‘Oh right,’ I said, scrolling through BBC News, Sky News, Al Jazeera, Fox, CNN – the story hadn’t reached America yet but British news channels heaved with information from the diaries.

‘We attended mass with the rose petals,’ Caro continued. ‘I’ve only just realised why she wanted to meet us here. It’s where she told me she loved me.’

They listed all my victims, one after the other.

Pete McMahon. Dad. The guy in the canal. The Man in the Park. Julia Kidner, my childhood best friend. The Blue Van Rapists. Derek Scudd. Dean Bishopston – the poor, innocent taxi driver.

‘They drop them through the hole in the top, the oculus.’

‘Drop what?’ I snipped, looking up from my phone.

‘The rose petals. Thousands of red rose petals.’ Caro looked out across the square at the enormous grey monolith of the Pantheon. ‘The choir sang Veni Sancte Spiritus. And I wanted to kiss her. But we couldn’t do that of course. Instead she whispered it – she loved me. And I whispered it back.’

AJ Thompson, the father of my baby. The Fortune Teller. Lana Rowntree. Patrick Edward Fenton. Troy Shearer, who’d molested Marnie on our night out in Cardiff. Tim Prendergast, Marnie’s husband.

‘It’s overwhelming when someone you love says they love you back,’ said Caro. ‘It is the most wonderful thing.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It must be.’

There was mention of the men I’d catfished, men I’d lured to cutting flower symbols into their skin, men I’d blackmailed about their pervy videos to the point of suicide. How I’d planted evidence to frame Craig.

‘It colours your world differently when you are loved like that,’ said Caro. ‘Nothing else matters when you have something so rich and true in your life.’ She smiled at me, broadly and unapologetically.

‘I can only imagine,’ I said.

The area around the Pantheon crawled with police. Police in doorways. Milling among the crowds. Talking into CB radios. Brandishing guns. And it felt like each and every one of them was looking my way.

‘I’d never have let her go,’ I said. Caro sipped her piña colada, letting out a deep, lingering breath. ‘You’ll be loved like that someday.’

I clicked onto a fan forum that had already been set up in my honour. We Love Rhiannon Lewis. There were seventy-eight members already. Seventy-eight people all purporting to love me. Caro said something I didn’t catch.

‘Pardon?’

‘Pass me the menu.’ But before she could take it, she locked eyes with someone behind me. ‘Oh my word, there she is!’