I began to shake under the water. I had come so close to death. I was alive, I was free. They had said in court I didn’t do this thing – I didn’t hold a pillow over Madison’s face, or cut Abby’s throat with a knife, or shoot David in the stomach. I was free, I had been ruled innocent. But I thought of those protesters outside the court, and I knew that, in the eyes of some people, I would always be guilty.

The next day, Jeremy and I had flown back to Britain. Landing in a drizzly Heathrow, dry-mouthed and sleepless from the economy flight, my eyes had filled with tears. I was home. I would never set foot in America again, I swore. Indeed, it would be some years before I felt able to go abroad at all.

We took the Tube to London Bridge and then a train out to Kent, where Jeremy lived by the sea. Everything was overwhelming to me, even the pressure of the air on my skin, the wind and the cold of England after years in the desert. I had assumed that people would stare at me, but they didn’t notice me at all. They were too busy going about their business, rushing to work. I was just a sallow-faced, tired young woman in a big hoody. I didn’t even have any luggage, just some free toiletries I’d taken from the hotel and my dress in a plastic bag. I wondered what had happened to my things from the Safran house, my books and clothes. The prison had held on to my passport, so I was able to leave right away when they gave it back.

I was home. My ordeal was over. I’d had multiple requests for interviews already, offering large sums of money. Jenna had passed them on to me, and seemed disappointed when I said no, even to the offer of fifty grand. I had promised myself I would never talk about what had happened. I wanted to burrow away like a mole. I wanted to be no one now.

I was surprised there were no reporters at Heathrow – Jeremy told me, pleased with himself, that he’d changed our flights at the last minute, with the help of the airline, and I was grateful for that. The press would be waiting for a later flight, and I would already be gone. I was so pleased I reached out and took his hand, and saw his eyes soften.

Oh dear. I would have to face up to this sooner or later, his love for me. Perhaps I could love him too. After all, he was the one who had got me off Death Row. He was the only one who seemed to care. Jenna had not come to meet me at the airport, saying it would only create publicity, and nor had she invited me to her new home in Hove.