Husband. I couldn’t get used to that. When my trial had ended, and they’d said those unbelievable, astonishing words – Ms Adams, you are free to go – Jeremy had been the only one there, waiting for me. Apart from the Innocence Project lawyers, of course, who had been amazing and hugged me tight, but they had a load of other cases, all the thousands of other innocent people still in prison. But there was Jeremy, waiting among the scrum of reporters screaming my name, the protesters with their Murderer signs, Ruth Safran, who looked at me as if she wanted to kill me. For a second, the crowd had pushed me right up against her, and she spat at me – she actually spat, this mannered Southern woman. It landed on my face, slid down my cheek. I flinched. My arms weren’t free to wipe it away. I was still being held by a guard, this time for my own protection, probably. Then there he was: kind, sweaty, bumbling Jeremy, who had wrought this miracle for me.

‘You’re free!’ He seized me in a big, damp hug. ‘Casey, you did it! You’re out!’

I was struggling to breathe. I had hardly let myself believe this would happen, and yet I was free. My brain was trying to catch up. I wouldn’t go back to my cell? What would happen to my things, the books I had collected, my toothbrush and hard-protected toiletries? I had worked for two weeks to buy that shampoo, a generic brand no better than Fairy Liquid. I hadn’t said goodbye to the women, Paola and the rest, who were still stuck behind bars. I almost gasped as I thought of them, a kind of strange survivor’s guilt.

‘I can go?’

I had been escorted out of the courtroom, but already it was different. No handcuffs. I was wearing my sweaty court dress, the only non-skimpy outfit I had. The same one I’d worn for my nanny interview, ironically.

Jeremy had his arm around me, so I could smell his body.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘You’re overwhelmed. Come on, I have a hotel booked for us.’

And that was it. I walked out of the court, through the lobby, and into the fresh air. I was gasping, the vast expanse of the sky above and freedom all around me. Jeremy was there to whisk me away from the media scrum.

He never pushed things. We had one hotel room, because he wasn’t well off, but it was a twin. I almost couldn’t believe it when we got there and the door shut behind us. No guards, no cameras. Part of me wished, selfishly, I could be totally alone to take in the moment. He was busting with excitement.

‘What do you want to do? We could go out for dinner, watch a film . . .’