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clear sided tank, mesmerized by its size.
    She looked so
small next to that giant animal. So small and precious.
    I crushed
Pierce's card in my fist and threw it in a nearby rubbish bin, as I
scooped up Daisy's hand.
    "Come on,
Daisy-girl. I know some King Penguins who are super keen to meet
you."
    "You do?" she
asked all bright eyed and innocent.
    Yeah, for my
daughter I would find a way to keep us safe.
    Even if I had
no fucking idea how to achieve that.

Chapter
4
And For
Mum?
    The motel we
were in was a dive. But at least they had accepted cash without
raising an eyebrow. I'd done a very dangerous thing before we
caught a bus to this part of the city. I'd visited a locker at the
Salt Water Baths in Parnell. One I had kept for several years. The
lockers in the changing rooms there could be secured with a
padlock, they hadn't upgraded to the hourly coin operated style
yet. It was a busy enough location to keep things safe, and the
number of lockers meant the odd one left unattended for several
weeks slipped by unnoticed. I made sure to change the padlock every
other month though, so it wouldn't get busted open by staff.
    It had been
three weeks since I last checked it. The guy on the front counter
recognised me though, indication that it was well past time I found
a new hidey-hole for my mementoes. It might seem strange to some
people that I keep a shoebox full of photos and letters in a locker
at a public swimming pool. I could have buried it in the back
garden. I could have left it in a drawer at work. Hell, I could
have burned the bloody thing and moved on. But part of me wondered
whether one day Daisy would ask those questions.
    The ones I
feared about her Daddy.
    She hadn't
yet. Five years old and everything else gets countless queries and
inquisitive attention, but her father? Not yet. Thank God. Maybe
she picked up on some sort of negative vibes from me. Maybe because
I didn't openly talk about Rick or our time in Wellington, she
didn't think to ask at all. But sooner or later a well meaning kid
at school would ask her about her Dad, and she would come running
to me.
    Hence the
shoebox full of paraphernalia I couldn't bear to have stored in the
same place where I slept.
    But now, as
Daisy lay softly snoring in the bed next to mine, I sat frozen in
position, staring at a box full of heartache on the bedspread
before me.
    Rick. Richard Albert Costello, only son of Greta and Marco
Costello. Nineteen years old when I met him. Twenty-nine years old
when I watched him die. He didn't know about Daisy. Neither of us
did that night. If we'd known a baby was growing inside my belly
would it have played out any differently? Would we, no... I have not done what I did?
    My hand shook
as I reached into the top of the box and picked up the photo of me
and Rick the day we were married. I was wearing white lace, he was
wearing a cheap grey suit that was two sizes too big for him. We
were in love, but we were broke. Big dreams, but little purse
strings. Still Rick insisted that I wear white and that he wear a
suit. Even if he had to borrow it off a friend of his in business
school.
    Another photo
came out, another bitter-sweet memory. I'd forgotten all the good
years, all the good times, before...
    I closed my
eyes and fell back onto my pillow, hot tears spilling out behind
closed lids. I thought I was done crying for my dead husband, for
the dead father of my child. I thought there was no more room in my
heart for him, now that Daisy was here and needed twice the love
from me, because he was gone.
    Of course, I
do blame him. Not for everything. No. I'm to blame for that night,
but Rick is to blame for every heart wrenching moment leading up to
it. For every misstep we took, for every vile bit of that world he
uncovered. For every second we lived a life that was a lie.
    I pushed the
box off the side of the bed with an angry shove of my arm. The
photos spilled out onto the carpet, fanning across the floor in a
drunken mess. Rick had