Dr Delectable is right; Alice does get better. But her recovery’s slower than anticipated and she ends up spending two days in hospital before she can come home. As expected, this is not well received by Alice, who complains she’s been kidnapped, and Emily, Josh and I take it in turns to sit by her bed so she won’t do a runner. She wouldn’t get very far but there’s always the risk of her falling during a shuffling getaway.

All things considered, both we and the hospital staff are delighted when Alice is finally discharged back to Tregavara House, which has seemed horribly empty without her. Emily goes full Great British Bake Off and makes a fabulous iced Victoria sponge in celebration. And I’m touched to find Storm sitting next to Alice on the sofa while she’s catching up on the Doc Martin she missed.

‘Well, someone has to keep an eye on her. Though she seriously needs to upgrade her viewing preferences,’ mutters Storm when I thank her. ‘The place wasn’t the same without the old lady.’ And I have to agree, it really wasn’t.

Alice wakes feeling more full of beans on her birthday, especially when she spots all the cards she has to open. Amongst the pile, there’s one from my dad, Barry, who’s in Sutton Coldfield on tour with his latest band, and even my distant cousin Toby has remembered to send one, thanks to a nudge from me via text. I can’t take the day off work because Gayle and Lesley are away on some tedious training course, but people have already started calling in to pass on their best birthday wishes by the time I leave for the office.

---

‘She’s loved it,’ reports Emily when I get home hours later, feeling hot and sweaty. All the windows are flung open but it’s not doing much good. Usually Tregavara House is buffeted by strong Atlantic winds but today there’s only the faintest hint of a breeze, tinged with salt.

‘She’s been like the Queen Mother of Salt Bay, holding court from the sofa,’ laughs Emily, lifting up her thick brown plait and fanning the back of her neck with a Radio Times. ‘There’s been a steady stream of visitors and most have brought presents. She’s got enough chocolate to keep Jennifer’s shop stocked until Christmas. She’s had a good day.’

Later that evening, I pour a glass of ice-cold water from the fridge and take it up to Alice, who’s sitting in her four-poster bed, looking at the cliffs through her window. The house is quiet because everyone’s at choir rehearsal except me – I’m giving it a miss to keep an eye on my great-aunt and spend time with her on her special day.

‘Here you go.’ I place the glass on Alice’s bedside table and adjust the rose-coloured counterpane that’s pulled up to her thin shoulders. ‘You really did do well for presents.’ Tubs of Roses, boxes of Milk Tray and fancy toiletries are piled up on the plush, button-back chair in the corner.

‘People have been very generous, though they’re trying to finish me off. I’ll overdose on sugar if I eat all that chocolate. Is Coronation Street taping?’

‘Yes, don’t worry. Maybe we can get a TV organised in here, actually.’ I glance around the room to see where an aerial socket could be installed but Alice shakes her head.

‘No need. I’ll be properly up and about in no time with none of this going to bed at seven o’clock nonsense.’ Her legs shift as though she wants to prove it right now, but I put my hand on her knee through the cover.

‘In a day or two, maybe. I don’t want you rushing things and ending up back in hospital. It’s so lovely to have you here on your birthday. Tregavara House wouldn’t be the same without you.’

‘I should think not,’ harrumphs Alice, reaching for the glass. I perch on the edge of the bed and put my arm round her shoulders for support as she sips. The wind has picked up and is pushing against the thick brocade curtains which brush the floorboards.

‘Thank you, Annabella. You are good to me.’

She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and settles back against the pillows plumped up behind her head. She’s looking much better these days but so old and worn out it breaks my heart.

‘Don’t look so worried, child.’ When Alice smiles and touches her throat, I notice that she’s wearing her pearls in honour of her birthday. ‘My father used to say, “if the wind changes, your face will stick like that.”’

‘My mum used to say that too.’

‘Did she? I expect she heard it from her father because these silly sayings are passed down through families. No doubt, you’ll say it to your children one day.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ I laugh, moving the glass so Alice will be able to reach it in the night. ‘Who says I’m going to have any kids?’

‘I’m sure you will.’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, suddenly serious. ‘I don’t feel grown-up enough and I’m not sure I’d be very good at it anyway. Being a mum, I mean. I didn’t really have a great—’ I was going to say ‘role model’ but stop and chew at my lip. Mum did her best. It wasn’t her fault that she was often unwell and life was difficult.

‘You are not your mother, Annabella.’ Alice shuffles in the bed to get more comfortable. ‘Joanna was a one-off, and it would be a shame if the difficulties of your past affected your future because I know you’d be a wonderful mother. Look at how well you’ve coped with Storm and stepped into her mother’s shoes. You’ve given her stability that was seriously lacking.’

‘It’s you and Tregavara House and Salt Bay who’ve given her stability.’

Alice shakes her head. ‘Don’t underestimate your impact on that girl, and I know it hasn’t been easy.’

Which is lovely of Alice to say – and one hell of an understatement. Storm’s mum ran off a few years ago, leaving her in the care of our dad, Barry, who’s not such a great role model himself. He loves Storm but the life of a wannabe rock star is chaotic and she arrived in Salt Bay angry, undisciplined and, quite frankly, a right royal pain in the backside.

At first it was awful. I’m surprised we have any doors left with all the hormonal slamming that went on. But over the months Storm and I have grown closer to the point where sometimes I do feel more like her mum than her half-sister – and I quite like it so maybe I am mother material. Surely coping with a baby would be easy-peasy compared to a teenager in a tantrum?

Alice gives me a none-too-gentle nudge with her shoulder. ‘Anyway, if you are going to have children you’d better crack on because you’re getting on a bit.’

Cheers, Alice. Just what every thirty-year-old childless woman needs – a great-aunt-shaped biological alarm clock.

