On the landing in our pyjamas, me and my big brother Daniel giggled excitedly. ‘Wait here while I check,’ whispered our mum Tracy, then 30, creeping downstairs.
Seconds later she was back.
‘Santa’s been!’ she cried.
‘Yay!’ we cheered, racing down to open our pressies.
Mum always made Christmas special.
We never had much money.
Our dad Joey, then 29, had a drug habit but Mum worked hard as a dinner lady, saving what she could for gifts.
The following year, in 1994, when I was 11 and Daniel was 12, everything changed.
That November, we came in from playing outside and Mum was in the hallway.
‘Pack a bag, we’re off to Rochdale,’ she announced.
Miles away from our home in Birmingham, but all our cousins lived there.
In…
