‘Are you all right?’

Josh sits next to me on the damp wooden bench and looks across Alice’s garden at the harbour. The mizzle has lifted but the sky and sea are still steel-grey and the grass on the cliffs is a washed-out green. Vibrant colours have leached away with Alice and the world seems drab.

‘I’m glad people came back to the house after the ashes scattering, but I began to think they’d never leave.’

‘Me too. Jennifer was determined no one would escape until all the sandwiches were gone. I saw her shoving a couple into Florence’s handbag when she wasn’t looking.’

When I laugh, the sound carries and startles a seagull that’s strutting along the path like he’s king of the garden. Is it OK to laugh when someone you love has just died? I’m pricked by a sharp shard of guilt.

‘I think Alice would have enjoyed her wake,’ I say, shuffling along the cagoule I’m sitting on so Josh can benefit from the plastic too. He pulls it under his backside and shifts across until our thighs are touching.

‘She would have had a lovely time. Though she wouldn’t have been happy that Gerald was smoking in the kitchen.’

‘She’d have been furious.’ I give Josh a sideways smile ’cos smiling’s probably OK, and he laces his fingers through mine. His skin is smooth and warm. ‘I’m not sure I could have got through today without you. Thanks for being here.’

‘Where else would I be?’ he says, simply, nudging his shoulder against mine, and my heart brims over with love. Yep, I’ve become one of those loved-up saddos who floats around with a daft smile on her face, but I’ve never felt like this before – completely at ease with another person and desperate to snog them senseless. But today there’s an added frisson of fear because loving someone means there’s a lot to lose and losing people hurts.

‘I miss her.’ Turning my head, I stare at the village that Alice loved with all her heart for eight decades. It looks the same. Of course it does – honeysuckle will still frame the front doors of granite cottages and the crystal-clear river that cuts across the village green will continue to flow into the sea. Life in Salt Bay will go on even though Alice has gone.

‘I know. Me too.’ Josh swallows hard. ‘People dying reminds you of other deaths, doesn’t it? Other people who’ve left us.’

‘Yeah, it’s reminded me of Mum. I thought I’d come to terms with her dying and had put it behind me but it’s like Alice’s death has ripped off the sticking plaster covering up the wound.’

I bite my lip, feeling foolish. My outrageous, annoying, fabulous mum died of breast cancer almost half a decade ago. So I should be over it by now, shouldn’t I? Stiff upper lip and all that.

But Josh nods. ‘It never fully goes away however long ago it happened. I thought of Dad while we were up on the cliffs.’

‘Your step-dad?’

‘My step-dad and my real dad. I was only a kid when he died but I still remember the shock of it. I still remember him.’ Josh rarely mentions Mark Pasco, who died of a heart attack more than twenty years ago and I hold my breath, waiting for him to go on. ‘I sometimes wonder what he’d think of me now. Whether he’d be proud of me and happy with the way my life’s turned out.’

A single tear trickles down Josh’s cheek and he brushes it away with a frown. My boyfriend is much less repressed these days after being bathed in my emotional intelligence – though he will insist on referring to it as emotional incontinence. But being touchy-feely sometimes takes him by surprise.

‘Of course your dad would be proud.’ My fingers catch slightly on the dark bristles across his chin when I stroke his lovely face. ‘Just look at you – a successful teacher who’s doing a brilliant job of looking after his family, and with an absolutely gorgeous girlfriend to boot.’

Josh snorts and pulls me close against him as a broad brushstroke of lemon sunshine breaks through cloud and falls across the garden. ‘I suppose you’re not bad in spite of having an utter git for a cousin.’

Often I stick up for Toby when he’s getting a bad rap. Blood is thicker than water and all that caboodle. But not today. I get that the house should be his even though he doesn’t love it like I do. But telling us on the day of Alice’s funeral that he’s chucking us out is utterly git-like.

‘You know what.’ Josh swivels around on the bench to face me. ‘I know leaving Tregavara House will be hard for you but maybe it’s for the best in the long run. It’ll be a fresh start. We can find a little place for the two of us – somewhere cosy with an open fire and a sea view. Just you and me. What do you reckon?’

I reckon being holed up with the man of my dreams in a tiny seaside cottage sounds wonderful. I can see us now, a modern day Ross and Demelza, facing the world together from our cosy Cornish home. We can make love in front of a roaring fire with no worries about Storm bursting in at a climactic moment – at Tregavara House, we’ve taken to wedging a chair under the door handle.

But it’s just a dream. Having spent most of my twenties successfully avoiding responsibilities in London, I’ve acquired a shedload since coming to Cornwall.

‘I’m sorry, Josh. That sounds amazing, but I can’t leave Storm and Emily, and what about Barry? He’ll need somewhere to sleep when he comes to visit. Storm hardly ever sees her mum so I don’t want her to stop seeing her dad too.’

Josh sucks in his bottom lip and thinks for a moment, his thick hair caught in the breeze. ‘We’ll just have to get a bigger place for all of us then.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘One thousand per cent sure, which is why I teach English and music, rather than maths. My family’s important to me and yours is to you. I get it.’

He grins and gazes out to sea, his face in profile, as I thank my lucky stars for having such a lovely boyfriend who’ll help keep my dysfunctional ragbag family together. I don’t want to lose them as well as my home.

A dark shadow cast by the thick stone walls of Tregavara House settles across my feet. It’ll break my heart to leave this place but what choice do I have now Toby’s gone all Lord of the Manor on me?

No choice at all, so buck up and get on with it, girl, says my inner voice, which is sounding more and more like Alice these days.