It’s someone called Julia. I flick through Frances’s pictures and see that she likes a night out. Her with friends drinking champagne. Her in a restaurant with a different set of friends. Smiling. Her with her cat. Her beautiful house in the background. Probably the same house you and she took Charlie to.

I could text Julia. Tell her Franny has the flu. She’s in bed. When clearly she’ll be frantically trying to get rid of the crickets and the mice before environmental health swoop. Frantic Fran. I almost giggle, but then I remember the pain I felt when I saw her holding my baby son.

As predicted, the phone has a Facebook icon right on the front and I click on it. The app opens and suddenly I have access to all her photographs. As if I hadn’t tortured myself enough, I scroll through them and eventually come to the ones of you and Charlie. These are different from the ones in the journal. Those are self-conscious, the look of lovers trying to look their best, but these are more natural. Selfies. Big smiles. Then I find it. A video. I see your face frozen on the front of it with the ‘play’ white arrow urging me to press it.

I wait a second then I press it. It’s you, talking to the camera. Telling it that you are happy. Happy. And you’re not the only one. You turn the phone around to Frances and she’s there. Holding Charlie. She’s laughing, you’re laughing and then, Charlie is laughing. His beautiful baby chuckle rings out on the tram. I let it play. She’s tickling him and you’re tickling her. It’s a family scene, except she’s not family and I am.

It goes on and on and I have to stop it. I feel hysterical inside with the pain of my son in another woman’s arms, but I see myself in the tram window, calm and collected. I look back at the phone and I’m pressing the share button. I’m tagging you in it and writing ‘#notmybaby #notmyman’. I know this will fucking incriminate me even more but they would have to catch me with the phone to do that.

I take the battery and SIM card out of the phone and jump off at the next stop. I cross the tracks and jump on a tram back home. Adele tells me that never mind I’ll find someone like you and I fast forward to ‘Irreplaceable’ and think how right Beyoncé is. It’s dark now and I look around, ever aware of you following me. You must have. You couldn’t have known about my Premier Inn habit otherwise. I walk across the open ground beside the park and no one is following me. No one is around at all.