‘It’s a risk I’m prepared to take’

Am I still hugging my grandchildren? Absolutely. Otherwise I might just as well not bother to breathe. This might sound melodramatic. Indeed, I might have thought so myself before Rose, aged four, and George, two, were born.

My daughter, her husband and my grandchildren live around the corner from us. Until the virus struck, I was a hands-on granny looking after Rose and George for two days a week when their parents worked. My heart broke during those terrible weeks of not being able to see them, so when I read the government advice at the weekend about grandparents not hugging their children, I just dismissed it. I know what it’s like not to hug – or be hugged by – someone you love.

When I was six, my mother nearly died in front of me. If it hadn’t been for my quick-witted father, she would have died. When we finally got her to hospital – she held out her arms to cuddle me goodbye before being rushed to intensive care.

I refused. I couldn’t go near her charred skin. She survived – although she died in her 50s – yet my rejection will never leave me. We never spoke about it, but I know it must have hurt her terribly.

When I was finally allowed to hug my grandchildren, we all cried buckets. None of us wanted to let go. If I catch something from them, so be it. If on the other hand, I develop symptoms, obviously I would self-isolate.

I’m 64 and it’s a risk I’m prepared to take. I don’t want my grandchildren to remember the time Gan Gan wouldn’t put her arms around them. They’re too young to understand the difference between “wouldn’t” and “couldn’t”. Jane Corry’s new novel I Made a Mistake (Penguin £7.99) is out now