Unseen Messages(194)

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G A L L O W A Y

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A MONTH AFTER we got married, we still hadn’t settled.

We’d done our best.

We’d given it a shot.

We’d been open-minded and appreciative and hopeful.

But now, I was over it.

I was over not being happy.

I was over being father to a cranky two-year-old who begged to return to a place that (to most people) only existed in fairy-tales.

Why should we bow to what was normal? Why should we believe that to excel in life we had to have the fanciest house, the most expensive of clothes, and the most stressful job?

Why couldn’t we be honest? Why couldn’t we admit that our wants and desires weren’t in flashy cities and gourmet restaurants? They were in the wild open spaces of archipelagos and turtle nurseries?

That night, Estelle and I walked along the beach at sunset. Coco played behind us with her sandcastles, chatting to her stuffed turtle, and finding happiness that she couldn’t find anywhere else.

The gentle swish of the tide over our toes called to me more than concrete or glass. Something intrinsic had changed forever, and I couldn’t get rid of it.

I didn’t want to get rid of it.

I glanced at Estelle, my heart quickening at how beautiful she was in her loose white dress and unbound hair. Her period had come last week, which meant she wasn’t pregnant but her body was able to.

The thought both excited and terrified.

If we gave up on this life and returned to where I wanted, we couldn’t have another child...unless...

The ideas that’d kept me company for months kept evolving, twisting, growing. I hadn’t shared any of them with Estelle, but I couldn’t hold them back any longer.

Once the paperwork was finalised and our world reinstated, Estelle stole Madi from her job as a personal assistant to a CEO and hired her to run the empire she didn’t even know she had. The lawyers released control of the trust back to Estelle, but Stel made Madi joint beneficiary for her honesty and loyalty.

The record company had been in touch and requested more songs, more lyrics, more of everything. And if she wanted it, Estelle could have the career she’d always dreamed of.

And I knew she dreamed of it because I’d caught her playing the baby grand in the foyer of a hotel we’d had dinner at while she waited for me to pay.

She looked just as beautiful as she did on the YouTube video. However, something was fundamentally different. Whereas music had been her outlet and passion, now it was second place to what she truly wanted.

What I truly wanted.

What Coco truly wanted.

What we all bloody wanted.

We wanted to go back to our private paradise.

We wanted to give it all up for what we’d found there.

But we didn’t have the courage to say it aloud. Didn’t have the balls to admit we were willing to give up plumbing and electricity—not brave enough to say that wealth and social standing wasn’t worth as much as the quality of life we’d created.

If we continued this way, we would spend the rest of our days wishing we’d been strong enough to admit what we truly needed.

I wouldn't let that happen.

I wouldn’t live another day without having what I absolutely desired. I wouldn’t let my daughter scream herself to sleep because she couldn’t see the stars through the smog, or paddle in the temperate sea to tickle fish with her tiny fingers.

I won’t do it.

Dragging Estelle to a stop, I placed both hands on her shoulders. “I have something to say. Something wild and stupid and crazy and so bloody right I can’t not say it.”

Her eyes widened; goosebumps broke out where I held her. “What is it?”

I looked back at our daughter. She raised her head, waving with a piece of driftwood rather than the bright plastic spade we’d bought her. She hated the slimy feeling of manmade toys, preferring the carved starfish I’d done last week on the balcony.

“I think we should go back.”

“What do you mean? Go back?” Her eyes narrowed. “You want to be stranded again? With no help. You want to cut us off completely?”

“I said crazy. Not ludicrous.”

“Then what?”

“I have an idea.”

“Well, share it before I pass out from waiting.”

I smirked. “The money from your singing...how willing are you to spend some of it?”

Her head tilted. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...if I asked you to trust me as your husband, would you?”

Without hesitation, she nodded. “Of course, I would.”

“Okay, I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Trust me?”

“You won’t tell me?”

“Just trust me. Give me a few days. Then I’ll tell you.”

It was a lot to ask, but Estelle gave me those few days.

I made it worth her while.

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“I’m not asking if it’s the correct business decision. I’m asking if it’s possible?” I clutched my cell-phone as the Fijian national on the Board of Government Assets and Sales mumbled something unintelligible.

I’d pulled every dirty trick I could to get this conversation. But it also helped that we were minor celebrities in Fiji after finally agreeing to do a small article about our life on the island.