I didn’t see her again for a few days, but I was aware, sitting in my cell, of how the energy had shifted in our small block. New sounds, an extra set of footsteps, another person breathing and moving about. It was exciting, actually. So little ever changed around here. A few days later, I was taken into the yard and found Rhonda already there, standing quietly under the basketball ring with her arms folded. I looked back at the guard, who just shrugged – sometimes they wanted us to see each other, to make sure there’d be no clashes later on. The way you introduce a new pet into a house. I was suddenly shy – it was so long since I’d met anyone new, and in this capacity as convicted killer. I shuffled over, giving her space.

‘Hello.’

She looked at me steadily. ‘You’re the British girl.’ She had a soft Boston accent, the first time I’d heard one of those in real life.

‘Casey.’

‘The one who killed the family. The nanny.’

‘I . . . I didn’t kill them. I know everyone says that in here but – I really didn’t.’ I gave a stupid little laugh. ‘I don’t know why I still bother telling people that. No one ever believes me.’

She said, ‘I’ve been in prison for years now. I’m sure at least, what, ten per cent of convicts are innocent. More for black people.’

I was so surprised at her voice, how educated and clear it was. Everyone else I’d met in prison seemed, well, lower class, brought here by a terrible confluence of drugs and poverty and abusive men.

She saw my surprise and laughed. ‘You never met a black college professor before?’

‘Of course I have,’ I said heatedly. ‘I’ve just never met a professor in prison.’

She inclined her head, and I saw she was pleased with my response. ‘Not many of us around, that’s for sure.’

I glanced over at the guard, sure that I’d be pulled away at any second. This was the best conversation I’d had with anyone in all my time here. ‘So you believe me, that I didn’t do it?’

‘If you say so, honey.’

How I valued that ‘honey’. Tears filled my eyes at it, the simple kindness.

‘Thank you. Even if no one else ever will – it means a lot that just one person does. And you, what about you?’

I shouldn’t have asked the question. Her whole demeanour changed. ‘Didn’t anyone tell you not to ask that question in prison?’

I backed away a little. I should have known not to trust someone on Death Row, just because they called me honey.

‘I’m sorry. Really, I am. It’s just – everyone already knows what I supposedly did. It’s like I’m famous.’