Emily and I have been buttering bread and shoving sausage rolls in the oven all morning so people can come back for a cup of tea and a snack, though we’re screwed if more than twenty-five people take up the invitation – especially if one of them is Roger. He’s the only man I know who can eat two Shredded Wheat plus a full English and still have room for Hula Hoops an hour later. No wonder he’s the same shape as the barrels of ale stored in his cellar.

Fortunately, Roger declines because he’s due back behind the bar and only a dozen people follow me into Tregavara House, most of them choir members. Oops, we’ll be eating ham sandwiches for days.

I’ve been mingling for a while, feeling slightly guilty as though I’m taking Alice’s place as hostess, when Kayla’s arm snakes around my waist and she rests her pointy chin on my shoulder.

‘How are you doing then, Sunshine?’

Kayla thinks it’s a great laugh to call me by my middle name. The full name bestowed on me by my mother is Annabella Sunshine Trebarwith. Which is awful, isn’t it, and why Kayla sniggers whenever she reminds me of it.

‘I’m not so bad, considering. You look nice in that dress.’

Kayla has ditched her usual jeans and brightly coloured sweatshirts for black boots and a grey dress with a nipped-in waist and neon-pink buttons scattered across the bodice.

‘I thought Alice would appreciate me making an effort so I picked this up in the Cancer Research shop in Penzance. Though I can’t believe she’s carked it. It’s so sad… Alice was a real one-off.’ When Kayla shakes her head, red curls tumble around her face. ‘But it’s good to see how everyone’s been pitching in today – they’re good people in Salt Bay. And Jennifer is really getting in on the act. Have you seen her over there?’

I hadn’t, but Jennifer has put on a Birds of Cornwall apron and is pushing a platter of sandwiches under people’s noses. It’s Alice’s apron, the one she wore for making pastry, and a shiver runs through me at the sight of Jennifer in it. But I take a deep breath and get a grip on myself. Alice wouldn’t mind – she’d say there’s no sense in ruining a perfectly good dress with mustard stains – and it’s kind of Jennifer to help. Though I’m sure the sandwiches still had their crusts on when we left for the clifftop.

‘She insisted on cutting off the crusts so I let her get on with it. I wasn’t going to start arguing about bread,’ says Emily, wandering over. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she sniffs loudly in my ear when I give her a hug.

‘Where’s Jay?’

Emily shrugs. ‘He had a lot on so couldn’t come today. To be honest’ – she sighs and her bottom lip wobbles – ‘we’ve split up. It’s for the best, really. He’s been rubbish since Alice died and he’s not really what I expected. He’s not terribly…’ she searches for the right word ‘… kind. He’s quite self-centred actually.’

‘Self-centred? He’s a total tw— Ouch!’ Kayla squeals when I tread on her toes but clamps her mouth shut after catching my eye. Harry Styles lookalike Jay, eighteen years old and full of himself, is shallowness personified and it’s great Emily has finally seen through him. But first love hurts like hell so I wrinkle my nose in sympathy and make soothing noises.

Tom, a lovely tenor from the choir, is loitering nearby and moves a little closer. All gangly arms and legs, he’s been earwigging shamelessly. He tugs at the waistband of his trousers which are falling down as usual, revealing black boxers.

‘That Jay’s not worthy of you, Emily,’ he says gruffly and then flushes bright pink. There’s a dusting of hair across his chin – ‘bum fluff’ my mum used to call it – and the faintest hint of a moustache on his upper lip.

‘Aw, you’re such a lovely person, Tom,’ says Emily, hardly giving him a glance. ‘I’m off all men at the moment but you don’t count ’cos you’re like my gay friend.’

‘Um, I’m not gay,’ mumbles Tom, going even pinker.

‘I know but it’s like you are ’cos we can talk about all kinds of things without that boyfriend-girlfriend stuff getting in the way.’

Poor Tom’s face falls but he gamely carries on. ‘Maybe we can make a nice afternoon of it, Ems, and head for the pub in a bit. Would you like to come, Annie? It’ll be fun.’ Alarm suddenly sparks in Tom’s grey eyes and he draws his face into a serious expression. ‘Though, of course, I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Annie.’

