‘It’ll all be on the CCTV, but I saw her with my own eyes,’ the owner of the small convenience store told PC Gavin Hughes, gesticulating down the cramped aisle between shelves loaded with groceries of all kinds. ‘She was down there, on the left. She picked up the bottle and looked round. Then she saw me looking and put it back on the shelf. Then, a few moments later, I was serving a customer, so I suppose she thought I wouldn’t see. But I did. She picked it up and slipped it inside her bag. Then she came to the till and paid for the rest of her stuff and just walked out – cool as you like! I waited until she was out the door and then went after her. And sure enough, there it was! In her bag. Look at the receipt! No sign of a one litre bottle of vodka on that, is there?’
He looked up at the police officer triumphantly, while Gavin studied the small piece of paper that had been thrust into his hand, taking his time while he pondered on the best course of action.
‘Well, go on then,’ the shopkeeper urged. ‘Arrest her!’
Gavin turned to the young female officer who had accompanied him into the shop. ‘Take Mrs Whittle out to the car please, while I have a chat with Mr Eastham.’
PC Stella Gilbert took hold of the accused shoplifter by the elbow and applied gentle pressure, gesturing towards the door with her other arm. Yvonne Whittle was an unlikely villain: in her mid-forties, wearing a thick woollen coat over a red dress, her hair covered by a bright headscarf, a wedding ring on her left hand. She stood unmoving, staring round with a look of confusion on her face.
‘I’m so sorry!’ she blurted out, looking towards the angry shopkeeper and then rapidly lowering her eyes to the floor. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never … I won’t go to jail, will I?’ She looked pleadingly towards Gavin.
‘Just go along with PC Gilbert, and I’ll be out in a few minutes to tell you what happens next,’ Gavin said firmly.
‘Come along, Mrs Whittle,’ Stella added. ‘I’ll take your bag. You just come outside and we’ll sit in the car together for a little while.’
As soon as the door closed behind the two women, Gavin turned his attention to the proprietor again. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lee Eastham got in first.
‘Now, would you like me to get that CCTV footage for you?’ he asked eagerly. ‘You’ll need that for the court, won’t you? And I suppose I’ll have to make a formal statement. Can I do that now, or do you need me to come down to the police station?’
‘Actually, sir, I was hoping that we wouldn’t need to take things any further. I know Mrs Whittle and—’
‘So, she’s done it before, has she?’ Eastham broke in. ‘She’s got form?’
‘No. As I said, I know Mrs Whittle and I’m sure that this is the first – and last – time that she’s done anything like this. I wanted to talk to you about why it would be better not to take this any further.’
‘Not to press charges, you mean?’ Eastham stared back in amazement. ‘But you’ve got the evidence! Make an example of her! Have you any idea how much stock goes missing in a place like this? It’s mostly youngsters and they hunt in packs so you can’t see which one’s taking the stuff. But this time, it’s clear-cut: she took it, she’s guilty!’
‘This is a difficult time of year for Mrs Whittle,’ Gavin began.
I know, I know,’ Eastham interrupted again. ‘Just before Christmas, money’s tight, everyone wants to have a good time – drink a bit, have a party. But that’s no excuse for taking what’s not yours.’
‘I wasn’t talking about Christmas. Five years ago, next Thursday, Mrs Whittle’s son was murdered. He was only sixteen. She found his body.’ Gavin stood looking at the wronged shopkeeper, allowing the silence to settle between them.
‘Oh,’ Eastham said at last. Then, after a long pause, ‘but she still shouldn’t’ve taken that vodka.’
‘No, she shouldn’t,’ Gavin agreed. ‘And I’m sure she knows that very well. And you’ve got it back now, so…’
Eastham looked back in stoney silence.
‘She has another son. He’s working for his A’ levels. It’s been tough for him too, losing his brother. The last thing he needs is to have his mum getting a criminal record. It could help turn him into another of those youngsters that keep plaguing you. I’ll keep an eye on Mrs Whittle and see she doesn’t take advantage of your generosity if you just ….’
‘Oh, OK!’ Eastham gave in. ‘I suppose it won’t do any harm to give her a second chance. And I’ve got two sons myself. They’re both grown up now, but… Anyway, I’ve got the vodka back, so… Thanks for coming anyway.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll be going then. I’m sure you’re doing the right thing.’ Gavin walked to the door. Then he turned and came back. He picked up a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits and laid it down on the counter, fishing in his pocket for cash with his other hand. ‘I’ll take this while I’m here.’
