Looking back, everybody remembered different things about her. To my mum, she had been an angel, (a definite case of amnesia there). Dad would only ever refer to her as his little girl. I was never sure where I was in his affections after her untimely death.

As time passed, she became more and more godlike in my parents’ eyes, placed on a pedestal and worshipped by all, well maybe not quite everyone. My Aunty Betty remembered her wild ways, the problems she brought onto the family, but anytime she mentioned past events, Mum would quickly change the subject.

I remember laying in bed listening to the arguments, my sister screaming and slamming doors, my parents raised voices.  The same weekly standoffs about what time she had to be home, the company she was keeping, and the way she behaved. Nothing they ever said made any difference. She just did what she wanted. Back then, my sister was the black sheep of the family and was very proud of it. When Christine was bored, she would go out of her way to cause trouble. It always resulted in her gaining the attention she wanted. I just kept out of her way as much as possible, life was much easier like that.