‘Times are different now.’ I grin. ‘No one has babies until, ooh, at least thirty-five. Some women wait to have their first babies until they’re in their forties.’

‘Huh, that’s far too old and their eggs will be good for nothing. The trouble with you young girls is you think you can have it all, but you can’t. Are you sure that you haven’t thought of having children at all?’

‘Not really, though I’ve got some favourite names on stand-by just in case I happen to have a child at some far-off stage in the future. Not that I’m planning to,’ I add quickly when Alice’s dark brown eyes flash with excitement. ‘Do you want to hear them?’

‘Of course. Just so long as they’re not ridiculous modern names, like Firefly.’

‘I’m not sure anyone anywhere has ever been called Firefly but, don’t worry, the names I like are very traditional. If I had a girl, I’d quite like to call her Phoebe Alice Joanna.’

Alice pulls herself higher in the bed and her broad smile sharpens the cheekbones in her wrinkled face.

‘Both your mother and I would be honoured and Phoebe is such a pretty name. I knew a Phoebe once who had a very sad life and ended up in jail for soliciting in Penzance.’

O-K. Maybe not Phoebe then.

‘And what about if you have a boy?’ asks Alice before starting to cough. I pass her a tissue and wait for the coughing to ease before answering.

‘If I have a boy, I’d like to call him Freddie.’

Alice stiffens and, to my horror, tears start spilling from her eyes. They dribble down her cheeks and plop onto the counterpane, leaving dark patches on the silk.

‘I’m so sorry, Alice. I didn’t mean to be insensitive or upset you but I’ve always loved the name and thought it would be in memory of your little boy.’

‘My dear girl.’ Alice sucks her wobbly lower lip between her teeth. ‘Forgive me but I’m annoyingly over-emotional at the moment with everything that’s been going on. It would be wonderful for Freddie’s memory to live on when I’m gone. But would Josh be all right with the name?’

‘I expect he would be,’ I tell her, feeling warm and fuzzy at her assumption that Josh will be the father of my children. If I have any. Which I might not. But my life has changed so much in the past year, who knows what will happen in the years to come? Maybe I’ll end up with twins. Or triplets. Eek, I’m now picturing myself pregnant, the size of a beached whale.

Alice brushes away her tears and gives a little sniff. ‘You’ve become very special to me, Annie, and I’m so glad you turned up on my doorstep last year. You’re a wonderful young woman and my life would have been the poorer for never knowing you.’

‘Stop it, Alice, or you’ll make me cry too,’ I wail, clasping her hand and softly rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. ‘One of the best things I ever did was make that journey from London to Cornwall, even though I hated it here at first.’

‘Didn’t I know it!’

‘Really? And I thought I hid it so well.’ I wink at the old lady who has wormed her way into my heart. ‘Better than Storm did at least.’

‘That’s true enough.’ Alice stifles a yawn and settles back against her pillow. ‘Though Salt Bay has worked its magic on that girl, too.’

She’s right. Storm now has a part-time job in Jennifer’s shop, she sings with the choir and she’s settled pretty well into school. She’s even taken a few exams and hasn’t mentioned going back to live in London for ages. I’ve got used to having her around so haven’t mentioned it either. She’d only end up getting in with the wrong crowd while Barry’s away on tour.

‘What’s that noise?’ asks Alice, glancing at her bedside clock. Outside her open window, a low hum of conversation is mingling with the dull boom of waves hitting the harbour wall. ‘There seem to be a lot of people heading for the harbour at this time of night. I hope no one’s organised one of those seaside rave things.’

She frowns as the hum gets louder and the garden gate squeaks open. ‘Take a look, Annabella, and see who’s calling at this late hour. It’s most inconvenient.’

The bed creaks when I stand up and look out of the window. In the shadow of the cliffs that drop into the sea, a little huddle of people is trudging along the garden path – and I know every single one of them.

Josh spots me and puts his finger to his lips while he shepherds Salt Bay Choral Society under Alice’s bedroom window. It’s a bit like herding cats but he eventually gets them into a group and stands facing them. Storm, who’s loitering at the back, gives me a shrug, Josh raises his hand and tenor Gerald plays a single note on his harmonica.

‘What on earth is going on?’ calls Alice from her bed, craning her neck.

‘You’ll see.’ I smile at her as the first notes of ‘Lamorna’ waft in through the open window. It’s a traditional Cornish song we performed last year when the choir competed for the Kernow Choral Crown and it helped us to win first prize in the New Choirs category. Josh knows it’s one of Alice’s favourites.

‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ says Alice, recognition flooding her face. ‘Are the choir here to sing just for me? That’s so kind of them.’ Her smile suddenly freezes. ‘They don’t think I’m dying, do they? Is there something you haven’t told me?’

‘Absolutely not, Alice. They merely want to do something special for your birthday.’

‘Did you know about it?’

‘I didn’t. It must be an impromptu performance.’

Alice beams when the choir launch into ‘Happy Birthday’ and throws back the covers. She’s looking very chic in the pink satin pyjamas that Emily bought her. ‘Get my dressing gown immediately, Annabella. I want to see this.’

Dressing gown on, she walks slowly to the window listening to the choir sing ‘Kumbaya’, which is another of Alice’s favourites. Josh must have noticed which songs Alice likes the most, the tunes she hums when she’s shuffling around the house, which makes me love him all the more.

A loud cheer reverberates from below when Alice reaches the window and looks out. The setting sun is hanging deep red in the sky and its light casts an aura around her as she waves at the choir and blows them a kiss.

And that’s how I’ll always remember my feisty, funny great-aunt: giving a regal wave in shocking-pink pyjamas to her adoring public from the Salt Bay bedroom where she was born.