Our double buggy teetered with gifts as my husband Ian and I lifted it off the train on to the platform. ‘It’s got more presents than Santa’s sleigh,’ I said, laughing as I stifled a yawn. It was 8pm on Christmas Eve 2019 and after visiting relatives, Ian, then 39, and I were keen to get home. But bouncing excitedly around our feet, our kids Penny, four, and Casper, two, showed no signs of flagging. Even Rufus, then 20 months, just visible under piles of glittery paper, was still babbling away. ‘Will we see Rudolph?’ Penny grinned, skipping along. ‘You never know,’ I smiled.
Out on the street, we started the 10-minute walk home. I spotted a couple rowing in a nearby bus shelter but paid little attention, desperate to get home and get
