Val did not know the area and was charmed by the higgledy-piggledy houses with unique shapes created to fit the odd spaces between pubs and disused factories. The exteriors were decorated with a mismatched jumble of motifs—seashells, grapevines, Dutch tiles, art nouveau panels, stone urns—while the balconies had wrought-iron railings, most in a state of dilapidation. The whole area was set on a slope, with cross-streets linked by twisty flights of steps. Nicole ran up one flight only to jump back down again two steps at a time, and Val marveled at her energy. She herself was exhausted from the move, and kept looking over her shoulder, worried that Tony would somehow find them and drag them back to Croydon Park. At the same time, she felt exhilaration at being free to make her own decisions for the first time in her life. She and Nicole could eat, sleep, watch TV, go out, all to a routine that suited them, and that was a thrilling prospect.

They entered Mort Bay Park, a beautiful green space on the edge of the Balmain peninsula. It used to be a dry dock for shipbuilding, but now it was a tree-circled, concrete-edged waterfront with views all the way to the Harbor Bridge and the city, as well as around the harbor. Val pointed to a ferry chugging into the wharf.

“If we ever want to go to the center, we’ll catch the ferry,” she told Nicole. “It’s much quicker than driving.”

Nicole grabbed her hand and tugged on it. “Can’t we go now, Mommy? I want to go on the boat. Please!”

Money was tight, but it seemed a good way to celebrate their freedom, so Val led Nicole onto the ferry and handed over a dollar, frowning at the few coins she received in change. It was worth it, though, when they started to move out past Goat Island and right across to the north side of the harbor. Diamond lights sparkled on the surface of the water. A sailing boat flitted past and Nicole waved, squeaking with glee when the occupants waved back.

“Are there sharks?” she asked, gazing over the railing as if trying to spot one in the depths.

“Could be,” Val teased. “Don’t fall in.”

She stretched out her bare arms, feeling the sun bake her skin. She never dared to tan at home in case Tony accused her of slacking; she sensed it would be a while before she stopped thinking about what Tony would think or do. She would have to get used to this freedom slowly, like a prisoner released after serving a particularly long sentence.

* * *