For your loss? He’s been watching far too many schmaltzy American TV shows.

‘Thanks, Tom. You two should go and maybe I’ll see you there later. Do either of you know where Storm is?’

Around me, people are chatting in subdued little groups, but my sister is nowhere to be seen.

‘She ran upstairs as soon as she got back, yelling that she had to wash her hair,’ sniffs Emily. ‘I read that grief can make people behave erratically so there’s no hope for her. She was terminally weird to begin with.’

I don’t deny it as Tom links his arm through Emily’s and pulls her towards the platter of curling ham sandwiches that Jennifer’s currently forcing on Josh.

‘Phew! It’s a relief she’s ditched gel-head,’ whispers Kayla, who reckons Jay’s obsessed with hair products and regularly buys out Boots. ‘I was only going to agree with her decision so you didn’t need to break my toes.’

‘Sorry but you’re not always the most sensitive of people. No offence.’

‘None taken,’ says Kayla, who revels in being an outspoken Aussie. ‘Do you think she’ll ever get it on with Tom? He’s so sweet.’

‘I doubt it. She seems adamant they’re just friends. Poor Tom.’

‘Yeah, poor old thing. He’d make a brilliant boyfriend.’

Kayla and I both sigh as Tom feeds Emily a sausage roll with a goofy smile on his face.

‘Talking of brilliant boyfriends, what’s happening with Ollie’s promotion prospects? Is he going to be moving up North?’

‘Of course not. They still haven’t made a final decision, or so he says.’ Kayla grins and taps the side of her nose. ‘But mark my words, there won’t be any promotion or moving out of Cornwall. Ollie’s just trying to seem more adventurous in my eyes because I keep calling him provincial.’

‘I dunno, Kayla. Josh says this promotion stuff is all legit.’

‘Nope. They’re in it together. Ollie will never leave Cornwall for good unless it’s in a box and he’s crazy about me so there’s no way he’d risk losing this.’ Kayla waves her hand up and down her body and winks. ‘Oops, knobhead alert!’ she murmurs, scuttling off.

The knobhead in question is Toby, who’s been standing alone at the sitting room window for ages but is now wandering over. There are pale flakes of pastry scattered across his black cashmere jumper.

‘That’s it then,’ he announces, brushing the flakes onto the carpet. ‘Alice is no more. I’ll quite miss the old girl though she had a good innings.’

Wow, a good innings? Toby is so blunt he makes Kayla seem uber sensitive.

‘How long will you be in Cornwall?’ I ask, keen to move the conversation on. ‘You could have stayed here, you know.’

‘Obviously, but I thought it best to stay in a hotel this time, especially if your father’s around.’ He raises his eyebrows at Barry, who appears to be shoving two sandwiches into his mouth at the same time. ‘Anyway, personally I don’t enjoy death,’ he adds with a shudder as though the rest of us find the Grim Reaper a great laugh. ‘I suppose I’d better stay in Cornwall until tomorrow so I can see Freya. I’d have brought her today, but Lucy didn’t think she was old enough to come to Alice’s send-off.’

‘How’s it going with Freya?’

Toby shrugs. ‘OK, I think. She loved the new dolls’ house I got her and I’m paying for Lucy to take her to Disneyland Paris.’

‘Crikey. It sounds like you’re spending lots of money on your daughter. I’m sure she’d be just as happy with your time and company.’

‘But what would we do? I don’t know how to talk to six-year-olds. You can’t discuss the stock market or latest thinking on Renaissance art with someone who finds splashing in puddles exciting.’

If there’s one man who’d benefit from joyful puddle splashing, it’s Toby. But he’d never even countenance it.

‘Why don’t you try doing something simple with her?’

‘Like what?’

‘Maybe you could take her out for a burger.’

Toby frowns and shakes his head, not convinced that spending quality time with his daughter would be better than shelling out a shedload of dosh. Though to be fair, I don’t know many six-year-olds who’d choose an afternoon at McDonald’s over a holiday with Mickey Mouse. But at least Toby’s now in touch with his daughter after ignoring her for years.

