Swiping pink eye shadow across my lids, my best friend Hanna, then 12, stood back to admire her work.
‘They’re just jealous,’ she said, slicking some lippy on my lips.
My uncle Junior married Hanna’s mum Deedee back when I was 8 and she was 6.
We’d been best mates ever since.
Lived next door to each other, and were so alike we were like sisters.
We spent loads of time at our grandparents’, pigging out on junk food – fried chicken, chips and sweets were our favourites.
It was more expensive to eat healthily.
But while Hanna was a little on the larger size,
