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My name’s Lily. I’m 31 and I live in London with my son, James. He’s four years old. I work at Tesco on the checkouts. Some days I’m on the tills all shift, other days I’m filling shelves, helping customers or doing whatever needs doing when we’re short-staffed. Most people probably look at me and think everything’s fine. I’ve got a job. I pay my rent. I get on with life. But the truth is, the last year has been one of the hardest of my life. I’m raising James on my own. His dad hasn’t been around for a long time, so everything falls on me. The rent on our flat is £1,450 a month. Then there’s council tax. Gas and electric. Food. Nursery fees. Clothes. Travel. And all the little things that come with raising a child that nobody really talks about until you’re doing it yourself. Every month felt exactly the same. Get paid. Pay the rent. Pay the bills. Buy food. And then watch the balance disappear. Whenever friends suggested meeting for coffee after work, I’d always come up with an excuse. “I’m exhausted.” “Maybe next week.” “I’ve got James.” The reality was simple. I couldn’t afford it. By the final week before payday, I was counting every single pound. James always had what he needed. If anyone went without, it was me. A few weeks ago I picked him up from nursery after work. When we got home, I took his trainers off and noticed how worn out they were. The soles were nearly gone. They were too small as well. I remember just sitting there looking at them. Thinking that even a cheap new pair would have to wait. And that really got to me. Later that night, after James had fallen asleep, I opened my banking app. £38.17. That was all I had left. I sat there for ages trying to work things out. Which bills could wait. How much food we actually needed. How to make those last few pounds stretch until payday. I barely slept. The next day during my break at Tesco, I walked round the shop picking up a few bits for dinner. I had my