‘Anyway.’ Toby pushes up onto the balls of his feet and clasps his hands behind his back like he’s Prince Charles. ‘I suppose I’d better start making plans for this place. You do know, of course, that Alice left me Tregavara House in her will?’

‘I assumed as much,’ I say, heart sinking. ‘Um, but what exactly do you mean by plans?’

‘Don’t worry, Annie. You did me right by Freya. You put me in touch with her even though your boyfriend threw a wobbly about it and I won’t forget that. I’m not about to make you all homeless.’ Toby’s humourless laugh sounds more like a bark. ‘So I’ll give you time to find somewhere else though it shouldn’t take long to secure a rental property in the area. I expect you’re looking already.’

I shake my head, open-mouthed. ‘We assumed we could stay on at Tregavara House if we paid you the market rent. I didn’t think you’d want to live here yourself.’

‘Heavens, no. I can’t think of anything worse. I’m a Londoner through and through but it’s good to have a family pile and somewhere to stay when I’m visiting Freya.’

I try not to stare at a yellow flake of pastry stuck to the corner of Toby’s mouth that’s wobbling with every word.

‘Also, some of my colleagues have hinted they might like to spend a few days here occasionally. Apparently, Cornwall is a desired holiday location though I can’t for the life of me understand why. Given the choice I head for New York or a capital city on the continent. It’s far more chic and the weather’s not so appalling. Still, each to their own.’

‘Wouldn’t it make more sense for the house to be occupied when you’re not around? You could still come and stay with your friends and we’d love for Freya to stay over. Josh is her uncle, after all.’

Toby groans. ‘If it was just you, Annie, maybe. But I don’t think it would work with your family around all the time and especially not if he’s here.’

He tilts his head at Josh, who’s munching his way through yet another sandwich that’s been thrust upon him by Jennifer.

‘Are you sure this is what Alice would want?’ My voice is getting louder and people turn round and stare.

‘It doesn’t really matter because Alice isn’t here any more.’ Toby sees my face fall and his expression softens. ‘Look, I don’t want to fall out with you, Annie, but I’ve made up my mind. I’ll give you a few weeks to find somewhere else. Perhaps you and Pasco could rent a cosy cottage together, if you could bear it.’

‘What’s that about a cottage?’ Josh has wandered over and is standing extra close to me like a sexy guardian angel.

When Toby bristles, the lip-flake of pastry flutters to the floor. ‘I was just telling Annie that although the house belongs to me now she can take a few weeks to find somewhere else for you all to live. She is family, after all.’

‘Good grief, man! Are you really throwing Annie out after she gave up her life in London to look after Alice?’ splutters Josh, an angry red flush creeping above the collar of his white shirt.

‘Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Pasco. Of course I’m not throwing her out – you’ll all have time to find somewhere else. But what you have to remember is that Tregavara House is now mine.’

Toby’s hooded grey eyes narrow and the faintest hint of a smile plays around his mouth. Beside me, Josh tenses and I place a steadying hand on his arm.

‘Please leave it, Josh. We may not like it, but the house will soon belong to Toby and he can do what he wants.’

‘But throwing you out is not what Alice would want,’ says Josh, dark hair flopping into his eyes. He rakes long fingers through his fringe and sucks in a steadying breath of air.

‘I know but Alice made her will a long time before she met me and there’s nothing we can do about it.’

‘Well, at least one of you is talking sense,’ huffs Toby, who seems determined to wring the very worst out of a rubbish situation.

I’m worried Alice’s wake is about to turn into a punch-up, but Josh takes another deep breath and says pretty calmly, considering: ‘Are you throwing Annie out because of me, Toby? She shouldn’t have to suffer because of our history.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Pasco. This house – the Trebarwith family home – belongs to me and I want it to myself.’

‘So you’re not punishing her for falling in love with me?’

‘Absolutely not, though I have to say there’s no accounting for taste.’

