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I spent a few days wondering whether I should write this at all. Because, to be honest, if someone had told me a story like that a month ago, I probably would have just rolled my eyes and thought: “Yeah, course. And that just happened to you, did it?” But it did. My name’s Amanda, I’m 29, I live here in England and I work at McDonald's. I’m not a manager, I don’t run the place. I’m just a regular member of staff — tills, orders, bags, drinks, wiping tables, smiling at people even when your feet are absolutely killing you and all you want to do is sit down on the floor for five minutes. I rent a small flat with my younger sister, Chloe. I make around £1,550 a month on average. £680 goes on my share of the rent. Another £160 or so on electric, water, broadband and my phone. Then there’s travel, food, little household bits… and another £210 every month towards a loan I took out last winter. Because of my mum. Her boiler packed in just before Christmas. The house was so cold she was sleeping in two jumpers and taking a hot-water bottle to bed. A new boiler and fitting came to nearly £3,000. Mum said, “Amanda, don’t you dare take out a loan because of me. I’ll manage somehow.” And I just looked at her thinking, “Manage how? You’re 67.” I took the loan out that same evening. I don’t regret it. But ever since then, once everything’s paid, I’m usually left with about £170–£200 for myself for the whole month. And when I say “for myself”, I don’t mean restaurants or new clothes. I mean food until payday, the bus, shampoo, washing powder, and praying nothing breaks. Because if your phone dies, you crack a tooth, the washing machine packs in or anything else goes wrong — that’s it. There’s no money. --- The worst bit happened two weeks ago. Mum rang me in the afternoon. She sounded strange, like she was trying far too hard to sound normal. I knew straight away something was wrong. “Mum, what’s happened?” “Nothing, love. Just… the car wouldn’t start this mornin
