The next morning I’m due to drive Storm to the station first thing so Emily is on breakfast duty. It’s all arranged that Storm will spend a week with her mum and half-sisters in London and she spent yesterday evening packing. But ten minutes before we’re supposed to be leaving, she stomps into the kitchen without her suitcase.

‘Are you ready to go?’ asks Emily as she slides a stack of pancakes into the Aga to keep warm. She’s taking breakfast duty very seriously and Jacques will have a mini-feast awaiting him when he appears.

‘Not going,’ grumps Storm, dropping onto a chair and yanking petals off the wild flowers Emily’s arranged in a vase on the table.

‘Why not?’

Emily moves the flowers out of Storm’s reach and brushes purple petals off the table into her hand.

‘My mother rang on the landline a few minutes ago and said Perfect Pia’s argued with her boyfriend and come back early from her holiday so there’s no room for me.’

‘Who’s Perfect Pia?’ I ask, shoving my car keys into my jeans pocket.

‘Their perfectly stupid au pair from Croatia or Slovenia or somewhere. I sleep in her room while she’s away and the walls are covered in Peter Andre posters.’

‘Can’t you sleep on the sofa so you can still go?’

Storm’s been moaning non-stop about spending time with her half-sisters Poppy and Eugenie but it’s all for show. I know she was looking forward to seeing her mother today. She hasn’t seen her in weeks.

‘I said I was used to sofa-surfing but Amanda told me their sofa is handmade in Italy and very precious so not for sleeping on. She thinks, or rather Simple Simon thinks, I’ll drool over it in my sleep.’

I’d have thought a daughter was rather more precious than a piece of furniture but I hold my tongue. ‘Mum’ has become ‘Amanda’ so Storm must be very upset indeed.

‘Could you go next week instead?’ says Emily, putting a plate of bacon, egg and beans in front of Storm, who never says no to a full English.

‘They’re going to their villa in Tuscany for a fortnight.’

‘You can go with them then. That’ll be amazing.’

‘No room.’ Storm pushes a rasher of crispy bacon around her plate. ‘They’re going with some poncey friends and can’t take me too. I won’t fit in apparently.’

Whether she won’t fit in the villa or fit in with Amanda’s posh friends, she doesn’t say. And it doesn’t really matter because, either way, it hurts.

‘But I didn’t want to go to sad London or Tuscany anyway so it’s not a problem,’ says Storm, standing up so quickly her chair falls backwards onto the kitchen tiles. Without stopping to pick it up, she runs into the hallway and we hear the front door slam shut behind her.

‘That is totally out of order,’ huffs Emily, dropping a pan into the deep enamel sink. ‘My mum’s a pain sometimes but at least she’s always pleased to see me.’

Steam curls up from the sink towards the ceiling as I pick up the chair and push it back under the table. Poor old Storm. Having a dysfunctional family sucks but at least when my mum was absent it was because she was ill and stuck in her own head, rather than living miles away with some toffee-nosed banker in Richmond.

Absent-mindedly, I spear the bacon on Storm’s abandoned plate with a fork, dip the rasher into her runny egg yolk and take a bite. It’s cooked to perfection but my head is filled with Storm’s problems and I hardly taste it.

‘You’d better go and talk to her, Annie, because she’ll listen to you. Ooh, here he is.’

Emily plasters on a smile when the door opens and Jacques steps into the kitchen. He’s wearing smart grey cord trousers today and a white polo shirt with a discreet gold logo that I don’t recognise.

‘Good morning, Jacques. Did you sleep well?’ asks Emily, dipping slightly like she’s curtseying.

‘As you say, like a topping,’ smiles Jacques, making a rare faux pas with his English.

‘And did you enjoy your evening?’ Jacques drove into Penzance late afternoon after finishing his report and didn’t return until bedtime.

‘I did, thank you. I looked around the town and found a pleasant restaurant for my evening meal. Though I would have eaten less if I’d known what you would serve me for breakfast.’ He nods at the food mountain that Emily’s currently building on his plate and smiles. ‘This looks delicious – a traditional English breakfast.’

Emily blushes with pleasure and piles another rasher onto Jacques’ loaded plate, determined to kill our B&B guests with kindness and cook away our profits.

Jacques takes a seat at the table and tucks his serviette into the neck of his shirt to catch egg drips. ‘I saw Storm leaving the house and she looked a little upset.’

Eek! Rule number one of running a successful B&B business must surely be: Never involve your guests in family traumas.

‘She’s fine,’ I assure him, ‘though I really ought to go and find her if you’re OK here with Emily?’

Jacques nods with his mouth full of baked beans as Emily stands over him with a plate of toast in one hand and a pan of scrambled egg in the other.

