Our guardian ANGLE

My husband Pete sat on the edge of our bed and let out a yawn.

‘I’m just so tired,’ he said.

Pete and I worked together in house clearances, so we were used to getting out and about.

‘Oh, come on,’ I joked. ‘Wipe that sleepy dust away and let’s get going.’

But Pete, 73, was more tired than usual. Exhausted.

‘I don’t feel like I’ve slept at all,’ he groaned at me.

That day, on 20 November last year, we attended a house clearance in Harlow, Essex.

We had a horse trailer outside that we loaded with things from the house.

Pete was loading bits of metal into the trailer and our friend Danny was carrying other things out.

I was in the living room of the house writing an email to