I had been with my partner for six years when she announced, abruptly, that it was over. I remember she was crying. I was not: I was too stunned. It was as if, in the rulebook of how to end a relationship, she had torn out the last chapter.
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‘Get a lock on the bedroom door’: how to have a sex life when you've got children
As a feminist activist, I celebrated the public shaming of these men. As a black woman who has survived sexual violence, I quietly applauded the new narrative on rape and race in America that I saw unfolding. In the first weeks of MeToo, the celebrities accused of sexual assault were white men, not African-American men. Finally, media representation had caught up to reality.
My friend Miranda has accompanied me here for moral support. We scale a no-frills metal staircase at the end of an alleyway behind the high street, where a weary blond woman is ruling a domain of coats, cash and lists. She has a defeated manner, like the only sober person at a party when everyone is drunk. I have no idea why I decided to make myself look so dowdy.
