By the time I’ve walked home from the social services office, I’ve realized one thing: if I need cash to fight this, I have to tell my parents immediately. Mum’s poring over cookbooks deciding what to tell the caterers to cook for her next ‘casual’ kitchen supper. Dad’s holed up in his office, working on new show ideas that will never get commissioned.

I ask them into the kitchen. As I make a big pot of tea, I try to imagine there’s a child in the room with us, grubby fingers poking into power sockets, tiny hand reaching up towards the kettle lead. Can I really keep a small human safe?

My parents face me across the kitchen island. I used to think their marriage only survived because Mum went away so often. But I’ve changed my mind. Now I think the constant fighting for me – first, to get me to the top in football, and later, to stop me dying – has cemented them together in another, slightly healthier way. They seem happier lately, and I think Dad might even have got rid of his ‘secret’ mobile phone, the one he always used to communicate with his latest fling.

Are they ready to be grandparents?

Here goes.

‘This is going to be a shock . . . and it was to me, too. I’m a dad. I’ve got a kid. And I want to be a part of his life.’

Dad inhales with a small whistle. Mum’s mouth opens but she says nothing. Lynette Greenaway, who has never, ever gone blank on live TV, is lost for words.

‘I only found out a few days ago. I don’t know his name but he was born on the twenty-third of December.’

‘Jesus,’ my mother says.

‘I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend,’ Dad says.

Mum raises her eyebrows as if to say, that’s how little notice you take. Except she didn’t know about Zoë either.

‘Her name is Zoë and she wasn’t really a girlfriend. More like someone I used to hang out with. Back when things were difficult.’

‘She’s a junkie?’ my mother says.

I feel protective of Zoë, suddenly. ‘She has used drugs, off and on, like I did. But when we were together . . . when the baby was conceived, we were both clean.’

‘You knew she was pregnant?’ Dad asks.

‘Yes, but we agreed it wasn’t the right time. Or at least, I thought we had. I gave her money for an abortion and I didn’t hear from her again until she called me on Christmas Day.’

My mother shakes her head. ‘We can all guess where that money went.’

‘Mum, you don’t know her.’

Her eyes widen with anger. ‘This is some girl who went ahead and had your baby without telling you. Yet you’re defending her?’