ONE STEP AT A TIME

Jenny Jackson, 40, has found a way to manage her grief five years on from losing her beloved husband Andrew

- RACHEL TOMPKINS, MATTHEW BARBOUR

Sitting in the back garden with our feet cooling down in the children's paddling pool, me and my husband Andrew, 36, chatted in the sun.

'Let's make some plans for after lockdown,' Andrew said. 'What about a cycle to the North Yorkshire Moors?'

'Sounds perfect,' I smiled.

It was May 2020 and six weeks into lockdown. Married for just over four years, we both loved cycling and since having our children, Henry, then two, and Hattie, 12 months, life was so busy that we only managed to squeeze in a bike ride while they were napping.

Like today, a glorious Saturday on which we had taken turns going out on our bikes while the other watched the kids. The next day, Sunday 10 May, after putting the children down for their midday nap we tidied the playroom. 'I'll go on my bike ride now,' Andrew said, putting on his helmet. 'I love you, be safe,' I smiled, kissing him goodbye. It was 1.30pm as he headed off in his Lycra for his two-hour bike ride and I sat down to watch After Life. Then, just as I was expecting him back, at about 3.20pm, a police officer knocked at my door.

'Something has happened,' he explained. 'Andrew's been involved in an accident and he hasn't survived.'

I must have gone into shock because I could hear what he was saying but it wasn't sinking in. 'Can I get you a cup of tea?' I asked the officer, on autopilot. Gently leading me inside, he told me that Andrew had been hit by a car while cycling along the country roads, and had died straight away.