In Sickness and in Health: I was a proud only child – but a prouder big sister

Last year, Rebecca's husband Nick was hit by a car and seriously injured. Here, in one of a series of columns, she writes about the aftermath of his accident

I'm still learning what it means to be a sister ( Clodagh Kilcoyne/Getty Images)

The night that my stepmother told me she was pregnant was one of the best evenings ever. She’d been nervous about telling me, as I was a card-carrying member of the only child club, and, at 18, had only just grown out of my terrible teenage truculence. She needn’t have worried - I was thrilled, and spent most of that night awake, eyes shining with tears, thrilled to my core at the thought of a sibling of my very own.

When Lucy made her appearance, born to the sound of Robbie Williams’ ‘Angels’, I became something that I never thought I’d be - a big sister. Over the months that followed I bathed her (and dropped her in the bath. Slippery things,babies), painted her hands and feet to make prints that now look impossibly small, and generally marvelled at this tiny warm creature who was related to me.

Two years after Lucy came Max. By this point, Lu was the blondest little girl you can imagine with big blue eyes. Next to her, I’m afraid to say, my box-fresh brother looked pink and crinkly. Thankfully, that didn’t last long. Soon it was his turn to have his hand- and footprints captured in poster paint and my turn to snuggle with another sibling who was occasionally sick on me. There’s a photo from around this time that shows me with Lucy and Max sitting on my lap. A couple of years ago we recreated it, with Max attempting to lie in the same position as he had as a baby, except that he was about four foot longer this time.

They’re both teenagers now. Clever, funny, argumentative, infuriating, wonderful people who are still teaching me about what it means to be a sister. They both had roles to play when Nick and I renewed our wedding vows recently. Lu, who is a great singer and dancer, asked me, in an off-hand way, if I’d like her to do a song as part of the ceremony. To say that I was keen, and touched, would be an understatement. On the day, she stood in front of 90-odd people, microphone in hand and amp behind her, and sang “Thinking Out Loud” by Ed Sheeran. I looked out at the crowd of family and friends and was overwhelmed with pride and love for my little sister. She was amazing and there wasn’t a dry eye in the place (when choosing the song, I’d kind of forgotten that it starts with “When your legs don't work like they used to before / And I can't sweep you off of your feet”). My dad is desperate to find a video of her performance, but even without one, it’s recorded for ever in my head.

Though Max is a ridiculously talented musician (he totally got that from his mother’s genes), his job didn’t involve playing his piano, bass guitar or even his mandolin. His job was to close the ceremony by bringing out a symbol of our love that I’d bought for Nick as a surprise. Some of our guests may have been surprised, too, as that symbol was an enormous Steiff tortoise. To add to the four we already own. Max fetched the creature with just the right mixture of delight and solemnity, and Nick was thrilled. Thanks to my both my brother and my sister, it was one of the best days ever.