Walking through arrivals at the airport, I took a deep and very nervous breath.
I can’t believe this is happening, I thought.
Aged 53, I was about to meet my birth mother – the woman I would have called Mum if life hadn’t had other plans.
My upbringing had been happy, if unconventional. I’d been raised by my amazing dad, Hubert, and my birth mum Jessie’s sister, Toots.
Dad and Toots married when I was young, but I’d barely seen Jessie before her death in 2006, when I was 37.
When I
