I’m totally rubbish at work all afternoon. In my defence, it’s hard to show interest in what the chief exec’s doing next Wednesday when I’ve just become a property owner, when the girl who grew up moving from one grotty inner London flat to another has inherited a forever house in a place that feels like home.

I’m still in shock and don’t say anything to Josh when he texts from school to say he hopes the will reading wasn’t too upsetting. Some news is so momentous, it needs to be shared face to face.

And though Lesley and Gayle ask how it went and can tell something’s up from my general uselessness, I keep my answers vague. They’re both broke and the funding situation at work is uncertain so it seems insensitive to announce I’ve just been given a kick-arse house.

A kick-arse house in need of serious dosh – the bloke who patched up the roof warned me a new one would be needed before long, and Emmanuel said something about inheritance tax as I was leaving. But a house nonetheless and I can sort out any problems later. That’s what I tell myself when I buy a huge bar of Dairy Milk from the vending machine in reception and scoff it until I feel sick.

Nothing has physically changed when I get home from work. Tregavara House is still a handsome granite building standing where land meets sea. But it feels different when I turn my key in the lock and step into the hallway. These worn flagstones are mine, and the twisted-wood banisters and the intricate plaster coving too. This is my home and no one can throw me out. Wow, this owning property thing is really blowing my mind.

The first thing I do after kicking off my sandals is run upstairs to Alice’s bedroom. It is exactly as she left it. A faint scent of lily of the valley lingers in the air – an echo of Alice – and I often go into her room and sit on the bed. It’s been almost three weeks since my great-aunt died and her floral smell is gradually fading. But for now it envelops me like a hug whenever I perch on the edge of her four-poster.

Sitting on the soft bed, I can picture Alice standing at the window in her pink pyjamas and waving to her adoring public. Was that only last month? Now the candlewick dressing gown she wore is hanging limply on the back of her bedroom door and I’ll have to do something with it eventually. Maybe take it to a charity shop? A wave of grief overwhelms me and I press the balls of my fists into my eyes. All of Alice’s possessions will need to be sorted through and some disposed of, but not yet.

‘Thank you, Alice, for entrusting your most precious possession into my care,’ I whisper into empty space. ‘But are you sure? Toby’s right that I only knew you for a little while so maybe the house should be his. Am I up to looking after this place?’

But there’s no answer. There never will be an answer from Alice.

The fists-in-eyes thing isn’t working and tears start streaming down my face. Here we go. Some women are genteel criers with trembling lips and pink cheeks – think Anne Hathaway all dewy-eyed in a romcom – whereas I am the Gorgon of Sobbing. There’s gulping and puffy cheeks and snot. So much snot… and Storm is just the same. Being crap at crying must be genetic. But sometimes you just have to give in and let it all go.

And it’s while I’m ugly-sobbing that the answer drops into my brain. Alice wanted me to have this house because Toby doesn’t need it or love it like I do. This house is full of Trebarwith history and I belong here. That’s what she knew and now I just have to believe it too.

Five minutes later, when my rasping sobs have turned into tiny hiccups, the front door slams so hard the polished floorboards in Alice’s room judder. Which can mean only one thing – Storm is home and I can share my momentous news at last.

I scrub my cheeks with a tissue and head for the hall to find that Storm and Emily have come in together. Emily’s been for an interview for an office job in Trecaldwith and hit the shops on the way home, judging by the bulging supermarket bags she’s carrying.

‘I don’t mean to be harsh, but you look gross. What’s happened to your face?’ demands Storm. ‘Is Toby evicting us? There’s no way I’m going back to London and moving in with Mugger Mike ’cos he’s a grade one crack head.’

‘There’ll be no moving in with Mugger Mike. In fact, no moving at all.’

‘You what?’ pouts Storm. ‘Has your awful cousin decided that we can stay in his house after all?’

‘It’s nothing to do with my awful cousin any more because it’s not his house. Alice made a new will last year and the house now belongs to me.’

Emily screams – properly screams – and drops her bags, which thunk onto the hall floor. There’s a sharp crack as something glass inside shatters. Then she throws herself into my arms, swiftly followed by Storm, who’s not a huggy person at all.

We’re group-hugging, half laughing and half crying, when the front door swings open and Josh steps in. He’s looking gorgeous in smart chinos and a white linen shirt that’s extra bright against his black hair.

‘What the hell’s going on? Your phone’s been off for hours and I wanted to tell you about a house I’ve found for us in Trecaldwith. It’s perfect.’ He waves the property pages from the local newspaper at us.

‘We don’t need a perfect house in stupid Trecaldwith ’cos the old lady left this house to Annie,’ yells Storm in my ear, jumping up and down on my toes.

Josh freezes for a moment before dropping his heavy satchel onto Alice’s poor tiles. My poor tiles! Then he strides forward and throws his arms around the huddle. My sometimes-buttoned-up boyfriend is joining in a group hug! This day keeps on getting more surreal.

‘Sorry to be all mysterious and incommunicado but I wanted to tell you in person,’ I tell him over Emily’s head, which is buried in my shoulder. ‘It’s good news, isn’t it? Don’t you think it’s great?’

There’s the slightest of hesitations before Josh grins broadly and grasps my hand. ‘I think your great-aunt was a class act.’

‘She left me the house and left Toby the painting of The Lady.’

‘Huh. Seems fitting seeing as the painting is what he’s always wanted the most.’

‘Mind you, he says the house will be a millstone around my neck and too expensive to keep going.’

My excitement is pierced by cold, hard reality and the fizzy feeling that’s been rushing around my body starts to evaporate. How can I afford to keep Tregavara House going when I don’t earn much, Emily’s hardly earning at all and Josh is strapped for cash? He’s still paying back the loan he took out last year to keep his family’s head above water when his mum was ill and Toby wasn’t contributing towards Freya’s keep.

But Josh grasps hold of my hand and holds it tight. ‘We’ll manage, Annie. Whatever happens, we’ll manage it together. All of us.’

‘Yeah, all of us,’ mumbles Storm, her cheek pressed up tight against my hair. ‘We’ll prove your lame cousin wrong and do the old lady proud. You’ll see.’

And as we all stand there hugging, the back of my neck starts to prickle and I get the strangest feeling that Alice is watching us from the stairs. And she’s smiling.