I'm Not Their Dad
by Andrew McCallum Crawford
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: When things just have to be said.
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Bubbles. There shouldn’t have been any. He moved the tube slightly in the basin. The patch was okay, but there was another puncture. How come he hadn’t noticed it when he checked, before he did all the work with the French chalk and the sandpaper and the glue? He stood up, water was dripping off the ends of his fingers. He kicked the basin across the floor.
She was in the kitchen, making sandwiches. The kids would be home soon.
‘We’ve got to talk,’ he said.
She looked at him. The knife was loaded with margarine. ‘Your jeans are all wet,’ she said.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Don’t start,’ she said.
‘I’m sick trying,’ he said. ‘I’m sick pretending.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she said. ‘I’m sick of your moods.’
He tried to ignore her. This wasn’t about what she was sick of. It was about this feeling...it was about him. ‘Jack called me ‘dad’ yesterday,’ he said. ‘Did he tell you?’
‘Of course he did,’ she said. ‘He was over the moon…’
‘I’m not his dad,’ he said.
After a moment, she did something with the knife. The bread tore. ‘That was a big step for him,’ she said. She clenched her teeth tight. Her jaws were working, even though she wasn’t chewing anything. ‘Sheila…’
‘I’m not their dad,’ he said. ‘I don’t want them to call me dad. I’ve got three children of my own. I’m their dad. I’m not your children’s dad. They’ve got a dad. It isn’t me.’
‘You made your choice,’ she said. The knife stabbed emptiness. The blade was covered in fragments of food that would never be eaten. ‘So did I.’
‘But it wasn’t them I wanted,’ he said. ‘It was you.’
She smeared an insult across his face.
‘Yeah, I’m a coward,’ he said. ‘I’m a failure. Go on, say it.’
‘You’re a failure!’
‘Fuck you!’ he said. For a second he meant it. He wanted tears. He soon got them, along with the sound of her breathing, fast and harsh, as if she’d been running.
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: When things just have to be said.
_____________________________________________________________________
Bubbles. There shouldn’t have been any. He moved the tube slightly in the basin. The patch was okay, but there was another puncture. How come he hadn’t noticed it when he checked, before he did all the work with the French chalk and the sandpaper and the glue? He stood up, water was dripping off the ends of his fingers. He kicked the basin across the floor.
She was in the kitchen, making sandwiches. The kids would be home soon.
‘We’ve got to talk,’ he said.
She looked at him. The knife was loaded with margarine. ‘Your jeans are all wet,’ she said.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Don’t start,’ she said.
‘I’m sick trying,’ he said. ‘I’m sick pretending.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she said. ‘I’m sick of your moods.’
He tried to ignore her. This wasn’t about what she was sick of. It was about this feeling...it was about him. ‘Jack called me ‘dad’ yesterday,’ he said. ‘Did he tell you?’
‘Of course he did,’ she said. ‘He was over the moon…’
‘I’m not his dad,’ he said.
After a moment, she did something with the knife. The bread tore. ‘That was a big step for him,’ she said. She clenched her teeth tight. Her jaws were working, even though she wasn’t chewing anything. ‘Sheila…’
‘I’m not their dad,’ he said. ‘I don’t want them to call me dad. I’ve got three children of my own. I’m their dad. I’m not your children’s dad. They’ve got a dad. It isn’t me.’
‘You made your choice,’ she said. The knife stabbed emptiness. The blade was covered in fragments of food that would never be eaten. ‘So did I.’
‘But it wasn’t them I wanted,’ he said. ‘It was you.’
She smeared an insult across his face.
‘Yeah, I’m a coward,’ he said. ‘I’m a failure. Go on, say it.’
‘You’re a failure!’
‘Fuck you!’ he said. For a second he meant it. He wanted tears. He soon got them, along with the sound of her breathing, fast and harsh, as if she’d been running.
About the Author
Andrew McCallum Crawford grew up in Grangemouth, an industrial town in East Central Scotland. He studied Science and Philosophy at the University of Edinburgh and went on to take a teaching qualification at Jordanhill College, Glasgow. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in Lines Review, The Athens News, Junk Junction, Ink Sweat and Tears, McStorytellers, Weaponizer, New Linear Perspectives, Spilling Ink Review, Drey 2 (Red Squirrel Press), The Legendary, the Midwest Literary Magazine and the The. His first novel, Drive!, was published in 2010. His first collection of short fiction, The Next Stop Is Croy and other stories, was released in October 2011 and his second, A Man's Hands, in December 2012. He lives in Greece.
Andrew's blog is called Wee Fictions.
Andrew's blog is called Wee Fictions.