On the day Downing Street hosted their party, I was worried sick about my husband, JJ, who had been blue-lighted to hospital with Covid. He was only 39, but both of us fell badly ill with the virus in the first week of December.

I was so ill that I could barely get out of bed to make dinner for our two children, and moved myself to the spare room. My husband was even worse: he became delirious and couldn’t respond to simple questions because he was so confused and breathless. A few days in, we video-called our GP, who took one look at him and ordered an ambulance.

I will never forget my 12 and 13-year-old crying as he was taken away. They were so frightened and it took everything in me to try to keep them calm.

The ambulance took JJ to hospital, where the doctors found out that Covid had severely battered his body. He had blood clots in his lungs, as well as failing kidneys. It was absolutely terrifying, and for the first days he was in there I had no idea if he would even survive. His lungs were too weak to summon the breath to speak on the phone. A few days in, a man in his 40s two beds down from him in the ward died.

On top of that, I was so cautious about not giving Covid to others that I stopped orders for my candle company Scent and Seed in what is usually the busiest week of the year, missing out on about £2,500 of sales.

And while all this was happening, staff in Downing Street were having a Christmas party. After everything my family has been through, it feels like a slap in the face.

As told to Helen Chandler-Wilde

‘My brother died in hospital on the day of the No. 10 party’

By Pam Jarvis, 62

On December 18 last year, while staff in Downing Street seemingly partied, my brother lay dying in hospital. I wanted desperately to visit him, but lockdown rules meant I had to keep away.

John* was diagnosed with cancer in July last year, and his condition gradually worsened. He was a kind, quiet brother, with a public-spirited nature. We shared a fascination with the human mind; as adults, we both completed psychology degrees.

When he was admitted to hospital in November, I considered driving the 200 miles from my home in Leeds to Bristol, so I could see him. But at that point, with Tier restrictions in place, the thought of getting in my car and travelling across the country just seemed impossible. Once I arrived, would I even be allowed in to see him? Nobody was vaccinated at that point – what if I infected him with Covid? Or what if I caught Covid from a patient, then brought it back to Leeds?

I made the terribly tough decision to stay away. There was a lockdown: we accepted the distance as part of our public duty.

It was a cold Friday morning on December 18. I received a phone call from John’s wife, one of the most difficult I’ve ever had to take. She shared the awful news that he had passed away that morning. I knew it was coming, but it was still a shock. My older brother was gone, and I couldn’t even say a final goodbye. Now, I often find myself trying to remember something that happened in our childhood. My instinct is to ask John – then I remember he’s not here any more.

I spent the few days after his death at home, trying to process the loss. Only a handful of mourners were allowed at his funeral. It was miserable not to be there – but again, I accepted it as a necessary feature of lockdown. We’re all in this together, I believed at the time.

My first thought upon hearing about the alleged No. 10 party was, “Same old, same old”. After months of negative headlines about the Government, it didn’t seem surprising. But the more I read, the angrier I grew.

This week, I saw the now-infamous video of former No. 10 aide Allegra Stratton joking around. I felt deeply betrayed. While I was agonising over whether or not to see my dying brother, staff inside the most powerful office in the country were apparently in direct contravention of their own guidelines.

*Name has been changed

As told to Luke Mintz