Killed for her kindness

Standing outside the Tube station, my eyes darted from person to person.

Any minute…

And then there she was, my sister’s beaming smile shining out.

‘Hiya!’ she called, arms outstretched to me.

Antoinette, then 51, never failed to lift my spirits.

It was January 2017, and every week she’d come from her home in Battersea, south London, to mine in Kilburn, north London.

We strolled, arm-in-arm, back to my flat, where me and Nan, as we all called her, chatted over endless cups of coffee.

I loved our time together, us two and our disabled