Seeing my little sister Mary, then aged 30, in her big white dress, I couldn’t believe she was married. I still thought of her as being five years old, following me around wherever I went.
We were born in Athens, Greece, and with just 22 months between us, we’d been close as children, laughing and playing in the sunshine, eating ice cream and swimming in the sea.
As her big sister, my parents always made me feel responsible for looking after Mary. ‘You set a good example for your sister,’ our mum would say. I was always the ‘perfect child’, the one in charge of our pocket money, telling Mary what she was allowed
