Meanwhile, life went on beyond those prison walls. The Twin Towers had fallen, a war had begun, and it all felt as far away from me as another planet. My world had shrunk to this building, these unhappy women, my cell where cold food was pushed in on a plastic tray. I was on my own now, which I had thought would be better, but some days I didn’t see another human face from one end to the other, the guards simply opening the hatch in my door and shoving things in, walking away. I talked to Rhonda when I could, but our meetings were snatched moments of kindness in the blank despair of my life.

‘Who is it?’ I said.

The guard slammed my door with irritation.

‘How the hell should I know? Get your ass down there now before I write you up.’

I stood and held my hands behind my back so she could cuff me, as was regulation. I was used to the loss of circulation now.

I hadn’t been in the visiting area for over a year, since no one ever came to see me, and I looked around it with fresh eyes. It felt good to be anywhere other than my cell or the tiny exercise yard. In the early days I’d made efforts to keep fit, running in circles, preparing myself for the time when I’d be cleared and could resume my life again. But lately it was as if I’d given up. What was the point? I hadn’t gained any weight, though, because I barely ate. I hated the sickening slop they called food. My hair, once so glossy, had started to fall out. I knew from the little plastic mirror in the cell, which was welded down so I couldn’t break it and cut my wrists, that I looked like someone else. My skin was yellow, my teeth loose from poor nutrition. I looked like someone who’d lost all hope.

It took me a moment to place the man at the table they led me to. That surprised me too, that I wasn’t behind glass talking into a phone – apparently you didn’t always have to do it that way, it was just another lie from films and TV. Was he someone from my legal team who I didn’t know? A young man about my age, but large, tall and broad and slightly overweight, with messy brown hair and glasses. He wore a T-shirt with cartoon characters on and he was sweating like crazy. It was always too hot in the prison, but I was used to it now. He stood up when I came over.

‘Casey! Oh my God, it’s you. I’m sorry, they said I couldn’t hug you.’ He had a British accent.