I thought we would be going home. Home to our house. Missy had other ideas. I found out on my wedding day that the mortgage had ‘fallen through’. I knew that look by now, a slight smirk to hide a lie. An amused expression, waiting for my response. Deep down I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t surprised that she wanted you with her and I wasn’t surprised when we left our wedding party and returned to her home and she had a room ready for us. Missy always got what she wanted and she wanted you. Then, when we had the kids, she wanted them. But not me.

So I learned from the best. Somewhere inside me I knew that everything I experienced, all Missy’s little tricks, would come in handy one day. The problem was that until now I hadn’t been able to deal with the accompanying feelings. I didn’t think I had it in me to face it out. Not like her.

Now things are different. I knew back then and I know now that she doesn’t hate me. She just doesn’t care about me. Missy doesn’t care about anyone except herself. Everything’s a battle to her and for years I felt sorry for her. It must have been exhausting. Even when she took Charlie and Laura and I’d recovered from the initial shock, I knew she would look after them.

It would be a challenge for her. She would make absolutely sure that everyone knew she was the best grandmother ever. She would put everything she had into it and they would receive the best care, and her best attempt at love. She wanted them, but they were also a means to an end and I was confident that when they got older I would have my chance to love them again. It’s what kept me going.

Now that time is here. If I can get it all to come together by Tuesday, to show that I am a good person, supporting other women, just fighting for my rights, then I have a real chance.

I drive a mile past the hotel and check Facebook on made-up Monica’s laptop. While it’s booting I assemble Frances’s phone. I post some more photos to her Facebook. People are linking it to Monica’s thread and tagging her. Five messages. I listen to the first one.

‘Fran. I’m getting worried now. Why’s the shop shut? Is it about that Facebook thing? Why did you post it? Where are you? Ring me back?’

Then: ‘Hi. This is a message for Frances Burrows. Please could you call DS Percy at Greater Manchester Police. As soon as possible.’