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Dads. Dads in navy work bottoms and hi-vis jackets, carrying pink rucksacks over one shoulder. Dads in suits and ties, rushing the kids off to the not-quite breakfast club, big paces back to their cars to make the nine o’clock Monday meeting. Dads walking from the estate that everyone says not to live on, five beaming kids in toe, dressed nice and kept clean, laughing, and pushing and playing and ‘Hurry up across the road now!’ and the five beaming kids listening. Hurrying. Dads, tough dads, tracksuit clad dads climbing from ice-white cars, trainers fresh and sons with slick trims, but never too tough for the ‘Go on in’ kiss. Dads with beards and bright beanie hats, skateboarder shoes and baggy jeans: the dads that didn’t quite let go of their inner kid. Internet engineer dads, daughters jumping down from the high front seats, dad pulling her socks back up over her knee, straightening her bow, kissing her cheek. Daddy. Not always there but never missing a beat. Filling a water bottle or popping up toast, a quick hug and a kiss and then rushing off to catch the 126, and ‘Have a good day, son, I’ll see you later.’