I show my mother Suzy Brambles’ feed. ‘Now, don’t whatever you do touch it. NO! You almost touched it. Do not touch the screen. Hold the phone at the edges. That’s it. Okay, now carefully.’

‘So delighted and excited to be at the launch of Brigitta’s new photography book!’ my mother reads from Suzy’s latest post. ‘No she’s not. She’s just saying that to look like a person who knows someone who’s having a book published – note the first-name terms, I bet she’s met her once – and is going out doing things. She’s lying.’

‘She is not lying,’ I say. ‘They’re great friends. They went to WerkHaus FarmHaus together a month ago. Suzy’s not a member, but she knows a lot of members. She’s never in the WerkHaus itself. That would be too much.’

‘It’s a pitch. She’s a hustler, darling. Is she over the age of twenty?’

‘She’s twenty-eight,’ I say. ‘Just. She celebrated in France. Look.’

I scroll back and show my mother the pictures from Suzy’s birthday celebrations in a petite gite near Dieppe. Quelle belle vue! The baguettes were to die for.

‘What better way to see in the last year of my twenties with wine, cheese, good company, and so much gratitude,’ my mother reads. ‘Hahahahahahahahhahahah!’

‘What’s funny about that?’

My mother selects another post. ‘Every time I read a French novel I think of what a marvellous job translators do and how important it is to acknowledge them … “Every time”! Know what she’s really saying there? I READ FRENCH NOVELS. Hahahahahah!’

‘You’re being very harsh! Stop phishing her!’

My mother looks at me. ‘All these posts, Jenny, are not actually about any of the things they say they’re about. They are all about her. She’s selling herself. And you’re buying it, darling. This is like when I used to take you to the theatre and you became fixated with individual actresses onstage, a different one every time. You’d stare at them during the applause, trying to catch their eye.’

‘Did you touch that, then? Did you tap it as you made that insulting point?’

‘No!’

‘You did. You double tapped it. Oh my god.’

I look at the heart. It has gone from empty to full. It is bright red. I have liked an old picture of Suzy’s, and now she will know. She will know I have been looking back through her profile. Like a weirdsome loser creep worm.

‘You liked it you liked it you liked it you liked it you liked it.’ My head is in one hand. I am rocking slowly on the chair.

‘What’s the big deal?’

‘WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?’

‘She won’t know it was you.’