---

Leaving Jacques with Cornwall’s answer to Mary Berry, I rush along the garden path but hesitate when I reach the gate. Where has Storm gone? She doesn’t ‘get’ exercise so won’t have taken the cliff path but she might have headed for the Whistling Wave’s Wi-Fi to slag off her mum on social media. Or maybe she’s gone to see Jennifer. The two of them have struck up an unlikely friendship since Storm started working for her – the fifty-something shopkeeper and the stroppy teenager. It’s hardly a match made in heaven but it seems to work.

Ah! I suddenly realise where Storm will be.

After fastening the latch on the gate, I wander towards the harbour where Storm can often be found stroking the stray black cat that stretches out on the sand at low tide. Like me, she finds solace in this gorgeous part of the village where the land disappears and the ocean goes on forever.

I spot Storm straight away, sitting on the harbour wall dangling her legs towards the lapping waves. The sea is grey today and mirrors high grey cloud that’s blocking the sun but will have burned away by mid-morning.

Storm continues gazing across the water as I get closer and doesn’t move when I sit next to her on the cold stone. Ahead of us, seagulls are bobbing about on the waves and brightly coloured boats are specks on the horizon.

‘I’m really sorry you’re not off to London later.’

‘Why, do you want me out of the house while Jacques is around?’

‘You know that’s not what I mean.’

Storm shrugs, eyes still fixed on the undulating sea. ‘It’s not really London anyway because there’s too much countryside.’

She’s such a city snob when it comes to Richmond, which lies on the very south-western edge of the capital.

‘Richmond definitely has far too much fresh air,’ I agree, taking a deep breath of a salty Cornish breeze. ‘I guess it’s difficult for your mum if Pia’s come home earlier than expected.’

Storm’s head whips round. ‘Are you taking Amanda’s side?’

‘No, I’m just trying to make you feel better.’

‘Well, you’re doing a rubbish job and there’s no need ’cos I’m fine.’

The muscles in her jaw have tightened so much, her mouth is hardly moving. She’s very much like Josh when trying to suppress emotion and it breaks my heart. Josh is coming out of his shell now, thanks to lots of encouragement from me, and Storm is too – or at least she was until the mother who abandoned her dropped this latest bombshell.

We both sit in silence while a grey seal swims into the harbour. Its sleek grey head bobs above the water as it watches two humans drumming their heels against the wall.

After a minute or two, Storm pulls up her feet and tucks her legs under her. ‘I know your mum was a bit’ – she pauses – ‘different, but she cared about you, didn’t she?’

‘She cared about me and for me as much as she could in the circumstances, when she wasn’t too unwell.’

‘Yeah, I know she was a bit mad.’ Storm catches my eye and a flush spreads across her cheeks. ‘Mentally ill. Sorry. But at least she never ran off with a dickhead and left you on your own.’

‘But you weren’t on your own. You had Barry.’ When Storm winces, I have to laugh. ‘OK, that’s probably not the best thing to say but it’s true and Barry might be hopeless at times but he does love you.’

It’s the first time I’ve used the L-word when talking about our father and Storm’s lower lip wobbles. ‘I s’pose he does though he’s away most of the time now with his new band.’

‘They’re going to be famous, don’t you know.’

‘Of course they are. Especially now his song’s being played on the radio.’ Storm snorts and wipes her nose up and down her sleeve until I pass her a tissue.

‘He was still going on about that song when he rang last week to see how we were all doing.’

‘That’s ’cos he’s like totally deluded. A couple of years ago he reckoned Robbie Williams was copying him when he wore leather trousers on telly just after Barry saw him on the King’s Road. Like one of the most famous pop stars in the world is going to take fashion tips from a washed-up wannabe he spots in the street. But at least Barry likes seeing me.’

She scrubs at her eyes and rests against me when I snake my arm around her shoulders. Poor old Storm. It’s bad enough being a hormonal teenager without the double whammy of feeling unwanted as well. At the moment, I’m doing a better job of being her mum than Amanda is – and I haven’t got a freaking clue.

When Storm mumbles something into my shoulder, I bend my head towards hers. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said you won’t leave me, will you?’

My heart melts and I hug my awkward, difficult sister tight. ‘Nah, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me and Josh.’

‘And I won’t have to leave this daft village either. Promise me.’

‘I promise that I’ll do my very best,’ I say, feeling the ton-weight of responsibility that’s sitting on my head get a little heavier.

‘Good.’ Storm relaxes into me and we sit like that for a while, gazing across the ever-changing sea while seagulls screech overhead. Sisters united against the big scary world outside Salt Bay.