THIS week has been a somewhat uncomfortable visit to a past episode in my life – but also relevant to another person’s present and future. 

No, I’m not talking about SAS: Who Dares Wins, but something deeply personal from which I never properly healed or repaired. I rallied and proceeded with life because the only viable alternative was far too bleak.

My second child, Bo, was the product of a passionate relationship with a man whose main driving force was that we should have a child together. The union was fraught with many incompatibilities. 

But romance and enthusiasm won the day and propelled us forward to a place where hopes and plans shone brighter than the dark corners of discord and conflict.

I, too, was keen for a child but no sooner had we conceived than the fractures in our union started to appear. 

My daughter was born in November 2000 and has never knowingly met her biological father.

Imagine my anxiety, concern and apprehension, then, when I learned she will shortly find herself on the same Greek island as the man who has contributed to her genes, but has no idea what makes her the amazing person she is.

Rewind to the blind romance and all that jazz. I was overjoyed — and a tad fretful in the circumstances — to find myself pregnant with said man. 

He was working abroad at the time — huge red flags were ignored when we had tried but failed to succeed in living together. 

When I was five months pregnant, at the anomaly scan — which I went to alone, of course — it was discovered the baby had not only a serious cardiac defect, but also, potentially, a chromosomal abnormality called trisomy 18, which is “incompatible with life”. My world crashed. 

He made it clear that if it had Down’s syndrome, he didn’t want “to keep it”. But I had carried this child for five months and felt my baby move inside me. I wanted her, regardless.

He stayed away for the entire pregnancy and, as most women will know, it’s not always the bed of roses we hope it to be. I learnt my baby would require a series of open-heart surgeries to survive, but had no chromosomal irregularities. I pleaded for him to come back for the birth in the vain hope he would see this beautiful creature, hold her in his arms, immerse himself in her and want to be a part of her life. For ever. 

I was not hoping for a reunion, but wanted them to have a relationship.

As I was in hospital struggling to get my baby out, he was outside the labour ward smoking Gauloises cigarettes and plotting his escape. 

After her first operation at six days old, I was allowed to take her home. On the way, in the car, he announced he’d accepted a job abroad and would be leaving imminently. I sat in the back of the car, cradling my child — not ours. I knew she was chronically ill, might not survive future cardiac operations — and had just been abandoned by one half of her parents. 

As I was in hospital struggling to get my baby out, he was outside the labour ward smoking Gauloises cigarettes and plotting his escape

The depression that followed was, for me, the deepest and darkest of my life. I continued relentlessly to fight for him to have a place in her life.

 But he was reticent, reluctant, could make no promises and became vague and remained abroad.

 The last time they met, my darling Bo was a few weeks old.

When she was about eight years old, I tried to explain to her, in age- appropriate terms, about the mystery contribution that had been made towards her biological creation because I knew she could read and might inadvertently be exposed to writings about my life.

She was nonplussed, disinterested, apathetic and progressed with her life.

In the past few years, he reached out to her on Facebook and she responded. When I asked her how she feels when she sees a picture of him, she always replied: “Nothing.” 

This could be because she’s been lucky enough to have two great father figures in her life — my first husband, John, who became her godfather, and my ex-husband, Brian, who she asked to legally adopt her when she was about 13.

Can of worms

She currently finds herself on a Greek isle, nannying for a family for three months. I’m wondering if it is fate that has brought him there, too, and whether the day has finally come — nearly 21 years later — for them to meet.

They would meet without me being there to protect and shield her, to hold her hand and reassure her, to exert my perfunctory neutrality over the situation because her wish is my command. 

If she wants to meet him, I have always supported her and always will. It has been a discombobulated feeling of hope and fear these past few weeks.

 I want the best for her. I don’t want her to be let down again. I want her to have whatever she wants from him. 

If he can enrich or enhance her life, who am I to stand in their way?

I have never tainted her mind about her biological father. 

Like so many other parents who have been deserted and whose children have been abandoned by one half of their parentage, I don’t feel the need to sully his name in front of her or spoil, for her, his image. His actions speak for themselves.

I know many mothers and fathers find themselves in this situation and it’s one of emotional turmoil and conflict, of frustration and incomprehension. What matters at the end of the day is the happiness of my beautiful girl and that she is supported and content.

On this occasion, she has decided she feels neither the need nor desire to meet this man. She worries it might open a can of worms she is not yet ready to confront. For now. 

But it will be an ongoing situation that will, no doubt, rear its head again. My only desire is to be there for her and support her all the way. Like I have already done so far. 

Aled’s achieving more than mere mortals dream of

NOTHING will ever top London 2012. But for me, it’s always been about the Paralympics. 

Far more challenging, far more interesting – and far more rewarding to watch than anything else I can think of.

I had the good fortune of spending some time with Paralympian, father-of-one and damn handsome chap Aled Davies, who competes mainly in the F42 throwing events and is currently in Japan getting ready to do his thing.

We were both on the forthcoming series of Celebrity SAS: Who Dares Wins, where his immeasurable fortitude, boldness, fearlessness and endurance were humbling.

Public discourse has always been about “disability”. Thank God the outdated notion of being “handicapped” has had its day.

In Aled I saw first-hand something I’d never witnessed before. Terms like “grit” and “determination” are overused to the point of losing their meaning but they most definitely apply to Aled.

When I felt twinges in my lower back on the course, when my creaking hips were giving me jip, and when my co-ordination and breathing were all adrift, Aled soldiered on.

There came a point when my goal was to overtake a man born with hemimelia of the right leg – that’s when the fibula bone is missing. 

You have both legs and he has one. And your ambition is to outrun him.

Aled, you’re my hero.

Fan site is right to stay steamy

I AM relieved bosses at the largely adult-content subscription site OnlyFans have come to their senses and reversed the decision to bar “sexually explicit content” from October. 

Last week, they said the move was a result of pressure from banks and other financial partners concerned about “reputational risk” – something that doesn’t seem to matter so much when it comes to, say, money laundering.

Content on flower arranging and cookery would remain available for those interested.

Now, I’m no fan of online porn and am certainly not here to promote OnlyFans.

 But only a couple of weeks ago, some of its top female creators spoke of how empowered they feel on there.

They are in control and can make a good living from posting whatever content they choose, on their own terms in a safe environment.

My pal Kerry Katona, who makes money posting sexy pictures on the site, says it has turned her life around. 

Those who sneer at the selling of sexualised content in this way should remember these creators are their own bosses and do this willingly – without the coercion of shady figures in the background. 

These women say they don’t feel violated or exploited. And I think it’s important to listen to what they say.

Also making a very good living from the site, of course, is its founder Tim Stokely, who has a net worth of around £90million.

 But this late U-turn in policy was due to a backlash from creators.

Stokely might run the business, but the creators are in charge.

More grease to their elbows. . . and all those other special bits that need greasing. 

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