He found Frankie’s nephew, who was also unconscious and being treated. “He had blood coming from the back of his head and he just looked lifeless and really pale.” Buckley spotted her youngest son, who had also been in the car, in the arms of a member of the public, miraculously unharmed. “As soon as he saw me he put his arms out and I just held him.”

He later learnt Iqbal was sitting just yards away from him in a police car, having attempted to play down what happened to officers at the scene. “He was trying to make out like he’d done nothing wrong,” says Buckley, speaking in his lawyer’s office in Manchester, where he is now fighting to have Iqbal’s sentence extended.

It would be days before Frankie’s family discovered the truth: that the collision which killed their beloved daughter, mother, partner, was all for the sake of “likes” on social media.

Frankie was airlifted to Preston, the boys to Manchester Royal Infirmary. The family were “torn”, says Buckley. “Do they stay with Frankie who might be about to pass, or do they stay with the boys?” They split themselves between three bedsides.

Doctors soon told Buckley and Frankie’s dad, Frank, that there was little hope. Her injuries were so severe, even if she did come round, she wouldn’t “have any capacity”. She could die “at any moment”.

Buckley had known Frankie since they were teenagers – he was in the year above her at school. The couple reconnected online during the pandemic. At the time, Frankie had her own business selling healing boxes. Buckley ordered one and was pleasantly surprised when she hand-delivered it. “There was chemistry, a spark between us.”

It wasn’t long before they were together. Something about it “felt right”. Buckley, a youth worker, cares for his teenage nephew, and Frankie had her boys, but they soon knew they wanted to blend their families and have another child. 

“What people don’t realise is, it’s not just the loss of the life,” says Buckley, “it’s the loss of everything I’ve been planning, my future ambitions – they’re all gone.”

For two days, Buckley sat vigil, holding Frankie’s hand, watching the clock. “They told us it could be half an hour but then [the] hours are passing. We’ve gone from teatime to midnight to two in the morning, three in the morning. She was still there.” Doctors said they would give it 72 hours “to basically see if a miracle happens”, then they would turn off her life-support machine.