‘I’m not one for writing. Not much. Not like you, Ingrid. You’ve a gift for it. I get muddled up too easily. They told me in prison, you know, they told me I’ve dyslexia.’ He breaks the word down into syllables. ‘Die-slex-ee-ah.’ As if it required herculean effort to remember it and say it correctly. ‘We spoke on the phone. Sometimes. But it upset her, ye know. And then that would upset me – and there’s no lonelier place in the world to be than back in your cell worrying about someone outside being in bits over you.’

‘Did she stand by you? Believe you?’

‘That I didn’t do it? Honestly? I don’t know. She said she believed me, but she would ask, you know. The odd time. Ask if I had anything to get off my conscience. If I wanted to go to confession. I never liked confession,’ he said, his eyes focusing on mine. A dull grey matching his pallor. ‘Too claustrophobic. Too small and too dark – those confessionals. Felt like climbing into a coffin.’ He shudders. ‘I don’t like small spaces. I never did. I like to be outside.’

He pauses and I don’t speak, waiting for him to collect his thoughts and continue.

‘Anyway, there was a part of her that must have thought I did it. Or else she wouldn’t have kept asking.’ The sadness radiates from him.

‘Sometimes I wondered if I lied and told her it was me, after all, if I went to confession and lied to the priest, too, it would’ve been easier. She’d have found it in her heart to forgive me if she thought God had forgiven me. And sure, I could always confess then tell the priest I’d also sinned by lying. I’d get round it that way.’

He shrugs, wraps his hands around his mug of tea and looks out of the window. His logic makes me sad to my very core.

‘Why now?’ I ask him and he looks back at me, confused. ‘You’re declaring your innocence now. Why?’

‘I always said I didn’t do it,’ he said. ‘But I’m tired of people believing I did. I thought, maybe, it would be easier when I got out. Well, I’m out eight years and it’s no easier. I’m tired of hiding and being scared. I’m tired of taking the blame for it. This anniversary – it made me think and then I was contacted by that human rights group. They had heard about my case. Looked into it. Said there were problems with the conviction.’

‘What problems?’ I raise one eyebrow.