Eastham rang up the sale and handed over the change. ‘Eleven pence. Thank you. Have a happy Christmas!’
Gavin very much doubted that this last wish would be fulfilled, but he picked up the biscuits murmuring, ‘you too, sir.’
When he got outside, he saw that Stella and Yvonne were sitting together in the back of the patrol car. Yvonne was slumped in her seat clutching the shopping bag on her lap, while Stella appeared to be trying to make conversation. He strode over and opened the driver’s door.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Whittle, he’s agreed to let it drop.’ He got in and put the key into the ignition. ‘Now, we’ll just take you home and this will soon all be over.’
‘There you are!’ Stella added. ‘Didn’t I tell you Gavin would sort everything out for you?’
Looking in the rear-view mirror, Gavin could see Yvonne nodding and smiling weakly as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. He glanced down at the clock on the dashboard: two fifteen; there should be time to make Yvonne presentable before Leo got home from school.
They entered the house through the back door. Yvonne dropped her bag on the kitchen floor and collapsed into a chair. Stella bent down and drew out a bag of sugar and a small loaf of bread.
‘Let me help you put your shopping away. Just tell me where you want them.’
‘The sugar goes in this cupboard.’ Yvonne got up and opened one of the base units that lined two walls of the room. ‘And there’s a box for the bread over there.’
While the two women emptied the bag, Gavin filled the kettle and turned it on.
‘I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea. Why don’t you go and have a sit down and I’ll bring it through when it’s ready?’
‘You don’t need to … I’m fine – really,’ Yvonne protested weakly, but Gavin continued to hunt for mugs and teabags while Stella gently took her by the arm and guided her out of the kitchen. Gavin closed the door behind them.
While the kettle came to the boil, he hastily searched each cupboard and drawer. There were large empty spaces between packets of cereal and bags of rice and pasta in the food cupboards. The fridge was sparsely populated with a two-pint bottle of milk, the remains of some sort of stew and a four-pack of Coca-Cola. The freezer was almost empty.
Beneath the sink, hidden behind a bucket and a bottle of toilet cleaner, he found a half-empty bottle of gin. He took it out and stood for a few moments holding it in his hand and staring down at it. Behind him, the kettle clicked off. He poured water into the three mugs that he had prepared and replaced the kettle. Then he went over to the sink and emptied the gin bottle into it, rinsed it out and carried it out to the recycling bin in the back garden.
When he opened the lid, his nose was immediately assaulted by a strong smell of alcohol. Peering in, he saw a pile of bottles. He dropped the gin bottle in on top of them and allowed the lid to drop back.
‘Here we are!’ Gavin pushed open the door to the living room and entered carrying three mugs of tea on a tray that also held a bag of sugar, three teaspoons and the packet of biscuits that he had bought. ‘I’ll leave to help yourselves to sugar if you want it.’
He put the tray down on a coffee table, from which Stella hastily cleared a small pile of magazines, putting them on a shelf underneath it. ‘And do take a biscuit,’ he added, extracting one from the packet for himself before handing it round.
‘Thank you.’ Yvonne accepted a biscuit and then leaned forward to pick up one of the mugs. ‘And thank you for sorting things out in the shop back there. I don’t know what I was thinking of taking that bottle. It was just … Trevor’s been wanting to know where all the money’s going. He’s started asking to see the till receipts when I’ve been shopping, so I didn’t dare ….’
‘Does he know you’ve been drinking again?’ Gavin asked, trying not to sound judgemental but convinced that avoiding the issue would not be helpful.
‘I think he suspects. How did you know?’
‘I saw the empties in your recycling bin.’
‘Oh!’ Yvonne sat cradling her mug in both hands as she rocked gently back and forth. Tears welled up and trickled down her cheeks. ‘I suppose Trev must know too then.’
Stella, sitting on the couch beside her put her arm tentatively round Yvonne’s shoulders. ‘It’s OK. We’re not judging you. But don’t you think you could do with some help?’
