Like so many sisters who shared bedrooms growing up, Clare and I had a lot of fun. We loved to put Kylie or Bananarama on the cassette player and I enjoyed plaiting her hair and trying my new lip gloss and eyeshadows out on her. But my favourite thing was our nightly routine.
When our parents had said goodnight, I’d climb down from my top bunk into her bottom one and snuggle in close.
I’d relish the comfort of her warm skin next to mine and the feeling of her heart beating as I whispered to her about whatever was on my mind — a girl at school who’d been mean to me, a boy I had a crush on, or the happenings in the Aussie soap Neighbours. Clare would listen intently, hold my gaze and smile.
What she never did was reply. Clare, 18 months my junior, has a condition called Rett…
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