I am on my way to the shop, walking past the red brick wall of the Ormeau Bakery. It is a warm Saturday in June, and I am enjoying the sunshine. I may go for a longer walk along the Lagan later on – if it stays fine –  but right now I need my morning tea, and there is no milk. Coming towards me on the pavement is a young man pushing a buggy with a small baby in it. The child is sleeping, its wee hat keeping the sun out of its eyes. The man looks tired, miserable; he has dark bags under his eyes, and his face is pale. Something is keeping him up at night. He is wearing blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Printed on the shirt in large white letters is the question: Who’s the Daddy?

I say nothing.