Every other weekend.
Ella is nine. From handing her back on a Sunday to picking her up again is twelve days. This is how Still Dad fits into them.
- F
- S
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- M
- T
- W
- T
- F
- S
- S
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- F
With you At her other home
Ella is made up. The screens are from the app.
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Sunday, 6.10pm
Outside her mum’s house
Her first swimming competition is on Saturday. She’s mentioned it eleven times since lunch, and did the arms in the back seat all the way here. It isn’t your weekend, so you won’t be there. Before you pull away, you write yourself a next-time reminder: ask how it went.
“I can do a whole length now, Dad. Without stopping.”
Sunday, in the car 
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Wednesday, 11.40pm
A message from her mum
It’s about the school holidays. You’ve started a reply three times. You put the version you don’t want to send in Let it out, and discard it. Then you read Clear lines, which says to answer the practical question and leave the rest. In the morning you send two lines.
Re: the holidaysI can’t believe you’dWith respect,
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Saturday, 8.45am
The kitchen table
Her race is at ten, across town. You write her a private letter about the girl who wouldn’t put her face in the water in June. A letter in Still Dad has no send button. You keep it until she’s old enough to read it.

Friday, 3.20pm
The school gate
“How did the competition go?”
She tells you all of it before you reach the car: the cold water, the girl in lane four, and the time she’s going to beat next month.