At that comment, Josh takes a step towards Toby, but I pull him away before more’s said that we might regret. Toby’s regularly seeing his daughter now and paying maintenance which has eased the financial pressure on Josh’s family. The last thing I want is for that to be wrecked – even though losing Tregavara House so soon after losing Alice is almost too much to bear.

This marvellous old house is my anchor and the antidote to my lonely chaotic life in London. Of course, I knew it would go to Toby but I hoped our relationship had improved to the point where he’d let us stay. It seems I was wrong.

The atmosphere in the room has changed and Gerald, who was standing close enough to overhear the whole conversation, starts moving around the room, murmuring to other choir members.

One by one, they glare at Toby, who fetches his coat without another word and heads for the door. He’s itching to leave Salt Bay and I’m relieved to see him go. My cousin reveals an occasional flash of humanity. Sometimes I even feel sorry for him in his carefully constructed, sterile world. But, when it comes to the crunch, he’s a bit of a bastard.

‘About time that poncey idiot left.’ Barry is still clutching a handful of sandwiches and leaves a trail of breadcrumbs when he marches over. ‘Can I have a word with you in private, Annie? In the kitchen.’

Oh, what now?

‘We can talk about all this later,’ says Josh, giving my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze before I follow my father into the kitchen.

Wow, it looks like a bomb has hit this room. Used teacups are piled up in the sink, stray crusts are scattered across the worktop and there are piles of tea plates on the table. In the background, Radio 2 is playing quietly on the old-fashioned Roberts radio that lives on the windowsill near the back door.

‘Take a seat,’ says Barry, pushing the plates to one side. ‘Look, I just wanted to say how sorry I am that old Alice is pushing up the daisies. She was a real lady. A bit scary sometimes but she took me and Storm in – both of you did – and I’ll always be grateful for that.’

‘Alice was a very special woman.’

When Barry nods and pulls off the black band around his ponytail, his hair falls to his shoulders and reveals the spreading bald patch on his crown. He looks less Bono and more dishevelled monk these days.

‘So will Storm have to leave now?’ he asks abruptly, twanging the hairband onto his wrist. ‘That probably sounds like I’m selfish and only worried about her and me but, to be honest, she’s much better here. She got away with murder in London.’ He colours. ‘Well, that was partly down to me. But here, she’s going to school and she looks on you as a mother figure now Amanda’s got her brand new lah-di-dah family.’

Oh, give me a break, Barry! The responsibility of being Storm’s stand-in mum is suddenly too much on a day like today; a day of final farewells to Alice and finding out we’ll soon be homeless. I put my elbows on the table – Alice would not approve – and my head in my hands.

‘What are you up to, Barry?’

Storm is standing in the doorway, her freshly washed hair wrapped in a towel.

‘I was just talking to Annie about what happens next, now Alice has gone.’

’We can stay here, can’t we? It’ll be weird without the old lady and she’d better not start haunting us ’cos I don’t do ghosts, but nothing else will change, will it, Annie? Why are you looking so stressy?’

’I’m afraid lots is going to change,’ I say gently, ’because the house doesn’t belong to me.’

’Who the hell does it belong to then? I thought—’ The penny drops and Storm’s jaw drops with it. ‘You are totally kidding me. Not Tosser Toby!’

’Afraid so,’ I sigh, having given up the fight months ago to stop Storm from dissing my cousin. ’And he wants us out.’

‘Oh. My. God. I can’t believe… he wouldn’t… what a total…’ Storm claws at the towel on her head and throws it dramatically onto the kitchen tiles. She’s almost beside herself and looks scary with her damp hair sticking up on end and muddy-brown eyes blazing. Barry hauls himself to his feet and drapes his arm around his daughter’s shoulders.

’Don’t worry about it, love. We’ll work something out if you have to come back to London. Mugger Mike’s getting a new place soon which’ll have a spare room and a proper bathroom and everything. And he’s off the drugs now. He hasn’t been arrested for ages. Hey, what’s that they’re playing?’

Dropping his arm, he strides over to the radio and turns it up full blast. The final chords of a song echo across the kitchen as Storm pushes her lips into a full-on pout and shakes her head at me. This is odd behaviour, even for a man who once walked from Tower Bridge to St Paul’s dressed as a chicken drumstick for a bet.

