I love my younger sister, in a Noel and Liam Gallagher kind of way. We’ve always tried to out do each other in terms of looks, achievements and lipstick. There is a five-year age gap between us, but we’ve always been very close. Although we had our own bedrooms growing up, we’d sleep in the same bed, eat from the same plate, think the same way, but we drew the line at sharing knickers.
Having three brothers drew us closer. There was nothing I couldn’t tell her: she knew the location of all my in-growing hairs. There are few people who can be truly honest with me, and I know they’re not doing it to be vicious but out of love. My sister is one them. She’ll be the one to tell me that my moustache needs doing or that I’m too fat for Lycra. But there can be terrible jealousy between us, too, and we recently fell out.
She stored some of her belongings (TV, quilt, washing powder) in my shed before moving to New York a few months ago. The night before she left, instead of coming to collect them and say goodbye in person, she sent a cab to pick up her stuff. I was annoyed. Ithought it disrespectful and selfish.
I got an email from her three weeks later: “Hi sis, when are you coming to stay?” I didn’t reply.
She sent another, saying her life is much better without me and I am nothing but trouble.
We fall out over such trivia, but the next time we meet, it’ll be as if nothing has happened. She’ll hug me and say, “Hi,Shaz, your acne’s gone!”