Nodding silently, Yvonne put down the mug and took the clean handkerchief that Gavin was holding out to her. She dabbed her eyes and then handed it back.
‘I tried AA, but the others all seem so … so much more …’
‘White?’ suggested Stella. Of Afro Caribbean heritage herself, she understood the feelings of being an imposter in predominantly white groups.
‘And clever,’ Yvonne nodded. ‘They’re all university professors and lawyers and … and business people. And I’m only a cleaner.’
‘They’d all be in a mess if there weren’t any cleaners!’ Stella declared forthrightly. ‘You’re not only a cleaner; cleaning is important. And you’re a wife and a mum, too. What you do is just as important as their fancy jobs.’
‘I hear your Leo’s going to be doing his A’ levels this year,’ Gavin put in. ‘And he’s got plans to go to university.’
‘There you are!’ Stella added. ‘That just goes to show what a great job you’re doing as his mum, especially after ….’ She stopped speaking, suddenly wondering if she should not have touched on the tragedy that had torn apart the Whittle family’s world five years previously.
‘There are other people who can help,’ Gavin intervened. ‘If you don’t get on with AA. I can give you a number to ring – or your doctor could refer you.’
No, it’s OK.’ Yvonne shook her head. ‘Actually, there is one person in the AA group I could talk to. She’s OK – even though she’s at the university. She talks about ordinary things I can understand, and she isn’t always going off abroad to conferences and things or sitting on government committees. Her husband’s a doctor and works long hours like Trevor does. I’ll give her a ring later.’
‘Good.’ Gavin smiled reassuringly.
‘I don’t usually drink,’ Yvonne continued. ‘I mean, not for ages. It’s just, Trevor’s been working more because of all that money we owe, so he’s hardly ever at home any more. He’s been doing a lot of airport runs. They pay well, but it means being out at all hours, and when he is here, he’s mostly wanting to sleep. And my cleaning jobs are at night and in the mornings, so all afternoon I’m here on my own with nothing to think about except … except how things were before ... before Harry was killed and we got into debt and ….’
Gavin handed the handkerchief to her again. For several minutes they sat together in silence.
There was the sound of a door banging followed by footsteps in the hall. ‘Mum! There’s a police car outside. Any idea what’s going o—’
They looked round to see Yvonne’s second – now only – son, seventeen-year-old Leo standing in the doorway. Gavin immediately got to his feet.
‘It’s OK, Leo. We saw your mum with her heavy bag and gave her a lift home.’ He looked back at the three mugs on the low table. ‘She was kind enough to give us tea, but we’d better be going now.’
Leo looked suspiciously from one face to another, but said nothing. Stella followed Gavin out. ‘Thanks for the tea, Mrs Whittle. I hope you have a lovely Christmas.’
‘Don’t forget your biscuits!’ Yvonne scrambled to her feet, holding the open packet.
‘No, you keep them,’ Gavin smiled back. ‘You’ve got a growing boy to feed. He looked down at his own bulk and patted his stomach. ‘And I’ll be in trouble with Chrissie if I bring shop-bought biscuits in, when she’s always looking for an excuse to do more baking. She loved that recipe you gave her for lime cookies.’
‘It was just something my mum used to make for us when we were kids. I’m glad she liked them.’ Yvonne returned to her seat, laying the biscuits down on the tray. ‘Come and sit down, Leo and I’ll get you a drink. There’s a can of coke in the fridge. Would you like that?’
‘I’ll get it.’
Leo followed the police officers out to the kitchen, waiting until they had left the house before opening the fridge and taking out one of the cans. Then he came back into the front room and stood watching through the window until the police car moved off.
‘OK Mum, what was that really all about?’
‘Like they said–,’ Yvonne began, but her son cut her off.
‘They just happened to be passing, and they gave you a lift with your heavy bag!’ he parodied. ‘As if! I’m not stupid. What were they doing here?’
‘It’s true!’ Yvonne protested. ‘They gave me a lift home from the corner shop.’
‘Were you drunk?’
‘No! I haven’t touched a drop all day. Please believe me, Leo – it was nothing. They were just being helpful. You know PC Hughes has always taken an interest in us ever since Harry died.’
‘Not like that.’ Leo refused to be convinced. ‘And I know you’re back on the booze. I can smell it on you and–.’
