December 1982. We were standing in the hallway, the drafty hallway of this old ramshackle mansion, between the mucky wellies, bicycles, a cat asleep on an old chair. Our breaths steaming up the cold damp air. Carefully, L handed over this warm little bundle, my baby girl, wrapped up in colourful wool asleep and warm after spending the last two hours carried tightly against his chest. We both looked at this gorgeous small life and suddenly he started to cry.
No, L never cried, he was too angry, always, he quickly wiped away a few tears and shoved the latest issue of Gay News in my face. Read it, he shouted, they don't know what it is, but we are dying all over, gay men are dying, someone's trying to kill us!