Last time I saw this young man
he was callow, naive, could
put his foot in whatever was
in-put-footable. Now,
he holds the
hand of a curly-headed three-year-old boy,
grinning, both of them grinning,
delighted to be in each other’s life,
the ginger-haired, short-cropped father,
the curly-topped lightning-smiling
boy. ‘And we’ve just
had number two,’
says the father, shining.
‘Just
three weeks ago.’
