Zipping around the sun-soaked roads of Denpasar, Bali, on a moped, I clung to the waist of my sister Vicki.
“Watch out,” I cried, as pedestrians meandered onto the road.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” she chuckled.
Vicki, 46, moved to Bali in 2014, where she became a mentor in an alcohol and drug rehab centre.
I’d remained on the Gold Coast, Qld, where we’d grown up, working as a children’s entertainer, and living with my partner.
My sister was funny and generous and I missed her like crazy, so a year after she’d moved, I went to visit her.
She knew all the best beaches and off-thebeaten-track restaurants. After that, I’d visit her every couple of years. Then in July 2021, Vicki texted with terrible news.
She’d been diagnosed…