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could be more anonymous. I disliked drawing attention to myself and in retrospect I think that was one of my main assets for Ian. I was there as an accessory, with little danger of ever outshining him! I enjoyed the attention I thought he was giving me, genuinely believing that he knew best. I stopped wearing make-up because he said I looked better without it and tried not to displease him by going anywhere without him. ‘We’ll get married‚’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about a job. I’m going to make so much money you’ll never need to work.’
    I passed seven O levels and looked at the local college of further education, intending to take my A levels there, but Ian seemed distressed at the idea of me having even more opportunity to mix with men. He balked when he realized that I wore a short skirt rather than jeans to look around the college and insisted that should I enrol at the college, I would not wear make-up. His anger frightened me, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. I told myself that he would change when he felt more secure in our relationship. Indeed, it was hard to reconcile Ian’s attitude towards me when other men were around and his attitude when we were alone. He liked to take me on long, rambling country walks. The solitude and the silence seemed tomake him happy and he was never more charming and loving than on these occasions.
    I’m not sure Ian himself knew why he would suddenly become so angry. He seemed to have a great deal of hate inside that was always directed at those closest to him. In the autumn of 1973 we went to a Lou Reed concert at the Empire Theatre, Liverpool. My parents kindly offered to drive us there and visit relatives while we went to the gig. We had to leave Macclesfield quite early, so when they picked me up from my photography class at college, Ian was in the car. The familiar pout and glower were already in place. When he surreptitiously showed me the quarter-bottle of gin in his pocket, I realized that he was well on his way to oblivion.
    Immediately on entering the theatre, he began to drag me around by the hand as if searching for something. The last place he pulled me into was a vast, white, bright room full of men, who turned around and shouted at me. I couldn’t believe that Ian had actually taken me into the gent’s toilet, but he decided that it was all my fault and turned on me. I still didn’t understand why he had drunk so much in the first place, but I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy the performance. By the time we found our seats I was crying, my head ached with the tension and I began to feel nauseous. A man in the row behind could hear Ian’s seething remonstrations and offered me some painkillers. Ian tried to prevent me from accepting, but I took them anyway and had to suck the pills because I couldn’t swallow.
    I had a Saturday job in a lingerie shop in Macclesfield and in the evening I would take the train to Manchester and meet Ian at Rare Records in Manchester city centre. The Rare Records job was incredibly important to Ian. He swotted for the interview by reading all his back copies of the music press and was thrilled when he was offered the job in the pop department in the basement. Ian allowed me to use the train to Manchester because he wanted me to be there as soon as possible, but he insisted that I make the journey home on the bus because itwas cheaper. It was also twice as long and very cold.
    Yet in some ways Ian could be very soft hearted. He was alwayshungry and forever buying greasy food from dirty-looking street traders. One balmy evening we were walking through Albert Square in Manchester. There were hyacinths in the window boxes of the town hall and the scent was overpowering. Ian took one bite out of his hot beef pie before spotting a lone tramp huddled on one of the benches. Barely able to chew the piece in his mouth, he went over and handed the pie to the tramp.
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    After only three months of my A level course, Ian