I spotted my daughter, Melissa Kinsella, struggling up the path, pushing a buggy, a little girl skipping along on either side.
‘Let me help you,’ I smiled at the front door. She was with my granddaughters, Chloe, now nine, Beau, four and Romi, two.
Despite having her hands full, Melissa looked beautiful as usual. My only child, we were close.
Growing up, Melissa had always been chatty, so it suited her to go into hairdressing and beauty; she loved talking to her clients.
She had a heart of gold, too. She’d often help people. Once, when we passed a homeless man in the street, she nipped into a shop and came back with a tent for him.
But her real passion was being a mum. She idolised her daughters, as…
