Page 11 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

‘What d’you reckon, Chlo?’ Jasmine peered over at her daughter. ‘How many buckets do you think we’ll manage before it all comes tumbling down?’

A smile spread over Chloe’s face, sending relief rushing through Jasmine. ‘I reckon four buckets,’ Chloe said, her familiar cheerful tone returning.

‘Right, let’s get cracking. Then, when we’ve done that, we can go and get some ice creams. Sound good?’

Both children cheered. Happiness was restored.

FIVE

MONDAY

Jasmine was almost done steam cleaning the floor in the generously proportioned kitchen of one of Spick ‘n’ Sparkle’s clients. It was the new property she’d been given after Enid had died. Her mind had been lost in thoughts of her elderly friend, lingering on happy memories of their chats together, when her mobile started ringing, pulling her out of her musings. For most of the morning, her mind had been turning over what she was going to say at the meeting she’d arranged with Chloe’s teacher, Mrs Butterfield, after school this coming Wednesday. She’d need to keep a lid on her temper, speak calmly and rationally. In other words, the opposite to how she was feeling. She’d already spoken to her mum, asked if she could pick the kids up for her, that way it would avoid alerting them to her visit to the school.

She turned the steam cleaner off and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, then reached for her phone in the pocket of her jeans. Her pulse took off at a gallop when she saw Micklewick Bay Junior School’s number looking back at her. Why was someone from school calling her? Her mind went into overdrive, her first thoughts going to Chloe and her problems with the Scragg girl.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, and reminding herself to keep calm, Jasmine accepted the call. ‘Hello.’

‘Hi, Jasmine, it’s Charlotte Scholes, Mrs Armistead’s PA again.’ Jasmine had spoken to her only that morning when she’d called to organise a meeting with Chloe’s teacher. She knew Charlotte, from working with her mother, Chris, at the bakery. The young woman popped in from time to time, and Jasmine had found her upbeat and friendly.

‘Oh, hi, Charlotte. Is everything okay?’ Jasmine hoped she wasn’t calling to rearrange the appointment. With her calendar being as jam-packed as it was, she didn’t know where she’d be able to squeeze it in at any other time that week.

‘I’m calling on behalf of Zak’s teacher, Mrs Hebbelthwaite. There’s been a bit of an incident involving Zak and another child and Mrs Hebbelthwaite has asked if you could make an appointment to have a chat with her and the headteacher about it. She suggested tomorrow morning at ten thirty, if that’s any good? I’m conscious you mentioned you were busy from our earlier phone call.’

Jasmine gasped audibly, her thoughts whirring. ‘What kind of incident? Is Zak okay?’ She could feel her pulse whooshing in her ears as panic squeezed in her chest.

‘Zak’s fine, but Mrs Hebbelthwaite is keen to get this matter sorted out, which is why she suggested a meeting for tomorrow,’ the PA said kindly.

Jasmine’s stomach was churning – she was eager to get it sorted, too. ‘Right, yeah, ’course. I understand.’ She pushed her fingers into her pixie crop, leaving her fringe standing on end. ‘The only thing is, I have an appointment tomorrow morning and I’m not sure how long it’s going to take but there’s a chance it could run well into the afternoon. Is there any chance I could speak to Mrs Hebbelthwaite after school today? Or, if that’s no good, how about after school on Wednesday since I’ll alreadybe there?’ A feeling in her gut told her the two matters were connected. A joint meeting would avoid the need to cancel her trip to Danskelfe Castle at short notice – not that she wouldn’t do it if necessary, her kids were always her priority.

‘I’m really sorry, Jasmine, but as headteacher, Mrs Armistead has stressed she wants to be involved in the meeting, too, and unfortunately, looking at her diary, I can see she isn’t free either of those times.’ Charlotte sounded genuinely apologetic.

Jasmine’s shoulders slumped further as the turmoil inside her cranked up several notches. The plates she always seemed to be spinning threatened to come crashing to the ground at any moment. ‘Can I ask, does this have anything to do with the Scraggs?’

The pause the PA took before answering told Jasmine everything she needed to know. ‘All I can say right now is that Zak’s been involved in a fight with another pupil.’

‘Afight?’ Dread pooled in Jasmine’s stomach. This was worse than she’d initially thought. Zak had never been in a fight before, and she’d never previously been called up to school to discuss his behaviour. ‘You did say he’s okay, didn’t you? He hasn’t been injured?’ If the child from the new generation of Scraggs was anything like his father, he’d have no qualms about unleashing his aggression and spite.

‘Both pupils are fine,’ Charlotte said calmly. ‘But Mrs Armistead is keen to speak to the parents from both sides so the situation can be resolved as quickly as possible.’

‘Of course,’ said Jasmine. Mrs Armistead wasn’t the only one. Jasmine wished she could rush up to school and see her son right now, make sure he really was okay. She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, wrestling with the thought of rearranging her meeting with Lady Caro. ‘Just give me a second to bring up the calendar on my phone.’

Before she had a chance to put the call on speaker phone, Charlotte spoke. ‘Listen, Jasmine, leave it with me. I’ll have a word with the headteacher and see if she can squeeze in a quick meeting straight after school today before the other commitment she has in her diary. You did say you were free then, didn’t you?’ she said, compassion evident in her voice.

‘Yes, yes, I am. That would be brilliant, thanks, Charlotte.’ It would give her time to finish up here and head home, change out of her work jeans and Spick ‘n’ Sparkle T-shirt and tidy herself up before heading to the school.

‘Okay, I can’t make any promises, but, like I said, leave it with me. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know.’

‘Thank you.’ Jasmine mentally crossed her fingers, hoping Charlotte would come back with a yes.

Sitting in the reception area outside the headteacher’s office, Jasmine absently glanced around the walls that were decorated with an array of the pupils’ brightly coloured artwork. It projected an air of positivity and cheerfulness, so at odds with her current mood. She switched her attention to her hands in her lap where her fingers were twisting in knots. Her right leg jigged up and down as it always did when she was feeling unsettled or anxious. The two hours since the PA’s call confirming the meeting had felt more like ten. She wished she’d been able to see Zak straight after school, to make sure he was okay, to hug him close. Little Chloe, too. But she reminded herself that speaking to Mrs Armistead and Chloe’s teacher was a priority and whatever had been going on with the dreaded Scraggs needed putting right without a moment’s delay. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what her friends would have to say when she told them that the once most despised family in Micklewick Bay had returned.

‘Mrs Armistead won’t be long.’ A voice broke into her thoughts and Jasmine looked up to see Charlotte smiling kindly at her.

She offered a weak smile in return.

Moments later, the door facing her opened and Mrs Armistead appeared, smiling. She was smartly dressed in a light blue trouser suit and crisp white blouse, its lace collar softening the look. Her fair hair was cut into a blunt bob. Jasmine would put her in her late forties. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Ingilby, would you like to come in?’ the headteacher said in her usual friendly, but at the same time, no-nonsense manner.

‘That’s okay. Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.’ Jasmine stepped into the bright, neat office where Fay Butterfield, Chloe’s teacher, was sitting in one of the chairs at the side of a large desk. Beside her was Mrs Hebbelthwaite who was Zak’s teacher. Both greeted her with a warm smile which went a small way to allaying her nerves.

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