Absent. That's what I was called by my fifteen year old daughter. The absent father. She did not know the truth, I worked undercover. Danger. Security. Empathy. Love. I had it all but I had nothing for my own family. That isn't true, I thought about them in the spare moments, pulled up images in my mind. Reflected on those special times tucking Beth into bed while she slept, unaware I'd be staring at her, a light in the hall illuminating her face.

I knew Beth thought I didn't care. I know because that's how I felt about my own father. Hated him with a vengeance until I was old enough to understand his job, he took me in confidence the day my neighbour's car was bombed by animal rights activists. My father. My hero.