‘Alright, alright! There was a bit of a … misunderstanding in the shop and PC Hughes came and sorted thing out. And then he gave me a lift home, just like he said.’
‘A misunderstanding?’ Leo asked sceptically.
‘Yes. I was in a bit of a daze, thinking about how it’s a whole five years now since Harry …. Anyway, like I said, I wasn’t thinking, and I slipped something into my bag instead of putting it in the basket. And I walked right out of the shop without remembering it, and the shop assistant came after me and said it was shoplifting. He called the police and PC Hughes straightened everything out for me. And that’s the truth, so if you’ve finished cross-questioning me, I think I’ll go and have a little lie down. It’s been a difficult day.’
She got up and headed towards the door, then hesitated and turned round to face her son. ‘You won’t tell your dad about any of this, will you? It’ll only worry him, and he’s got enough on his plate right now.’
Leo put his fingernail under the ring-pull of his can and levered it up. The he pulled it back and took a long slow draft before setting the can down next to the mugs on the tray and picking up a biscuit.
‘Leo?’
‘Yeah, right. Don’t tell Dad. OK.’
***
‘I hope you don’t mind me calling unannounced like this,’ Chrissie Hughes said apologetically when Yvonne opened the front door. ‘But Gavin said you were feeling low, what with Harry’s anniversary coming up, and I thought you might like a bit of company. And I brought some cake. It’s a new recipe that I’m trying out and it made more than I was expecting. I thought your Leo might be able to help us eat it before it goes stale.’
‘Oh! Yes! That’s very kind. You’d better come in.’
‘I’m sorry it’s been a while, but things are always a bit hectic at school in the Autumn term,’ Chrissie chatted as she followed Yvonne into the front room. ‘By the time we’ve finished getting the kids settled into their new classes it’s time to think about Christmas – carol concerts, nativity plays and so on. My feet seem to hardly have touched the grou– oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.’
‘It’s alright. It’s about time I was going.’ Yvonne’s guest rose to her feet and held out her hand towards Chrissie. ‘Estelle Carver. I work at St Luke’s College.’
One of the colleges where Yvonne cleaned, presumably, although wasn’t it Holy Cross where she was a scout? The proffered hand was slim, almost skinny with well-kept nails painted in an inconspicuous pink. As she shook it, Chrissie noticed a criss-cross pattern of scars on the woman’s wrist as the sleeve of her elegant blue blouse rode up her arm slightly. That certainly hadn’t come from the Primark sale! And that skirt looked like genuine Harris tweed. It seemed unlikely that Ms Carver was a fellow domestic. A don then? But they tended to dress more casually, as if caring for their appearance were beneath someone of such great intellect. One of the administrative staff perhaps.
‘Chrissie Hughes. We live just round the corner.’
‘Chrissie’s son was killed by the same gang that murdered Harry,’ Yvonne explained.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Estelle’s brown eyes were full of compassion. ‘I can’t imagine …. Well, as I said, I’d better be going.’ She turned to Yvonne. ‘Keep in touch. In fact, let’s meet up for a coffee. How about Thursday morning?’
Thursday was the anniversary of Harry’s death. Was Estelle aware of this and choosing the date deliberately?
‘I suppose I could … what time?’ Yvonne sounded hesitant. Did she have other plans for the day?
‘How about right after you finish work? I’ll be in college that morning, so give me a ring when you’re ready and we can go to that little place in the covered market.’
‘OK. Thanks. That’d be nice.’ Yvonne still sounded unsure. Then, ‘No, sorry! I’ve booked that day off work. I promised Leo I’d … Maybe another time?’
‘Wednesday then? At the same time?’ Estelle seemed determined not to allow Yvonne to avoid another meeting.
‘Wednesday? Yes, that would be fine. I’ll look forward to it. If you’re sure you don’t mind. I mean, you must be very busy.’
‘Nonsense! I’ll be glad of the break.’ Estelle picked up an expensive-looking handbag and took out a pair of leather gloves. ‘And now I really should be going. Goodbye Chrissie. It was nice meeting you and … I really am sorry about your son. It must be …. Well, yes, I’d better go.’
