McLean was asked by her comrades if she had ever noticed anything untoward during her time with Carlo. “Now, every moment is steeped in suspicion, every glance and word lit differently. But I know that they are asking themselves the same question. They want to know how come we didn’t all spot it.”

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She describes the long, difficult campaign to force the Met to acknowledge what happened and begin to make reparations. “It crosses my mind that the process of holding the police to account is designed to be as painful as possible. First, they invade your body, then your mind, and finally your entire life. Then years later, when you uncover the truth, they do it all over again. Violation after violation.”

A grim irony of the whole experience for McLean was the requirement for her to adopt a pseudonym to take part in court proceedings and give interviews to the media. Eventually, when the truth of her story had been established, McLean was free to speak in her own voice.

“Lying to people daily was exhausting and unhealthy,” she writes. “I am no longer split between two worlds. It was hard work, like carrying a rucksack full of unwanted rubbish you have accumulated over the years. It needed to be dumped. I did not want a false identity. This double life was forced on me by Carlo’s deception. I am unashamed and I can stand in my own truth.”