Glasses Woman turns to her colleague and says, ‘I’m already wishing I hadn’t got out of bed this morning.’ She turns back to me. ‘I don’t suppose you’re named on the birth certificate?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘This isn’t the Number 1 Ladies’ bloody Detective Agency. There’s nothing I can do without a bit more to go on.’

I take a deep breath. This might be my last chance to get her on my side. ‘I’m sorry. I know I sound mad. But I didn’t even know I was a dad till a few days ago when my ex called. She’s . . . vulnerable. Struggles to look after herself, never mind a baby.’

A couple more people have arrived by now. I have quite an audience, all women.

‘I’m not saying I’d be any better than she would. But kids want to know who their parents are, don’t they? I want to be there if he needs me.’

The room is silent. Even the babies in the double buggy have stopped grizzling.

‘Look, love, it’s not as simple as that . . .’ Her voice is softer now, more maternal. ‘If your ex is going to struggle, then social work will decide what’s best for the baby. But that won’t automatically be you.’

I know this from the research I’ve done online last night, but still, it feels more final coming from someone in authority. ‘I have to try. Don’t I?’

‘Go on, give him a break,’ the teenager behind me says. ‘Most dads don’t give a shit about their kids.’

Glasses Woman rummages in a drawer and holds up a leaflet about parental rights. ‘There’s a helpline number on the back there.’ She turns it over, circles it with her pen. ‘They might be able to help you work on legal stuff. If it’s something you really want to do?’

I nod.

‘Have you got money? Or can you get hold of some?’

‘I can try.’

‘You shouldn’t need it, but . . . it might help. Either way, it’s not going to be easy.’

I take the leaflet. ‘Probably shouldn’t be. Thanks.’

As I turn to go, the girl with the buggy winks at me. ‘If you don’t find your actual kid, you’d be welcome to play daddy to these two.’

I look down at them: a big kid and a little kid. I can’t even guess their ages, never mind how you’d start to feed or soothe or play with them. What the fuck am I doing?

I smile weakly. ‘They’re lovely.’

She nods. ‘They can be. Good luck.’