5 January 1981, Huddersfield

New year hang-over suddenly lifts. All the way from the kiosk where I buy Polos to slithering into the office lift, everyone today wears a jittery ‘dare we?’ smile. No one talks about the weather. Only the same three words are spoken by us all, with the nervous glee of teenagers whispering their first ‘I love you.’ But our three words are, ‘They’ve got him!’

The accounts guy from Sheffield who smokes too much, brags about ‘super-efficient South Yorkshire police.’ We laugh because it was all on a technicality, license plates or something. We don’t care. ‘They’ve got him!’

And between women everywhere there slips in a secret smile, subtle as the Mona Lisa’s, not jittery but a ‘we dare’ smile. A smile of safety and defiance. We have come through six years of shuddering in the shadows, being stalked and hunted. Now we are wild animals, reclaiming our night.