Later on the police are coming by to take my statement about the events of that morning for the coroner’s investigation, which I’m dreading. George is coming to hold my hand so that youngest doesn’t have to go through all the gory details that she didn’t see. So I’m having a glass of white wine courage.

We’ve just been to Weston-super-Mare for various reasons, which mostly just meant me crying like a baby the entire time because he wasn’t there and last time I was there so was he. No Matt on the beach walking barefoot on the sand. No Matt holding my hand as we walked or in the car, or in the shops. Everywhere we went he wasn’t and he had been. And I know I have to accept that and start getting used to it, but it’s clearly going to be a slow process…

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