While Yvonne escorted her guest to the front door, Chrissie went through to the kitchen and deposited her cake, wrapped neatly in greaseproof paper, on the working surface. Briefed by Gavin, she took a quick look under the sink. No sign of alcohol there – good! Then back to the front room where she found Yvonne bending over the low table gathering up a bone china cup and saucer and matching teapot. Chrissie had been entertained to tea on many occasions, but she had never seen these before. Evidently, a visit from Estelle warranted Yvonne’s best china.
‘Make yourself comfortable.’ Yvonne gestured towards the sofa. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and make us another pot of tea. I’m sure you could do with one after teaching all day. I think it’s wonderful what you do with those kids.’
‘Thank you. Tea would be lovely. Is there anything I can do?’
‘No. That’s alright. You sit down and take it easy. I know you’ve been on your feet all day.’
Chrissie obediently sat down, consciously repressing her instinct to follow her friend out to the kitchen and insist on helping. Just as with her young students, it was important not to undermine Yvonne’s confidence by stepping in with unasked-for assistance.
The floorboards above her creaked as someone moved about in the room above. That was Leo’s room, she remembered. Would he come down and join them for tea? Probably not. Gavin had said that he seemed anxious. Was he aware of his mother’s drink problem? Almost certainly, but just as certainly he would not welcome outside interference in something that he no doubt hoped was a family secret.
‘Here we are!’ Yvonne was back, carrying the teapot and a clean cup and saucer. As if she had read Chrissie’s mind, she added. ‘I haven’t had this tea set out for years. It was my mum’s pride and joy. She never let us children touch it in case we broke it. I usually just put a teabag in a mug these days, but I was doing a bit of a clear out and I came across this teapot and I thought, “What’s the point of having something you never use?”’
‘And it must bring back memories of your mum,’ Chrissie suggested. ‘It’s always good to remember people that we’ve lost – even if it makes us sad,’ she added as her thoughts suddenly went to Kenny and tears began pricking at the back of her eyes.
‘Yes,’ Yvonne nodded, hurriedly putting the tray on the table and sitting down heavily next to Chrissie.
‘How’s Leo doing?’ Chrissie asked with the forced brightness that comes with an attempt to avoid a difficult subject. ‘Still getting on OK with his A’ levels?’
‘I think so. He doesn’t talk about it much.’
‘You must be very proud of him. He did very well in his GCSEs, especially considering ….’
‘Yes,’ Yvonne agreed quickly. ‘He’s a good boy. He works hard. He deserves to get on.’
They sat in silence for several minutes, neither able to think of anything further to say.
‘Leo’s got a Saturday job,’ Yvonne added at last. ‘It’s just stacking shelves, but his careers teacher says that any work experience is good, and it makes him feel better about … We never said anything to him about owing money, but he knows somehow, and he worries sometimes that he ought to leave school and get a proper job. He tried to give Trev the whole of his first pay packet, but we told him it was his; he’d earned it. But he insists on paying something towards his food. Like I said, he's a good boy.’
‘He certainly is,’ Chrissie agreed. ‘It must be a great comfort to you having him around, especially with Trevor working such long hours. Gavin tells me he’s been doing a lot of airport runs at all hours of the day and night.’
‘Yes. Sometimes it feels like we’re just ships in the night.’ Yvonne sighed. ‘But it helps pay the bills so ….’
‘Estelle seems nice,’ Chrissie commented, determinedly keeping up the flow of conversation. ‘Did you meet her through work?’
‘No, she’s … Actually, she’s my AA sponsor.’
‘That’s great!’ Chrissie said, and then added, ‘I mean, it’s great that you’ve got someone you can talk to about ….’
‘She’s one of the fellows at St Luke’s – anthropology. I had to Google it to know what that was. But she’s not … she doesn’t talk down to me like she doesn’t expect me to know anything.’
‘She’s probably glad to have a friend who doesn’t want to talk about high-powered university stuff all the time,’ Chrissie suggested. ‘I love my job, but it’s nice to be able to switch off sometimes with someone who doesn’t know anything about what goes on in school. Does she have a family – kids I mean?’
‘No. I think she’d like to, but it’s just her and her husband. He’s a surgeon – a very senior one – at the Orthopaedic Centre.’
‘That must be a high-pressure job – and long hours, like your Trevor.’
