I was six at the time, heading home before Christmas with my sister and parents after a long, snowy car journey. Our house was unusually cold when we arrived: the back door was swinging on its hinges, and drawers and cupboards had been turned out. We'd been burgled. Soon the house was swarming with police. To my sister and me, it was incredibly exciting, but not so for our parents: they'd lost heirlooms as well as everyday, replaceable objects. Some of the things taken were a little odd, such as Mum's collection of perfumes.

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