fallen onto the page. What an idiot. He’d never once asked his daughter where she’d prefer to be. She was only six-years-old, after all. Was it possible for her to make such apt decisions at that age? The experienced child therapist thought so. Said it was not the determining factor, but if the child, even one so young was black and white in her answer, it needed to be listened to, didn’t it?
Man, it hurt. But it was the only thing he’d been thinking about since; hours spent rationalising it. Perhaps girls needed their mothers? Or perhaps young children needed their mothers? He’d read about bonding. But he understood in his rational moments, that her answer didn’t mean she didn’t love him or want to spend time with him. The response didn’t lead to any of those answers and the report writer had kindly pointed that out. But she went further, said, it was a delicate age where children rely upon their mothers providing those basic needs.
And that is true. In his hours of reflection, he’d remembered that Lisa had been the stay-at-home parent while he went out to work. Mother and daughter had spent endless hours together. If Emily needed food, she asked her mother. If she’d grazed her knee, she wanted comfort and a Band Aid from her mother. Any basic need was provided by Lisa.
If Emily wanted to be tussled upside down and squeal in delight, she came to him. If she wanted to be chased and tackled, Dad was her man. Any game, fun or silliness, he was the preferred parent.
He’d never thought about it like that before, but it made sense. They had different roles to play. He could, of course, provide the basic needs too, and as she aged, those basic needs would be different.
‘Something’s happening out at Kinross Road.’ Bobby piped up after checking the alerts on his phone.
