I always wanted a little sister. One of my favourite pastimes
was listening to Felicity Kendall reading My Naughty Little
Sister from an increasingly scratched record as I dreamed
about the adventures my imaginary little sister and I would
go on. As my mum’s bump expanded, so did my excitement.
So when my little brother was born, I took matters into my
own hands. Far more photographic evidence exists than my
brother Sam cares to admit of the two of us in mum’s old
dresses and heels, clattering about in the garden. ‘Samantha’
was the ultimate play thing, I was a five-year-old drag mother
and our mum was definitely, definitely done with babies.
My oldest friend, Sally, had a little sister, whose birth
was a source of envy for me. At school I made friends with
Kate, who ended up with four sisters. In secondary school,
I buddied up with Phoebe. One of eight kids. Eight! I spent
so long at their house that her sisters became the closest
thing I’d get to having my own. From a place of just enough
distance, I watched fights break out, reluctant reconciliations
unfurl, and some really kick-ass parenting (eight!).
Spending the majority of my teenage years in an all-girls
school taught me more still. The manipulations, the fallings
out, the whispers. I didn’t like it, and sat on the periphery of
the ‘trendies’ (the cool kids), identifying more with the indie
crowd but kinda being friends with everyone. I hedged my
bets. It scared me a little – where was the foundation of love
and kinship? Later, at university, we played at being adults
with our handbags and our car keys, but we were still little
girls at heart. Still falling out, still manipulating, still on
power trips far more interesting to document than field trips.
It was only when I fell pregnant in my thirties that I really
found a team of women I could properly trust, in the form
of my antenatal group. Never have I felt more grateful to
be scooped up and taken under a big, comfortable, sisterly
wing. For a year, we pounded the pavements together, drank
bottomless coffees together, and counted down the days
until, one by one, we drifted back to work and away from
each other. One woman in particular stood out and stayed
close, though. I’d walked past Alice’s house countless times
on those pavement-pounding pushchair outings without
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