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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Testament” cc&d (v256) (the July/August 2015 issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book from Smoke the cc&d July - Dec. 2015 collection book		get the 318 page July - Dec. 2015 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

End of Story

Bruce Costello

    Curly-haired three year old Fay wearing pink pyjamas is in bed clutching a yellow teddy bear.
    Bernie, a broad-shouldered man with a tired face, tells her a story about red and white lollypops and fairies called Felicity and Pippity-Pop.
    Fay turns her head, hearing a car on the gravel driveway.
    “It’s okay,” Bernie says. “Let’s wipe that frown off your face.”
    Fay giggles. She clutches her teddy closer with one arm, stretches the other toward her father, and falls asleep as he rubs her forehead.
    He kisses her and tiptoes from the room as footsteps resound on the kitchen floor.

*

    The day after her tenth birthday, Fay is taken by her mother to Bernie’s new address. The place is small with two scruffy chairs and a folding card table.
    Bernie hands her a gift, wrapped in pretty paper with hearts on it. Overjoyed at the rainbow of 40 felt pens and a charm bracelet with two fairies and her name, Fay throws her arms around his chest.
    “Mummy said men forget birthdays and not to expect anything from you!” she exclaims, then stands back and gazes at her father’s face.
    “You look empty,” she states.
    “Shall we go for a walk,” Bernie says, “and get ourselves a double raspberry ripple ice cream?”
    Afterwards, sitting on a park bench in the shade, Fay whispers: “Mummy’s changed the locks so you can’t get in when we’re not there. She says you stole our potato peeler and I have to look for it. And I’m not allowed to give you a hug.”

*

    The teenage voice on the other end of phone shrieks “You don’t give Mum enough money!”
    “Your mother and I have an agreement about money. Ask her to come to the phone, please. We need to talk.”
    “Mum! He wants you!”
    A voice is heard in the background.
    “She says you’re a selfish bastard and she won’t waste her time. You don’t care about us. You never did, end of story!”

*

    The hospice room seems cramped with two floral chairs for visitors and a cabinet with a jug of water and a glass.
    Bernie lies in bed, a wasted arm with pitchfork fingers stretched out. Head sideways on the pillow, his eyes stare at the door from sunken sockets.
    Fay enters the room, now in her late forties. She flings back the yellow voile scarf from her neck and approaches the bed, telling Bernie who she is.
    “I know who you are,” he replies, in a weak but clear voice. “You haven’t been part of my life for the last thirty-one years and ten months. I can’t cope with you being part of my death.”
    A spasm distorts the right side of his face.
    “Go away, please,” he says, his eyes filling with tears.
    Clutching her scarf, Fay slumps into a chair and shrinks into herself.
    “Is everything all right in here?” The senior nurse pops her head around the door.
    Fay stands and leaves.

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