The sisters who helped each other through breast cancer 

That was until Amy learnt that her sister, Kate Evans, also had breast cancer. That was a blow. “I just felt so much guilt. I had no idea what to talk to do, I just cried for hours,” she says. “I had just entered a stronger, more positive phase with my own illness, but you still wouldn’t wish the disease on anybody else. I didn’t know how Kate felt inside.”

But 45-year-old Kate is thankful, because she believes that she only discovered her own 5cm cancerous lump after lying in bed awake at 2am, thinking about her sister.

“I had never checked my breasts before,” explains Kate. “If Amy had not been diagnosed, I would never have found my lump and I wouldn’t be here today.”

The pair, both from Bath, led relatively separate lives before the discovery. Amy is single and lives with a friend and four pet cats, whereas Kate has four children – Jessica, 19, Ben, 18, Lucy, 12, and Emily, seven.

“They already knew about Amy, so they knew the signs,” Kate says of breaking the news to her family. “I sat them down and told the two youngest first. Emily asked 'Are you going to die?’ and, after I said no, she replied: 'Oh, that’s OK then’ and carried on drawing,” Kate laughs briefly, before her face turns serious again. “My older children were more upset about it, because they know what cancer can do.”

That Christmas was tough for both sisters. Amy was undergoing chemotherapy and “could barely touch the dinner”, and Kate was waiting for her prognosis on December 29.

“I can’t remember Christmas that much,” she says. “It was a quiet and enjoyable but nervous time, spent with my loved ones. Everybody was celebrating, being jolly and having a nice time, but it was hard watching them getting on with life when yours could be over.”

When Christmas was followed by several high-profile celebrity deaths in January – including Sir Terry Wogan, David Bowie and Alan Rickman – the sisters’ mood plummeted.

“They were just dropping like flies and they weren’t particularly old,” Kate says. “I remember thinking, am I  going to be here to see my daughter’s seventh birthday? Is this going to be my last Christmas? I felt guilty for not celebrating, I felt that I should be going out with a bang.”

Kate began her treatment shortly after new year, four weeks behind her sister. Both had six rounds of chemo, followed by radiotherapy and surgery: they even had the same surgeon. Did the doctors compare them?

“They like to deal with you separately, because you both respond differently and we had slightly different types of cancer,” says Kate. “They never overstepped the mark.”

The pair admit, however, that their parents, father Michael and mother Marion, were less understanding.

“My dad always used to come and see me in bed and say 'Well, Amy felt better by now…’, and I felt like I had to catch up,” Kate says, recounting how she used to spend up to 10 days “completely floored” in bed. “It was a constant comparison, an unnecessary nuisance.”

“It was just frustrating,” Amy interjects. “The comparison just wasn’t helpful, because we are different people and I’m nine years younger.”

Incredibly, their cancers aren’t genetically linked but, because of the coincidental nature of the diagnoses, their middle sister Leisha, 43, now has to have yearly mammograms to monitor her health.

“It must be awful being the sister who doesn’t have it,” Kate says. “She’s the one who has to hold us both up, supporting us, while living in constant fear that it will happen to her.”

Kate and Amy also feel these fears, but only voice them to each other.

“You just stay positive for everybody,” Kate says. “I worry all the time that my cancer might come back and I speak of all my worries to Amy – ones I cannot tell the rest of the family, or anybody else.

“I remember waking up one Monday night and thinking, 'This is it, I am going to die.’ I was convinced my children would find me lying in bed in the morning dead,” Kate says, as Amy interrupts: “I had one moment like that when I fell asleep and nobody had checked on me. I felt so ill and scared that I was going to die – I would just message or call Kate whenever I felt like that.”

This bond defines their journey, Amy would tell Kate how she felt at each stage of the process, so her sister would feel prepared when it was her turn.

“It was quite reassuring to have somebody,” Kate says. “Had I not had Amy as a point of reference, I would have been constantly in hospital, asking if it was normal. You have no idea what chemo is going to do to you.”

Amy’s own chemotherapy hit her hard, but just as traumatic was the process of losing her hair, as her colourful locks formed a core part of her identity. Now, Amy’s hair has grown back and is dyed bright turquoise, but she describes clawing at clumps of her red hair in bed, then losing her eyebrows and eyelashes.

“Losing my hair was horrific. You go from looking like yourself to looking like a cancer patient, especially after the eyelashes are gone,” she adds.

Kate managed the loss better, but admits she was afraid to leave the house without her wig.

“I felt more comfortable going out with Amy than going out on my own,” she says. “People would always stare at us with a sympathetic look.”

Now Amy argues that she stands out more for her double mastectomy. Kate had only one breast removed, but doctors were unsure if a lump on Amy’s other breast was cancerous, so she opted for both.

“A lot of people thought it was strange that I was electing to have them both off. They asked me if I thought I would be less of a woman,” she says. “But it doesn’t define me.”

When the cells in the other breast were found to be cancerous, Amy says she “was pretty happy” with her decision.

That optimism is clear throughout both of their tales, but did they ever worry that only one of them would survive?

“I was worried at one point that Kate wouldn’t make it and I would,” Amy confesses. “If I could have done it for her, I would have done it twice.”

Kate and Amy are supporting Cancer Research UK’s 'Right Now’ campaign: cruk.org