But as she accepts that her health is no longer something she can rely on, Keira finds herself embracing running. And running in the company of a group of brilliant, funny women each going through treatment unexpectedly gives Keira the hope she needs.

Because the C-word is not going to define Keira’s identity. And with the Cancer Ladies’ Running Club cheering her on, she’s going to reclaim her life. One step at a time.

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Keep reading for the first chapter …

New Year’s Eve

‘Quick! It’s nearly time,’ I shout, and we turn on the TV, just as Jools Holland is counting down to midnight. The kids run in from the lounge and I put my arms around Tilly, my eldest, and Jacob, my 13-year-old son, as we yell out the final three seconds at the top of our voices.

There are cheers and hugs as all twenty of us kiss each other happy new year and quickly form a rag-tag circle between the long wooden table and the wood-burning stove in the kitchen of Scout’s Suffolk farmhouse. As we overlap hands to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’, we are all half singing and half laughing as Pooch, our dog, earnestly wags his tail like he’s trying to do a butt shimmy.

‘We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne,’ I bellow, bumping shoulders with the kids, my cheeks pink. Who knows what it means? It feels good to sing it.

Afterwards, we break apart and I fall into Tom’s arms. In all the mayhem, I haven’t been able to wish him happy new year yet.

‘Steady on,’ my husband laughs, holding me up. ‘Have you been keeping up with Joss on the champagne?’ We both know Joss can drink all of us under the table.

‘Yep, but I love you,’ I slur looking up into his familiar face. He wears thick framed glasses that make him look kind of distinguished and funky. His once lustrous hair has thinned so much he now shaves his head, but he’s better looking to me than ever – and definitely improving with age.

‘I love you too, my Keira.’ He runs his hands over my hair and looks into my eyes, then kisses me tenderly, and my heart melts, as it always does.

‘OK, OK, you two lovebirds, break it up,’ Joss says. ‘There are children present. Honestly, you’re just as soppy as you were twenty years ago. You coming outside?’ she asks me, in a meaningful way. A meaning not lost on Tom.

‘Good idea to get some fresh air. I’ll put Bea to bed,’ Tom says, letting me go and nodding to our youngest, who is heading for the cosy window seat with Pooch. Joss grabs three glasses of champagne and my arm and we head for the back door. ‘Have fun. I’ll distract the teens,’ Tom calls after us and winks at me.

Outside, Scout joins me and Joss as we sit on the stone wall outside the kitchen. The huge garden is bathed in silvery shadows and the stars twinkle in the black sky. Inside, through the steamed-up window, we can see Scout’s husband, Mart, lining up tequila shots. It’s going to be a long night.