In our house, Michael, the first-born, was the explorer. One night in early December when our parents were ‘out the country’ visiting relations and granny was minding us, Michael went upstairs, rooting in wardrobes. Mammy was barely in the front door when he greeted her with the exciting news.  “Look at the lovely things we found,” he said.  For a minute she was speechless. As she quietly set about thinking up a plan B, the hint of a smile formed on her face. A few Decembers later I unwittingly broke her heart. It happened on Christmas morning. Fuelled by weeks of…

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