I knew where Mum had hidden the presents; they were always in the same place underneath the bed. I’d seen them with my very own eyes. I’d sneaked in at night, silently peeling back the bedroom door, and saw their brightly coloured packaging staring up at me temptingly.
‘No peeking,’ Mum shouted up the stairs. ‘I know what you’re up to.’
Busted.
I left the presents undisturbed, shut the door and tiptoed back into my own room. It was Christmas Eve, only one more day to go. I was meant to be in bed, but I was too excited to sleep.
The clock on my bedside table read 12.45.
I still had so much time to kill. I turned on my bedside light and found my book nestled beside me under the duvet. I would read until six, and then go downstairs and see what Father Christmas had brought.