She knew, perhaps she had always known, and this knowledge had infused her marriage, it may even have shaped it — the lonely bed, the lavish affection, the single child. Leonard hadn’t changed, but with the Grim Reaper threatening from suburban streets, it was the world that had changed, and what had previously been hidden had been forced into the light.

Yet everything suddenly felt different. It was as if a sour, polluted air had been let in. She felt sick, and with each passing moment, she felt sicker. When she looked at the man driving the car, she was filled with rage; the shoulder beneath her hand had turned to slime. Everything had spoiled. She felt spoiled. It was immaterial that the taint had always been there; now that she acknowledged it, everything was different. And AIDS made it so much worse. What he did with his body, what dangers he exposed it to, was bad enough. But Andrew greeted his father with a hug and a kiss, and she sipped from Leonard’s glass, she handled his soiled clothes.

She pulled her hand from his shoulder and rubbed it against her thigh. Her husband was attracted to men, and he might have AIDS. It was hard to know which was worse. But even with her mind raging against him, she knew which was worse. She might well be angry and disgusted, she might well detest this aspect of Leonard, but she had always known.

AIDS, however, was quite another matter.

She unwound her window and leaned into the rushing wind. She imagined opening the door and leaping from the car, the scrape and tear of gravel, lying alone on the side of the road. She did not move. The wind thrashed her face, it battered her hair. At this particular moment, she hated her husband. Yet she had known all along who and what he was. But AIDS was new. AIDS was different.

She closed the window, wanting to be sure he would hear. She spoke slowly, each word a threat.

‘I hope you’ve been careful, Leonard.’

It was the Monday before Christmas, the factory was winding down, and Leonard was not at work. There were chores to be done at home. Nothing particularly urgent, rather, he hoped his mere presence would show Sylvie nothing had changed, that he was still the loving husband he’d always been. He couldn’t talk to her, not about these issues, so no reference had been made to the Grim Reaper billboard, or anything remotely related to it. Dinner with the Barkers had proceeded much as usual, but yesterday Sylvie had been quiet and withdrawn. The silence between them was now deep and dangerous. He tried to ignore it, to act normally, but nothing was normal anymore.

He was terrified she would leave him.