‘Some more have been posted. Of your sister. And a video of another woman.’ I’ve never been good at acting. But I summon up the horror I felt when I first saw Paula’s pussycat face pouting at Jack. Katy puts her arm around me.

‘He slept with my sister?’ I rush over to my own laptop, which has been dormant since I was last here. I make a show of switching it on and logging onto Facebook with my password. I load the history. ‘Here. You can look. I haven’t even been on Facebook.’ We all sit there in front of the laptop in silence. I push it as far as I can. ‘So where is it, then? Where is it?’

DS Percy leans forward and finds Monica’s profile. All the photographs load, with Paula’s at the bottom. It’s a complete triumph. He’s there, in all his #cheatingbastard glory. Katy is horrified.

‘Oh my God. I’d only seen the other page. The one with the hashtags. I hadn’t seen this. Bloody hell.’ She looks more closely. ‘Are there any of me?’

I want to tell her that I spared her because she came clean, but I don’t. I let DS Percy scroll up and down through the women. She’s seen the journal so she knows exactly what he recorded about Katy. While she scrolls and Katy and DC Lincoln watch mesmerised, I wonder who this stalker guy is.

From time to time something happens that makes me wonder if I really am mad. If he was right and I’m just deluded. Like when he left. I was sure that it was just a blip. That he would call me and tell me that he was sorry and that it had all been a mistake. When he didn’t, I knew that I had seriously misjudged what was going on. That I was completely wrong.

Now I realise that I was more wrong than I thought I was. He left me long before we Officially split. I’m fairly sure that we were still together when we married, but even that is hazy now. I can’t be sure that he wasn’t seeing someone for the whole of our relationship.

He left me almost as soon as we got together. We probably never even made it past the three-month honeymoon period – he was ogling Paula Pussycat well before that. Even before Christine fucking Dearden and the Chanel incident, he was distracted. I told myself that it was OK to look but not to touch. That all men look at women, but he had chosen me. I suppose he had really. Chosen me to be his mug.