I was on holiday in Spain rummaging through junk on a flea market stall when my phone rang. My sister J was calling with the news we had feared for years: that S had died. What made it worse was that our sister had taken her own life in her boyfriend’s flat in Newcastle. It was difficult for me to speak on the street, so I arranged to call J back later that day.

Unable to hide my grief, I turned to my travelling companion and passed on the tragic news. S lifted her head to stare straight back at me. ‘How can I be dead in England when I am here in Spain on holiday with you?’ she asked.