Every man loves his daughter - the apple of his eye!
And daughters usually love their Daddies.
But sometimes their love has more depth than you might have expected.
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My wife and I migrated to Australia back in 1967 and we initially settled in Brisbane. We'd only been married for a week before we caught the boat to Australia, so although we already often enjoyed one another sexually; socially, we hardly knew each other; a true recipe for disaster, as it happened.
My sweet little daughter Sandy was born late in 1968 in Brisbane, Australia. She was a nicely proportioned, attractive and healthy baby and as she grew up into a toddler, she was tall and active for her age - both my wife and I were very proud of her.
But being a girl she was naturally drawn to the male side of the family and even as a baby, I was obviously her favourite parent, despite her mother breast-feeding her and generally looking after her and perhaps that sowed the seeds of hate that eventually grew between my wife and me.
At the time that this story begins, we'd moved up to Mackay in Northern Queensland - into the tropics, where I was to take over a vast sales territory for a national company - I'd be away from home quite a bit but the money was good and we didn't consider the consequences of my absences.
My work went well enough, but as the years passed, my wife and I found that we'd become two totally different people - not really a couple at all. Increasingly we found ourselves to be at loggerheads and I began to find excuses for not coming home. I engineered extended sales trips that kept me away for up to six weeks at a time. Then I'd come home - spend the weekend sorting out all my paperwork, laundry and post - having a good row or two and then I'd be off again. My office room soon became my bedroom too - the guest bed was now mine.
But much as I didn't really miss my wife, I certainly missed seeing my daughter growing up - and she obviously missed me.
Every time that I came home it seemed that she had grown another couple of inches - she was going to be a tall lady - hopefully she would have a suitable figure to match, one day. And it seemed that the more my wife and I fell out, the closer my daughter and I became. We certainly seemed to get on well and I don't mean anything sexual. I mean that we could chatter and laugh together; read books together; go for walks together; play on the beach together - we even had the same interests - we simply got on well together.
And now, at the age of around nine or ten she was developing nicely into a very peasant young lady who liked nothing more than to be allowed to sit on my lap - even though we'd eventually get all hot and sweaty in that hot climate. Just to be close together was lovely and somehow, despite her glorious youthful feminine scent I managed to put aside all matters relating to sex, even though I was increasingly frustrated through lack of activity at home.
And Sandy could obviously see how unhappy I was - her concern showed in her face. One day matters came to the surface therefore; I was having a few days off work and my wife had gone out shopping with some friends. Afterwards they were off to the local pool, so they were making a day of it - probably to keep away from me; not that I really cared - and Sandy and I were alone.
Once we were on our own, we settled down on the sofa so that she could watch some kids' program on TV. The sofa was one of those deep soft comfortable types - the kind you sort of sink into. As usual, Sandy jumped onto my lap and leaned back against my chest.
"Daddy," she said, her voice full of care, "You don't get on with Mummy, do you?"
I wondered if I should simply avoid the matter and change the subject but then I realised that Sandy had correctly observed our problem, so there was no use in hiding it from her.
"No, darling, your mum and I don't seem to get on," I said sadly, "We're just so different nowadays."
I signed, because the friction between my wife and I wasn't very pleasant at times...and Sandy continued.
"You sleep in the spare room, don't you?" asked Sandy and I nodded - it was common knowledge.
"Do you get all lonely then?" she asked and I nodded again.
'Fucking right I get lonely!' I thought, 'Not that I can tell you just HOW lonely.'
"Oh Daddy," she replied, squeezing me tight, her voice all broken up, "I don't like to see you lonely and unhappy - it's not fair!"
"One of those things, I guess," I said, hugging her back, "Happens everywhere I'm afraid."
"Yeah but you don't deserve to be unhappy," replied Sandy sagely, "It's Mummy who deserves to be unhappy 'cos she's mean and nasty to you!"
I laughed and ticked Sandy and she laughed with me.
"Don't be rude about your mum," I said, "Perhaps it's not all mum's fault. Don't forget, she's a long, long way away from her Mummy and Daddy - perhaps she feels lonely too."
And that indeed was part of the truth - my wife was homesick for Britain and her parents - and she certainly took it out on me.
Sandy seemed to understand and nodded her head in a very grown-up way for a ten year old.
"So are you and Mummy going to keep on living together?" she asked, leaving me to ponder over the matter.
We had indeed talked about a divorce or of returning to Britain but I wanted to stay in Australia. I loved it here and I was happy - but if my wife went back then she'd take Sandy with her...
"I really don't know," I admitted but inside I just knew that we just had to do something...
"I've a feeling that we'll go back to Britain," I said, "Perhaps we can start again back there."