‘I don’t know. Estelle did say he’s sometimes on call at night, but mostly she talks like he …. She has to have his dinner ready at seven on the dot every night. It was weird. One day last summer, she invited me over to her place – an enormous house out on Old Road, you know, on the way to Shotover Hill – and we were in the garden, looking at the flowers and she picked some strawberries and gave them to me. And then, all of a sudden, she looked at her watch and she started shooing me out of the house because she was doing roast chicken and it needed to go in the oven. It seemed almost like she was scared of him.’
Chrissie’s mind went back to the safeguarding refresher course that she had attended recently. Signs of domestic abuse include: physical injuries … clothes worn to cover up injuries … afraid or anxious to please their partner ….
‘Do you think he …?’ she struggled to think of the right words. ‘Do you think he might be violent towards her?’
‘I don’t know.’ Yvonne busied herself with pouring out the tea. ‘I probably shouldn’t have said anything to you. I mean, he’s a doctor, someone like that wouldn’t hurt anyone. And Estelle’s always saying how good he is to her and how lucky she is to have him.’
‘But?’ Chrissie prompted, leaning forward to pick up her cup and saucer.
‘Well, she broke her arm last summer. She said she did it tripping over their dog, but I did just wonder ….’ Yvonne took a sip of tea. ‘She had some red marks on her neck. She was wearing a scarf to hide them, but it slipped a bit and I saw. Those must’ve been something else. You couldn’t get them falling over a dog. But I expect I’m just imagining things. I mean, why would a man like that hurt his wife?’
‘The same reason anyone does – to have control over her.’ Then, seeing her friend’s anxious expression, Chrissie quickly changed the subject. ‘But getting back to Leo, is he still in the basketball team?’
‘Yes. He’s been made team captain now,’ Yvonne said proudly.
‘That’s great. He must remember to put that on his UCAS form when he applies to uni – or has he already applied? Where does he wasn’t to go?’
‘I don’t know. He doesn’t really talk about it. He did say something about Oxford Brookes, so he could live at home, but he may have changed his mind.’
‘Oh well, there’s plenty of time. The deadline isn’t usually until January.’ Chrissie took a sip of her tea and looked round the room searching for something else to keep the conversation going. ‘Your tree looks nice,’ she said at last, inclining her head towards the small Norway spruce that stood in front of the bay window. ‘We haven’t put up our decorations yet. Somehow, I never have the heart for it until after Kenny’s anniversary.’
‘We try to have a normal Christmas for Leo’s sake,’ Yvonne nodded. ‘But it’s hard sometimes.’
‘I know what you mean. I’m not sure that Gavin and I would bother if we didn’t have Craig living with us.’
It’s hard on Leo,’ Yvonne went on. ‘Knowing we’re … He must think I don’t care about him.’
‘I’m sure he doesn’t think that at all!’ Chrissie put out her arm and placed it gently around Yvonne’s shoulders. ‘I know he was only twelve when it happened, but kids understand a lot more than we give them credit for. I’m sure he realises how difficult it is for you not to be always thinking of Harry at this time of year.’
‘But I don’t want his whole life to be ruined by what happened to Harry. I want us to go back to being a normal family.’
Chrissie was tempted to point out that the best way of restoring some sort of normality to her family would be for Yvonne to keep off the booze. She knew that a sermon would be counterproductive. Yvonne was trying to fight her addiction and needed friends who she could trust not to judge her when she failed.
‘Leo never goes out in the evenings,’ Yvonne continued. ‘Or not unless he knows that Trevor’s going to be at home. He says he’s got lots of homework to do, but I know it’s really because he doesn’t like me being in the house on my own. He’s only seventeen. He shouldn’t be needing to think about things like that.’
‘He cares about you. It’s only natural. You’re his mum, and he knows how hard it’s been for you, finding Harry like that and then the trial and everything. He just wants to be sure you’re OK.’
‘But he shouldn’t have to! I’m the one who should be looking out for him!’ Chrissie felt Yvonne’s shoulders shaking as she tried to holdback her sobs. ‘I’m a failure as a mum! I’ve let Leo down – and Trev too!’
‘No, you haven’t.’ Chrissie pulled her friend closer to her. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. Look at how Leo’s turned out. He wouldn’t be heading for good A’ level grades and a university degree if you’d failed as his mother. Cut yourself some slack and – and – try to take each day as it comes.’