He has sent me a message – told me he’ll be in Derry for about six and asked can we meet at seven. We’ve agreed to meet at Starbucks in the Foyleside Shopping Centre, where it’s big enough for me to slip off anonymously into the crowds afterwards.

I’m packing up my things, planning to go home first and touch up my make-up (simply because I still look like an extra from Night of the Living Dead). I’ll change into my jeans, a jumper. My comfy boots. I’ll wrap up so that I look the opposite of alluring. I’ll be wary.

I’m just about to leave, when my mobile rings. I consider rejecting the call, but my nosiness gets the better of me and I dig it out of my bag to see Jamesy Harte’s name flash up on the screen. My stomach lurches. I answer, not saying his name. I don’t want to draw any attention to the fact I’m talking to him – certainly not at work, anyway.

‘Ingrid?’ he says, a panicked tone to his voice. ‘I’ve just seen the Doherty piece online. Saw the Facebook comments. Ingrid. People want to track me down, Ingrid. They want to kill me! Why did you write it? I thought you believed me!’ His panic has quickly given way to disappointment.

I walk quickly from the office to where no one can hear me. ‘I can’t control what people say online. You must know that,’ I say. ‘And this was always going to get people wound up. You couldn’t have expected different?’

‘I expected you to tell people you believed I was set up,’ he says, his voice cracking.

‘I’m not here to tell people what to think,’ I say, but I know that will sound like nothing more than a cop-out to him. ‘I present the evidence and people can draw their own conclusions from that.’

‘So, you’ll publish my side of this as well, then?’ he says, his voice hopeful.

‘In my book, yes,’ I tell him.

There is a deep sigh. ‘No. No, Ingrid. That won’t help. I might not be the sharpest tool in the box, but I know books don’t write themselves overnight. Those words … what he said … He wishes I’d rot in hell, Ingrid. But I didn’t do it … and I’m so tired of people thinking I did. I’m not a monster.’

‘Jamesy, I know this must be really tough. But at the moment we have to go with how things stand. And the court did find you guilty.’ I feel cruel uttering those words, but it is the truth. I can’t change that.