Danny Mardell is an unlikely voice for the disadvantaged in our society. A self-made millionaire from a tough East End background, he likes flash cars, designer clothes and glamorous women. He's a wheeler-dealer; a hard man who thrives on the dirty cut and thrust of big business.
He's cut a few corners in his time and you certainly wouldn't want to cross him; he's a big man who, at 42, knows what he likes and gets what he wants. Ten years ago, however, his world was turned upside down. He had all the money you could wish for, he had a beautiful wife and a thriving business - then he had his first child.
It was all supposed to be so perfect. As usual, Mardell had it all planned out - his baby would be named after him. If it was a boy he would be called Danny, if it was a girl Danielle. The pregnancy was fine - a routine nuchal fold test was carried out to see if there was any risk of Down's syndrome. (Danny had already decided they would have a termination if there was anything wrong - he certainly didn't want a kid with Down's.)
But the test was reassuring. Danny and his wife, Carol, were told their baby was in the lowest possible risk category. And when Danny Junior was born in February 1995, he seemed a beautiful, healthy, perfect boy. After an emergency caesarean, the first few hours of fatherhood were blissful - just as they are meant to be. There were the flowers, the phone calls. Danny, proud and pleased as punch, bottle-fed his son as Carol recovered.
Sadly, the euphoria didn't last long. A passing paediatric nurse said quite casually: "Oh, I think this baby has got Down's syndrome." After an agonising three-day wait it was confirmed. Mardell's first-born was no longer perfect and his world would never be quite the same again. It was, as he says, with characteristically graphic accuracy, like "a kick in the nuts".
While Carol and the baby were in hospital, he played the perfect first-time father and loving husband - visiting, feeding, cuddling. "I'm a great bullshitter," says Mardell. Inside, however, he was dying - once they came out he threw himself into his work, avoided his wife and son and started to get drunk in a big way. "Carol was moving on; coming to terms; she was in love with our little boy. I was still at the stage of thinking, 'This ain't my son.'
"It was like he had spoilt everything, everything I'd planned for and worked for. It's selfish, I know. I was so big-headed I didn't want to admit he was my child. Other parents have told me they've felt the same thing so many times - they just didn't want to admit it because you feel ashamed of those feelings. You grieve for the child you never had, because you end up with something completely different."
Danny's Challenge, which is published this week, is Mardell's story of coming to accept his son's difference, and learning to love him. Today he's as proud of Danny, the first of his three children, as any father could be. There have been difficult times - sadly, Danny and Carol's marriage has broken up - but the book describes an extraordinary journey from ignorance and fear to enlightenment and love.
I spent many hours with Danny, as his ghost writer, and what struck me as most compelling about his story was his extraordinary candour about his feelings. Not very PC; not very palatable, but searingly honest. Not only does he manage to tell it like it really was - and presumably is for others - he turns it into a one-man campaign to raise funds for and awareness about the problems faced by people with learning difficulties.
As a child, Mardell admits he taunted and made fun of children like Danny Junior - he and his brother used to pee in a bottle and try to convince one little girl with Down's who lived near their flat in Borough, south London, that it was orange juice so she would drink it. He was one of those boys who would shout out "mong" and "div" at children on the "silly bus" on their way to "special school".
Then, a quarter of a century later, there he was with one of his own, as he puts it. "It was like I'd got my just desserts. It was like God had come back to get me. I was deeply, deeply ashamed, of little Danny, and of myself for not being able to love him."
He owns up to the disappointment of not having a "perfect" baby. He admits that had he known beforehand, he would have wanted an abortion. He confesses he even thought of driving his baby into the river, or of Danny dying of a terminal illness. These are not things that parents of children with Down's syndrome usually say. And that's why this story is important.
"I don't believe I'm on my own thinking these things," Mardell tells me. "But people are a bit scared to say it. What I hope this book says to parents with children who have Down's syndrome is, don't feel ashamed about the way you feel. God doesn't prepare people for this kind of thing. I found it very hard to handle and I'm a strong guy. A lot of people will feel like that, but there is light at the end of the tunnel."
It was the first few months that were the hardest, according to Mardell. "Even now I remember driving home from the hospital and feeling sick. Absolutely gutted. I still get low points now and again; I often look at him and wonder why it happened, but I don't feel ashamed of him any more." Now there's the worry of what the future holds for a boy like Dan.
Today he's a delightful 10-year-old who likes Arsenal and boxing and playing on his PlayStation2. But the future for him is more uncertain than for others. Will he marry? Will he have children? Will he be able to live independently? Financially, he's well provided for, and will always be, but the practicalities are harder to work out.
"The ideal situation would have been that he would live with Carol and I for as long as he wanted, but that's not possible any more. So we've got to do the best we can for him under the circumstances," says Mardell, who sees him as often as he can.
"He's in love at the moment with a girl called Sarah in school. He talks about his girlfriend all the time. He gives her presents. But I wonder where he's going with that feeling - what will happen when he meets a girl later on. That does make me feel a bit sad. And he keeps telling me what he wants to do when he grows up - he talks about driving a car. I don't know - is he going to be capable? Who knows?"
He's had a fantastic time in primary school where he's been accepted and treated the same as anyone else. But in just over a year he'll be off to mainstream secondary school. "When you're at secondary school it's not hip to be talking to the kid with Down's syndrome," says Mardell. Then once he finishes school, there's a whole new set of problems.
"He misses me, which he tells me quite regularly. But he's just been to Florida to Disneyworld with my mum and he's off to Spain in April with her. He has a nice life, but he hasn't got his dad there. He keeps telling me he wants to live with me, but I think Carol's a better mother than I am a dad. She's got more time to look after Dan.
"I'm a great provider. I reckon I'm a great dad when I'm with him, but I've got a lot of other stuff going on. I couldn't devote all the time that Danny needs. I can't do it 24/7."
Mardell is still a tough businessman. When I tried to phone him yesterday he was with his lawyers trying to clinch some deal or other. He's fallen out with Carol; he's as egotistical and brash and hungry as ever. Tomorrow at a party in London's West End, an eclectic mix of former East End villains, champion boxers, business tycoons and MPs - drawn from Danny's many different worlds - will gather together to celebrate the launch of his book.
He's not a perfect dad - he's the first to admit it - but he's good enough. What makes him different is that having Danny has opened his eyes to a world that would otherwise have utterly passed him by. He's not going to let his own kid lose out because of his disabilities, why should others? Mardell's voice may be unconventional in the world of disability rights, but it's all the more potent as a result.
· Danny's Challenge is published tomorrow by Short Books priced £12.99. All royalties go to the Down's Syndrome Association.
