My sister lost her boyfriend, after nine years of a habit. He stopped loving her, even though she needed him – he walked away. I felt for him, what he did was tough and even though my thoughts are secret, I find him somewhat brave. I can’t run away, I am her sister, blood and so on and so ‘for better for worse’ nothing to do with marriage but kin. Here I am.

I go and see her every night after work. My sister, beautiful and successful, she lives in Chelsea in a gorgeous apartment – the envy of friends is palpable. She is only twenty-eight and it appears she has everything - a charmed life.

I have moved into a new flat – in Putney, with my best friend and her boyfriend. I have stayed there just once, every night I see my sister and hug her and hold her as she cries, as she speaks about our mother as she whispers words into my ears that send chills down my spine. Words that are reminiscent of another place and time that I have learnt –just recently – to contend with.

My mother is dead, voluntarily. She killed herself when I was ten. I don’t know why she did it, not exactly. She drank a lot but she had us and you would think that would suffice. We are not a silent family – her name is mentioned, but I don’t pressurise my dad, there are words he cannot say and he has moved on with his life. His new wife, she’s beautiful – not so much physically, but her personality shines and she is welcome in my world.

I lie in bed and hold my sister. She is thin, very much so. Her bones jut out, tears fall onto her pale face, I can feel her body shudder in the dark hours, I can feel the wet pillow, I say nothing – I just hold her. I am exhausted from speech.

At the bar I sit with my two best friends. I am free for a day – horrific are the thoughts that enter my mind, ‘free’. I drink my gin and tonic and explain my week and my worries. It feels good, they are attentive, they give advice and I listen though I know that I can’t take it on board, it feels good. I have to be there. I get drunk and its great.

I go back - the next week. I am sick with fear of what will happen, at work every call I make that is now answered instils in me fear, sick horrific fear. The worst filters through my mind. I get a call, she is sometimes strong, sometimes. Most times she is gulping, heaving, crying and I hear her – my mother – say words I shouldn’t have to listen to.