This is the Jack Carmichael who had that funeral. The one who liked Moby and The Mighty Boosh. He’s podgy, out of shape from too many cheap pizzas and kebabs after pound-a-pint night at his student’s union. He has a ponytail. Florrie is wearing a skirt over jeans. Both of them look pale and startled; maybe a harsh camera flash.

I don’t want to see this version of Jack.

Clicking on his name, his profile appears. Unlike his real life, his Facebook life remains active. Is this what happens now? We achieve immortality thanks to Mark Zuckerberg? Will we evolve into humans who no longer grieve, knowing the digital lives of our loved ones are available at our fingertips forever?

I click into his photos. The most recent photo he posted was – of course – the man sat in the shopping trolley. I can’t say I feel a sense of relief that I went to Bangkok, but there’s a satisfaction in what I know. I can’t play our game any more because I got the final answer. I just wish, somehow, I’d won.

What else is left unfinished?

The fridge … Our life … Slowly morphing into my life.

I plant my phone face down and wriggle out of my jumper dress and into bed. Once I’m cosy beneath the duvet, phone retrieved, I blink one eye open to open Justin’s message.

But naturally, I bury my head into the pillow and pass out.

36

You’re round the fucking bend babes xxx

At least Beth is back on text form. And she doesn’t approve of what I’m doing later tonight. She’d rather me double date with her new fella and his mate.

Pal, that’d be weird.

Unlike going out alone? xxx

I never have and never will go on a blind date.

He’s rich xxx

You date him then!

Nah way. My date is richer xxx

Beth, just be careful. Ok?

You too babes xxx

‘Who ya texting, Miss?’ Jonah Matthews asks. ‘Your boyfriend, Miss?’

I don’t answer, just slip my phone into my black jeans. It might be after school hours, but I’m still on duty and should be setting an example. It’s Si’s big night: We Will Croon You. Don’t get me started on the other titles he came up with before deciding on that one. Anyway, it’s in fine shape and the kids are pumped. Ish. I’ve set up a makeshift wardrobe department in a maths classroom, the one closest to the drama hall. Layla Birch is in the classroom next door to that making siren noises to warm up her voice.

Other than Beth, nobody knows where I’m going tonight after the show finishes.

You see, something came in the post for Jack. An opportunity.