It felt as if things were coming together for me, at last. I felt like a real grown-up. I thought I could go far. I thought that in two or three years I’d be able to afford my own house, a car – a proper life, in general.

Nearly five years later, I’m still sitting on the same chair (worn a bit under my left bum cheek), drinking the same coffee and stretching the same budget as I was back then. Gimme an R!! Gimme a U!! Gimme a T!! Whaddaya get? Comfort zone is the term, I believe. Or maybe it’s Lazy Arsehole. What do you think? Voting lines now open.

As far as W was concerned – we were officially Not Together And What A Lucky Escape. We’d both moved on nicely, and with some relief. The resentment and negativity of our last few months together had given way to a kind of guarded politeness. We weren’t friends, but we’d resolved to be good co-parents to Maria. Or rather, I had resolved, and he’d tried to do as I told him. Things were rocky at first. We fought a lot in the first year, as he found his feet and learnt how to be a dad, and an adult, I suppose. Money, reliability, and priorities were the usual suspects. I still believed I could bully him into behaving. He had the parenting instincts of a chest of drawers at first, I’m sorry to say, and was still so self-absorbed that each time he opened his mouth, he risked disappearing up his own bum.

Maria scared W. He was tense and wooden, entirely unable to cope when she cried or didn’t want to go to him. He must have dreaded his visits, sometimes. Not only did he have to be responsible for this terrifying, helpless child who couldn’t explain what she needed, he also had to contend with the Bitch Ex-Girlfriend (um, that would be me) watching his every move and complaining bitterly when he stuffed up. Maybe all new dads (especially single ones) go through this. I was just terrified that he’d end up being another David.

Thankfully, things have improved over the years. Time, experience and love for his child kicked in and sorted him out good and proper. Thank God – otherwise I’d probably have thrown myself off a building – or him, on second thought. W has become the dad I always suspected he could be and Maria loves him. They bake Barbie cup cakes, his girlfriend calls her Pretty Girl and plays with her hair. They’re doing fine. I’m proud of him for not being so furniture-like anymore. It can only get better, although I do wonder how he’s going to manage her teenage years. Egad. She’s going to cringe a lot, I bet. Poor child.

On the subject of fathers, I bet you want to know what happened to David. Honestly, for seven years or so, nothing. He was completely out of the picture, as though he didn’t exist. That suited me just fine, in my more selfish moments. But I worried about the effect it had on Steven. He never spoke about David. Occasionally, I spoke to him about his dad, and asked him how he felt about it. Didn’t he miss him? Didn’t he wonder about him? Didn’t he wish he had a dad like everybody else? Steven always said he was Fine. He was trying to spare my feelings, even at five, six and seven years old. I’m sorry. He’s had way too much to deal with than seems fair.

Then one day, when he was about nine years old, during one of my random probing sessions, I asked if he’d like to make contact. He said yes. I was surprised, and nervous as hell. After making some enquiries through his ex-girlfriend, his mother phoned and gave me his e-mail address.

I didn’t know how to react at all. I wasn’t doing this for me – I was still angry with him, but couldn’t allow my feelings to cloud my judgement about what was best for Steven.

When I wrote to him, my first question was, why. Why didn’t he fight for his son all those years ago? Why didn’t he come looking for him? Why didn’t he try harder? Why did he find it so easy to just walk away?

I wasn’t emotional. I wasn’t rude. I just needed those questions answered before I could decide whether Steven would be safe pursuing a relationship with his father. He did answer me, in a way. He admitted he was wrong. He admitted to being immature and lazy and not knowing how to handle the situation. He wasn’t defensive or angry, which deflated me a bit, actually. I expected a fight, but it never came.

We chatted via e-mail for weeks, me asking the hard questions. David didn’t say too much. What can you say, really? Eventually, we tentatively decided that they would start corresponding via e-mail, just to see how things went. No pressure. I made David promise on his life that this is what he wanted to do. I questioned him long and hard about his motives and made it clear that he should not start something he had no intention of following through. I told him I would not let Steven be hurt again, and if he wanted to walk away again, this was his last chance to do so.

He hasn’t. They’ve been in touch for nearly four years now. They e-mail, they speak on the phone. David sends presents for Christmas and birthdays. Steven even spends time with David’s mother occasionally.

Steven and David met face to face for the first time a few months after making contact. They hadn’t seen each other since before Steven turned two. What an emotional day. They met at my office and I left them alone while to chat. Steven was shy and awkward, but underneath all that, I know he was happy to be with his dad, at last. That scares me, because I can see how much he wants to have his father in his life, and I don’t know how it’s going to turn out.