HOW COULD THEY LET HERGET MARRIED?
Popping the kettle on, I peered out of the kitchen window. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’ I called to my mum as she pottered around the garden.
It was 2000, and my mum Joan, then 76, was always outside, tending to flowers or trimming the hedge. The house had been our family home since 1959, but when my parents had retired earlier that year, I’d bought it from them and moved in with my husband Stephen, then 41, and our son Oliver, 11.
‘SHE DIDN’T SEEM TO KNOW WHO HE WAS’
Mum and my dad Ron, 77, built a little house for themselves in the garden. It was the perfect family set-up.
We’d always been close, and Oliver loved having
