Spurred on by the thoughts of making a fresh start, I buckled down for the next couple of days, getting lots of boxes and bags unpacked and managing to get most of the stuff downstairs put away, or at least relocated into the correct rooms.

I opened up the final box in the lounge, breathing a silent thank you that I’d finally reached the last one. I was starting to worry just how long the bottom of my back was going to hold up.

‘Mummy, there’s nowhere in my bedroom to put my soft toys or sort my Lego bricks into colours and shapes.’ Evie stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.

‘I know, sweetie, just put them in neat piles along your wall for now. We’ll be getting some nice new furniture soon.’

Evie huffed her disapproval and bounded back upstairs. Her old room had boasted a full wall of mirrored wardrobes that had held tonnes of stuff.

I started to compile a list of items we desperately needed: two chests of drawers and a wardrobe for Evie’s room. All the bedroom furniture had been built in at our old place. We needed a coffee table and rug for the lounge because I’d foolishly managed to ruin both with hot wax by knocking over a burning candle just before we left. New curtains, blinds for the kitchen . . . depressingly, the list went on and on.

I ended up pushing my pen and paper into the cutlery drawer and trying to forget about how I was ever going afford everything.

If I could get the job at the property agency then what we needed would follow, but if not, then I didn’t really want to think about it.

I chewed my nails, pulled at my hair and drank endless cups of strong coffee. But at least I didn’t go upstairs and reach up to the back of the top shelf of the bathroom cabinet behind the tampons and hair remover.

I was determined to manage without that little brown bottle full of calm, which I knew was a sure-fire road to ruin.

I had to make a stand against popping the pills right now. Otherwise, where would it stop?

My mobile rang. It flashed up with the caller’s name and I thought about ignoring it, but I knew that would only result in a key in the lock within the hour.

‘Toni, it’s me, love.’ Mum’s voice filled my ear. ‘Now, are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to come over? I really don’t mind.’

‘Honestly, Mum, thanks but we’re fine. Evie’s organising her toys as she wants them in her bedroom and I’m unpacking the last box downstairs now.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ She sounded disappointed and I felt a pinch of meanness at my throat.

‘Look, we’ll pop round to yours for a cuppa later, if you’re in?’

‘Lovely,’ Mum replied in a brighter tone. ‘I’ll put the kettle on around four then, if that suits you.’

‘Perfect, see you later.’

Mum was a massive part of our lives and I loved her to bits, but the move to Nottingham signified a fresh start for us on a number of fronts.

I wanted to look after my daughter and myself, regain some of the self-esteem that had chipped off like cheap nail varnish over the last two years.

Every time I thought about the money Mum had stumped up periodically to help us out, a hot flush crept up into my neck and face.

At thirty-five years old I needed to be able support myself and my daughter. I needed to find the person I used to be, the woman who had plans and goals, and who had built a successful career, juggling all the usual responsibilities – a husband, a home and a child.

It wasn’t such a big ask, was it?

Losing Andrew had been a sucker punch to my very core. I knew part of me would never recover, no matter how much time elapsed. No matter what the future held.

Still, I couldn’t help thinking that it could have been so very much worse. Evie was young, she would bounce back. I would never let her forget her daddy, of course not, but she deserved the freedom to live her life without sadness and pain.

It wasn’t too late for me to give Evie that gift.

I knew the little brown bottle was leading me in the opposite direction to that. Rebuilding our lives, I couldn’t afford to keep taking the easy way out.

But as with a lot of things in life, it was far easier to make the observation than it was to actually do anything about it.

The brown bottle had so far stopped me dealing with the grief and pain of losing Andrew. It had delayed it until, I told myself, I was in a more stable place to deal with it.

Mum was another crutch I knew I had to wean myself from overusing. It wasn’t fair on her, for one thing. I knew she constantly worried about Evie and I, and that she felt obliged to help out in ways she shouldn’t have to do.

I thought again about the property agency job and a swell of hope rose inside me. It was the closing date tomorrow, so if I wanted to go ahead, I had to make certain to get my application completed and submitted in good time.

Mum’s free childcare was an integral part of me working and I couldn’t really get away from that fact, but I’d noticed that Evie’s behaviour had worsened since she’d been spending more time with her nanny. Discipline was a word Mum didn’t understand when it came to her beloved granddaughter, although she’d never had a problem being strict when I was growing up at home.

Dad had been the soft one, always getting himself into trouble with Mum for winking at me when she was telling me off, or sneaking snacks and comics up to my room when I’d been banished upstairs for insolence or something similar.

But we lost Dad after the second heart attack and Mum became even stricter then.

‘It’s for your own good, Toni,’ she’d lecture me when I complained about having to get a paper round for pocket money, or keep my bedroom ridiculously tidy compared to the state of all my teenage friends’ rooms. ‘I want you to have a good life, be financially independent and not struggle like I’m doing, now your dad’s gone.’

I sighed and walked into the lounge to get the last of the toiletries out of the box. How utterly ironic I’d ended up just the opposite of Mum’s vision for me.

But not for much longer, I promised myself.

I was going to make this new start count. And an undeniably important first step in my plan was to get myself a job.