As the first notes of Ed Sheeran’s latest hit played on the radio, my little girl Harper, three, clambered to her feet. ‘Watch me, Mummy,’ she grinned, spinning around to the music and showing off her dance moves. And I daren’t refuse: from the moment she’d been born in June 2015, Harper was a mini tornado. Her big brother, Cayden, then 12, and I watched from the sofa, laughing while Harper twirled, pouted and jiggled in time to the music.
We nicknamed Harper our little Shirley Temple, with her blonde ringlets and almighty tantrums. The kids’ dad, Andrew, 41, and I had separated when Harper was a baby, but we’d stayed friends and worked out a routine with the kids. We all adored Harper, happy to make her the centre…
