I’ve been avoiding social media, knowing I’d lose days trawling through Jack’s online life, specifically his life before me. He was more of a Twitter user, really, following the football, his fave comedians, a few prolific scientists and activists. Personally, I use Instagram. My settings are private and my name is an alias because I’m a teacher. I nose often and rarely post. But I had to find out about the funeral – I had to go there – and wow, there’s nothing like a Facebook page to hammer home a tragedy, is there? Jack’s profile was plastered with tributes: lyrics to songs, emojis of broken hearts, photographs – some recent, many old, going back to his uni days and beyond, that moonfaced blur of retro snaps retaken on a smart phone – and – thank God – the details about his funeral, posted by his older brother, Alex.

But there was nothing from me.

And of course. I never digitally professed my love, and so neither have I declared how his death has shattered my world. There isn’t a single photo of us together posted. Not a mention of my name within the long lists of those tagged, those who will remain in people’s thoughts and prayers during this sad, sad time. Everybody on the list is a stranger to me, other than Patricia Carmichael and John Carmichael and Freddie Carmichael, Jack’s younger brother who I met briefly at a pub a couple of months ago. I never got the chance to meet his older brother, Alex, a tech whizz who lives in Seattle with his wife and kids. I recognised the name Ross Robson, the comedian we were supposed to go and see in Greenwich the evening I found out Jack died. I don’t know him, though.

And this is why I didn’t want to expose myself to Facebook.

This.

As I scrolled through every public message to Jack, I found her. Florrie.

Florrie Ellen Tewkesbury. I mean, it’s hard not to ignore a name like that, eh?

We strive to find great love in life. Jack Carmichael, thank you for being my friend, my stormtrooper, my bud. Thank you for being one of my life’s great loves. Heaven celebrates what we commiserate. Boogie on up there and we’ll catch up again one fine day. I knows it. You know I knows it. You knows it. Haha xxx

Stormtrooper??

I had to click on her profile. (Wouldn’t you?!)

Her privacy settings are tight but her profile pic told me enough. Sipping an oversized cup of hot chocolate loaded with floating marshmallows, her pinky out; a severe eyeliner flick; cherry-red dyed hair. I hated that I was peeking, presuming, imagining them together.

‘So don’t look,’ is what Jack would’ve said. ‘Simple.’