”Eve was the best bits of both of us”
actress meg Lyons, 25, from Corby, northamptonshire, and her sister Beth, 22, had an incredible bond with their little sister. though Eve lost her life to cancer aged only 11, she lives on in their hearts
Everything in my bag came tumbling out as I turned it upside down on the doorstep – purse, make-up bag, hairbrush. But no keys.
It was a beautiful day in July 2015 and as I sat on the doorstep waiting for my housemate Danny to come home, my phone rang. It was Dad. He’d be calling about Eve, my nine-year-old sister. She was the baby of the family, but so grown-up in many ways.
I remember the day our parents, Suzanne and Tom, told us they were expecting another baby. I was 13 and my sister Beth was 10. We shared a room and Beth was always asking for her own. When we found out,
Beth grumbled, “I won’t be getting my own room then.” But she was joking. The truth was we were both so excited we’d soon have a little sister.
I remember Eve’s first steps, her first word, her first pair of shoes. I’d pick her up from school in my car – she thought that was brilliant. She loved all the things little girls did, but because she grew up with older sisters, she was really mature. At three, she had a sarcastic sense of humour, which was hilarious. She was amazing – funny and clever and smiling all the time.
I left my home in the village of Stanion, near Corby, Northants, in 2014 to go to drama school in Guildford, Surrey. But we were all so close and spoke on the phone nearly every day.
In the summer of 2015, my mum called to tell me Eve had hurt her hip at her school sports day and was in a lot of pain. A couple of days later I called my mum and heard
Eve screaming in the background.
“Mum, get her to A&E now,” I said.
“We’re going,” she replied.
That night I said to my friend Honor, “This isn’t just a sprain.” She told me not to be silly, but I had a horrible feeling.
Eve spent the night in Kettering General Hospital having blood tests and scans and
was blue-lighted to Leicester Royal Infirmary in the morning. Mum and Dad promised to call as soon as they had news.
My phone rang as I waited for my housemate Danny to come home on that sunny afternoon in July.
“Meg,” my dad said, “I need to tell you something.”
I stopped him. “Eve’s got cancer, hasn’t she?” I said.
He confirmed my fears. It was bone cancer and already very advanced – stage four.
I don’t know how I knew. I just thought she couldn’t be in that much pain from something simple.
You know when people say, “My heart is broken”? I felt like someone had snapped mine into pieces. I had to hang up.
Honor and Danny rushed over and I cried and cried.
“They’re going to treat her,” Honor said. “They wouldn’t do that if there was no hope.”
Dad came to get me and that night we stayed in the house together while Mum and Beth were with Eve. I walked into Eve’s room and picked up the doll sitting on her pillow and ran my fingers over the children’s books on her shelf.
“If she goes,” I thought. “What are we going to do?”
All of us were around Eve’s bed to hear the doctor break the news. “Don’t cry,” I told myself. “Don’t let her see you’re afraid.”
He knelt down beside her and said, “You’ve got little bugs in your hip, Eve. We call it cancer, but don’t worry. We’re going to do something to get rid of it.”
“Who, me? Cancer?” Eve replied. “Well that’s OK. Let’s do this then.”
amazing maturity
We were so emotional, but she handled it with amazing maturity. It made us all go, “God, if she’s like this, then bloody hell, we’d better be.”
Eve’s treatment started a week after her diagnosis. Her cancer, Ewing’s sarcoma, was rare and under-researched, so the doctors tried one chemotherapy drug after another to see which one worked.
By that time, Beth and I were both in America – Beth was on holiday in Orlando and I was in Los Angeles, where I’d won a place on a three-week course at the prestigious Lee Strasberg Theatre & Film Institute. We didn’t want to go, but Mum and Dad insisted.
I tried to enjoy myself, but the course was hard. Beth later told me she felt guilty in Disney World because Eve would have loved it so much. She was brilliant at drawing and her ambition was to be an illustrator for Disney.
I kept in touch using Facetime and Dad sent me a photo of Eve with no hair. When I came
back at the end of august I went straight to the hospital with Beth.
Eve greeted us at the main entrance to the ward. It was a shock to see her lugging round a trolley with her chemo bag on it, but she met us with a big smile.
“you need to come and see my bed and meet my friends,” she said.
Eve stayed positive despite being pulled and prodded and jabbed with needles. She named her tumour Monty and drew a picture of him – a spiky shape with an angry face – and stuck it above her bed.
“I’m going to kick Monty’s butt,” she told us in her most determined voice.
Mum and Dad took turns to stay with her at the hospital while she was having treatment and after a month she was allowed home.
Beth joined me at the same drama college in September. We’ve always been close, but Eve’s illness really bonded us. We don’t know what we would have done if we hadn’t had each other to talk to and I know Mum was relieved that we weren’t alone.
In May 2016, we had the most fabulous news – the tumour on Eve’s hip had gone.
“She said she’d beat it and she bloody well has,” Beth laughed.
We went out that night and celebrated with cocktails. a few weeks later, Eve made a film for Cancer research UK’S Stand Up To Cancer TV special. She’d already won a Star award from them after I wrote in and told them how wonderful she was to the new kids in hospital, showing them around and telling them they’d be OK. The charity wanted her to help spread their message.
Broken hearts
But on 15 June, Mum and Dad found out that although Eve’s tumour had gone, the cancer had spread and there was no hope.
I was away, so Beth called me to tell me the news and described it as being like one of those moments when time kind of stands still for a second – like a scene from a film. you hear about these things happening to other people, but you never think it’s going to happen to you.
On 24 June, I was woken up by my phone ringing. It was Beth. “Uncle Myles is on his way to get you,” she cried. “Eve is dying.” I woke up Charlotte, my new housemate, and cried and then we watched a couple of episodes of Eve’s favourite programme, Rupaul’s Drag
Race, while we waited for my uncle. It took two hours for him to reach me and I was terrified Eve would pass away before I had a chance to say goodbye.
When we got home, I ran upstairs to Eve’s room and she was lying in bed, still with us, with the whole family sitting around.
“She waited for you,” Beth said.
My family left me alone with Eve for 10 minutes to say goodbye.
“I’ll make you proud every single day,”
I told her. “This life’s been taken from you and I’ll live life for the two of us.”
My family came back in and, moments later, Eve took a breath and smiled a huge smile. She took another smaller breath and she went. It was very peaceful.
There were 700 people at her funeral, and all her friends from school stood at the end of the road and released balloons as we passed.
Beth says Eve was made out of the best bits of both of us and she’s right. We’re always talking about her – when we get married, she’ll be part of the ceremonies. The first one to have a little girl will get to name her Eve. We’ll never let our sister go.
Gillian Crawley
Meg and Beth are supporting Cancer Research UK for Children & Young People, supported by TK Maxx, during Childhood Cancer Awareness Month this September. Visit cruk.org/childrenandyoungpeople
‘I told her I’d live life for the two of us’