When I saw £11,760 on my phone screen, my hands were trembling so much I almost dropped it. I bit my lip, closed my eyes, and then opened them again — the number was still there."** My name is Cressida Basingstoke, I'm 39 years old and I live in London. For the past six years, I've worked as a cleaner in a hotel. Three shifts a week, sometimes six. No days off. I couldn't afford to get ill and I had no right to make mistakes. Other people's rooms, other people's beds, other people's dirty towels. I mopped floors, changed sheets, cleaned bathrooms, and sometimes I'd lock myself in the supply cupboard and cry while no one was watching. My children always saw me tired, confused and empty. I'm divorced and raising two teenagers: a 14-year-old son and a 16-year-old daughter. My ex-husband pays child support, but it barely covers school expenses. I don't even remember the last time I bought something for myself. Even a cup of coffee at the café has become a luxury. Rent. Bills. School expens