‘For goodness’ sake, Barry. I’m having a mega meltdown and you’re only interested in listening to some crappy song on Radio 2. And I can’t believe you lot listen to Radio 2, anyway, ’cos it’s for, like, ancient people,’ whines Storm.

’That crappy song was my crappy song. But how can it be on the radio? I wrote it years ago when I was with Va-Voom and the Vikings.’

’Oh, not that stupid band you belonged to about a hundred years ago. You’re obsessed.’ Storm kicks at the towel lying in a sodden heap on the floor. ‘My life is imploding here, Barry, and you’re going on about some stupid song on the stupid radio that you didn’t even hear properly. That was not your song, you’re never going to be a rock star, you are totally off your head and you don’t care about me. No one cares about me.’

With a dramatic sob, she rushes out of the room and slams the door so hard, the teacups hanging on the dresser chink together.

‘I could have sworn I recognised that song but I must have been mistaken.’ Barry drops into a chair, still looking puzzled. ‘And I’m sorry about Storm throwing a hissy fit. She’s just like her mother – very highly strung.’

‘It doesn’t matter, Barry,’ I sigh, picking up the soggy towel and hanging it over the handle of the Aga.

‘Yeah, we’re all upset about Alice at the moment and not behaving normally.’

I nod, though Storm throwing a wobbly and flouncing out isn’t that unusual. Whereas me picking up her wet towels is totally normal and even more thoughtful Emily often leaves hers in a sodden heap. Today’s world-weary teenagers have longed consigned Santa and the tooth fairy to the realms of make believe but still believe in the Spirit of Terry Towelling who magically clears up the bathroom after them.

‘So what happens now Toby’s throwing you out?’ asks Barry, puffing out his cheeks. ‘I always knew he was a bit of a tit but that’s well out of order. Would it help if I had a word with him?’

‘No! What I mean is, he’s made up his mind so there’s no point in you getting involved. I’d hate for you to be distracted from your music when you’ve still got so much to give.’

Fortunately, Barry takes the bait and all thought of confronting Toby is forgotten while he agrees that the world needs his undistracted musical prowess. He witters on for a while about the joys of performing live and the discomforts of on-the-road budget hotels before pushing his hand across the oak table and laying it on top of mine.

‘But that’s enough about me. What will you do now you’ve lost Alice and your home, Annie? Have you thought about going back to London with Storm and persuading that man of yours to go with you?’

‘Huh, fat chance! Josh thinks London’s awful. He’s wrong, obviously, and I miss it loads but I’d miss Salt Bay more. It’s daft, isn’t it, when I spent almost thirty years in London and I’ve only been in Cornwall for one and a bit. But what I’ve found here is more than just this house and Alice. It’s the village and the people and the peace.’

‘I’ll give you it’s quiet around here. Or it would be if it wasn’t for those damn birds squawking and pooing all over the place. I thought London pigeons were bad until I came face to beak with a Cornish seagull.’

‘I don’t mean the actual quiet. I mean the peace of mind. In London I was always a bit jittery inside – it’s a jittery kind of place, I suppose. But here, it’s different. It took a while but I feel calmer in Salt Bay. I feel better here.’

I stop, embarrassed at baring my soul to Barry, who doesn’t really do deep. But he surprises me.

‘Peace of mind is underrated and you must do all you can to hang onto it,’ he says, stroking his calloused guitar-playing fingers across the back of my wrist. ‘So if you’re planning on staying in Cornwall, what happens now?’

‘I don’t know but I’ll do what I can to sort things out for everyone including Storm.’

‘I know you will, Annie, because you’re a lot like Alice.’

Which is the very best thing to say and the very worst because it makes me cry. Fat, salty tears plop onto the table as my dad scrapes his chair round next to mine and puts his arm across my shoulders.

And even though my father can be a bit of a tit himself, his presence is comforting on a day like today when everything’s been turned upside down and the cold hard reality of being a grown-up starts hitting home. Change is coming. Big change – and it’s scary.