Open book

Handing my five-yearold son a notepad and pen, I rummaged through the fridge.

‘Tomatoes,’ I called to Heath.

Watching as he added them to the shopping list, I loved our little routine.

Before the two of us set off to the supermarket, I’d get him to write me down a list.

It had always worked well for us and it meant he got to practice his writing.

‘Mummy forgets things,’ I’d tell him.

And so, with the list in hand, the two of us set off.

In August 2019, walking around the supermarket, Heath had jumped onto the front of the trolley.

Directing me where to go, he