I’ll never forget the day I discovered I was going to have a new brother or sister because it was the day that Dad packed up his stuff and moved out. I’d recently turned eighteen, had finished my A Levels and was working in Mum’s shop, Bear With Me, before going away to university. It was a surprise to overhear her telling Dad that she was pregnant and a greater shock to hear that the baby was his because I’d been aware for a long time that my parents had a marriage in name only.

Growing up, I remembered them constantly arguing but then the arguments seemed to stop. Dad moved into the spare room and they somehow managed to co-exist in the same house while living completely separate lives. Dad acted more like a lodger than a husband or father. He spent all his time at work or the golf club, only venturing home to eat, shower, or sleep.

Dad had worked in a bank since leaving school – a steady, sensible career. Mum, on the other hand, had an amazingly exciting jet-setting career. When I was four, she’d set up a specialist teddy bear shop, Bear With Me, in the North Yorkshire seaside town of Whitsborough Bay where we lived. A genius with a sewing machine, she designed and made a range of jointed teddies called Ju-Sea Bears. Her talent was recognised with a stint as the guest bear artist for some of the leading collectible bear manufacturers. Her Ju-Sea Bears became highly sought-after which took her all over the world to exhibitions and shows. And as if that didn’t keep her busy enough, she valued teddy bears for both a local and a national auction house.

For years – even the ones before they’d moved into separate bedrooms – my parents had holidayed apart, Dad going away with his golfing buddies and Mum and I travelling round Europe visiting bear manufacturers and retailers. Dad hated bears, Mum hated golf, and I was pretty certain they hated each other. I’d therefore never understood why they didn’t just call it a day.