‘But they do have a secret weapon,’ the voiceover says, as the camera zooms in on me.

Ugh.

When the presenter introduces me, my teammates cheer and I feel like a fraud. I swig my alcohol-free beer, wishing it was the real thing.

In my lap, Leo has stopped wriggling. He faces the screen and as the shot lingers on me, his arm rises and he points a chubby finger.

‘Dadda!’ he says and turns his head back towards me and does a double take. ‘Dadda!’ He sounds confused and I hold my breath, in case he starts sobbing in that inconsolable way that always breaks my heart.

But as he repeats the action – looking at the screen, then me – I hear the best sound in the world.

Leo starts to laugh, and I join in along with everyone else, and it was almost worth all the filming for the joy and love in this moment.

I have missed knowing I belong.

On Leo’s first birthday, I text Zoë but it comes back as undelivered.

He has a brilliant day, and a terrible day, and a boring day and a sleepy day: all normal for him and us.

When I finally put him to bed, I watch him sleep. It is the calm after the storm, his perfect face lit by the nightlight, his eyelids flickering as he dreams. This love is bigger than anything I’ve ever felt or can imagine feeling.

This time last year . . . no, don’t go there. Don’t punish yourself by thinking what might have been, if you’d only played things differently.

I don’t want Kerry back. Bollocks. That’s a lie. I do, I probably always will, but she’s made her choice. Yes, there were times over the summer when I was so tempted to drive round there, talk to her in person, even introduce her to Leo. Then my mother heard from someone in the shop that Tim’s mum had died of cancer and I knew it was time to move on.

I lean in close to kiss Leo’s forehead and his breath warms my face. If Kerry hadn’t pushed me, I might have thought the love I shared with her was the only kind there is.

But what I feel for my son has made realize this is the love that I needed to give and receive. This is the love that has healed my dysfunctional heart.

Chapter 44: Kerry

6 February 2006

Parachute jumps are easy.

For real terror so bad you end up with actual shooting pains, nothing beats med school interviews.

‘Sorry we’re running a bit late, but you’re up next,’ the uni administrator tells me, and I smile, even though what I want to do is run away.

I don’t remember it being this bad when I was seventeen and believed that with enough hard work, I could make life go exactly according to plan.