I felt a flare of anger in me too, but had no words to express it. Aly did, though.

'It's people like that who should think about what they say. Nothing people do these days is natural! Is it natural for a man and woman to use a condom when they fuck, to stop her getting pregnant? No, not really, but no one except the Catholics has a problem with that. That's sensible. Is factory fanning natural? How about wearing clothes, talking on the phone, eating processed food? None of it's natural, but that's all fine. Yet somehow who I want to share my bed with is some sort of issue for debate? It's more bloody natural than most things people do every day! When are people just going to get over it?'

I felt her rage, and knew now that the issues that enraged her were things I would have to confront as well. Though it was hardly an encouraging realization, at the same time the way it united me with Aly gave me a stronger resolve than I would have anticipated. I wanted to be positive for both of us. 'Some people understand,' I said, hoping for myself that I was right, 'and most people that don't, still accept it, don't they? I think the world is changing.' I hoped I didn't sound too blithe or dismissive about something I was only now beginning to understand.

'But is it fast enough?' she demanded. As though my words had slightly surprised her, she was calmer now. 'There're still people that sound taken aback when they call for a photographer called Aly and find that I'm a woman, and not a bloke named Alistair or Alexander. Can you believe that? Because obviously pointing a camera is something only a man can do. People have such narrow minds, and I don't know what the chances are of them changing anytime soon.'

'Neither do I,' I replied, knowing there was no real way to reassure her. She had lived through the reality of the things she spoke of, while I'd shied away from them. I looked at her tired face and I saw that through her anger there was also vulnerability. She had chosen to dress how she pleased and desire who she pleased, and everything about her attitude said screw what everyone else thinks. Yet there was a part of her that still struggled with the lack of acceptance, did not understand why everything she did had to be so much of a statement. This sudden vision of her, underneath the surface, drew me to her further and made me want to be strong for her. I didn't want her to have to fight. I didn't want to have to fight either; it was something I'd never contemplated before. But if there was a struggle to be taken on, then I was glad she was by my side. I wanted to reassure her in the same way as her mere presence, the press of her hand in mine, made me feel better. I thought for a moment, searching for words to make her happier and to convey to her how I was feeling, 'You know, I don't care who hates me for it, I'm so glad you rattled your bucket in my face the other night,' I said, with a certainty that came from my very core. She had been staring straight ahead but now her eyes turned to examine my face. I managed a slight smile. T mean it. I can't say I'm going to be any good at all of this, and you know I'm scared, but I'm not going to let it stop me being who I am. I've done that for so fucking long, Aly, I'm tired of it.'

She reached out her hand and stroked my face. ‘I'm so glad,' she said softly.

'You know you set me free, don't you?' I said, tiredness and anxiety making me emotional and more forthright than I would have been in a more rational moment.

'No I didn't, babe. You were already free, you just didn't know it.' She pulled me closer, into her arms, and held me tight. It was hard to believe there was any danger in the world while my body was pressed to hers and her arms surrounded me.

'Okay, you made me understand it,' I said, 'and I'll be damned if I'm going back on it because of some idiot that feels the need to break bloody flowerpots and windows to make his point!'

It was as though the hatred I had seen today, added to the need to reassure her, had consolidated my certainty. For a while it was enough to make me feel more optimistic, and I sensed that Aly, leaning her head against mine, began to relax and abandon her anger finally.

Whatever we said, though, the paint was still on the door, and the flowerpots were smashed on the ground. Someone knew where we lived. It was enough to banish any chance of sleep.