Page 19 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

‘For… what you just did… stopped Scraggo from?—’

She jumped in, not wanting him to feel embarrassed or awkward. ‘You’d have done the same for me.’

They grinned at one another. ‘Not sure I’d have thought to squirt him with paint, but that wasepic. You looked totally fearless.’ They both started to laugh hard at that.

Despite her laughter, lurking at the back of her mind was the thought that she was going to be in serious trouble with schooland her parents for what she’d done, but she didn’t care. If it meant Scraggo left her friend alone, any amount of telling-off and detention would be worth it.

Back at home, Heather Ingilby listened in disbelief as Jasmine and Max recounted what had happened outside school. Jasmine watched the mixture of emotions crossing her mum’s face as she’d dabbed gently at Max’s grazed chin, sticking plasters to his bleeding fingers.

‘Well, let’s hope that’s the end of his bullying, lovey,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s disgraceful it got as bad as it did. That Mr Trousdale has a lot to answer for. And, much as I can understand you wanting to stick up for little Max, your dad and me don’t condone you using physical force or fighting, young lady.’

‘Scraggo pushed me first, and it was that hard he nearly knocked me over,’ Jasmine said defensively.

‘I understand that, but you need to be careful, especially where that family’s concerned. You could’ve ended up seriously hurt. I don’t want to hear of you doing anything like that again, is that clear?’

‘Yes, Mum.’ Jasmine nodded, feeling suitably chastened.

The following week, the office at school had been bombarded by a plethora of complaints from parents all concerned about the reports they’d been hearing concerning the Scragg boy’s bullying behaviour. Many had threatened to remove their child or children from the school unless Mr Trousdale took action, which had sent the headmaster into a tailspin.

A week later, Jason Scragg was no longer a pupil at Micklewick Bay Primary School, though no one knew the exact details why. It later transpired that the family had left town.

Almost instantly, Max’s smiles had returned – albeit slightly altered by his chipped tooth – along with his usual sunny disposition. Little did they know it was to be short-lived thanks to a visit by the police to his home.

TEN

PRESENT DAY – MONDAY

That night, Jasmine lay in bed. Max Grainger had slipped into her thoughts, keeping sleep at bay. She recalled the day he’d burst into their kitchen, sobbing his heart out. The pain in his eyes had haunted her for months afterwards. It had been etched in her mind, the memories still vivid whenever she hauled them out, not that she’d done that for a long time.

Her mum had abandoned whatever it was she was stirring in a pan on the oven and rushed over to him, pulling him into a hug where he’d proceeded to sob uncontrollably.

Jasmine had hardly ever seen Max cry and on the rare occasions she had, it was nothing like the tears she’d witnessed then. Max was always cheerful and upbeat, and rarely without a smile. But that day, his usually twinkly hazel eyes were puffy and red, and his nose was streaming. It had been obvious he’d been crying for a long time and she’d known instantly something bad must’ve happened, either with his father or Jason Scragg.

Jasmine’s stomach clenched at the memory. She’d always been protective of Max when they were younger, with him having no one to stick up for him at home.

When he’d finally stopped crying enough for her mum to ask if he could tell her what had got him so upset, he’d said, inbetween sobs, that it was “everything”. Jasmine couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone look so utterly defeated, which even as a child, had felt wrong; he was too young to look like that. It was as if every ounce of energy and spirit had been sucked out of him, a stark contrast to the usual lively, happy-go-lucky boy who bounced around on a wave of joie de vivre, despite his family circumstances.

Even one of her mum’s “cure-all” hot chocolates hadn’t tempted him that day, nor the prospect of dunking one of Jasmine’s freshly baked extra-chocolatey cookies into it. It was something both she and Max used to enjoy doing whenever she’d made a batch with her mum. Indeed, Jasmine’s family used to joke Max had a sixth sense for when they’d been baking since he’d always appear in the kitchen when the first batch of cakes or cookies were lifted from the oven. Not that there was any wonder since the young lad was always ravenous; making sure his son was properly fed wasn’t exactly high on Bazza Grainger’s list of priorities.

Jasmine gazed into the darkness of her tiny bedroom, her heart twisting as she recalled Max’s reply to her mum when she’d asked what she could do to help make things better. His words still rang in her ears:

‘You c-can’t… f-fix it, Auntie… Heath…er. My d–dad’s… been p-put in… p–prison. The p–police took h–him. I’ve… r–run… away. Th-they d-don’t know wh-where… I… am.’

At the time, Jasmine remembered thinking she must’ve misunderstood, or heard wrong. Surely the police hadn’t put his dad in prison? Max was only nine years old – same as her. The police wouldn’t leave him on his own with no one to look after him, would they? That was the sort of thing that happened on the television, not in real life.

She’d never seen her mum turn as pale as she did that day; she’d clearly been stunned, too, though she’d stayed calm, nodoubt for Max’s sake while she worked out what to do. She’d watched her mother’s expression morph from shock to concern as Heather Ingilby switched into coping mode, just as she did whenever she was faced with a tricky situation. Relief had washed over Jasmine, knowing her mum would get this sorted for Max, of that she was certain. Jasmine had grown up with the belief that, between them, her mum and dad could fix anything.

Heather had sat Max down at the table, taking the seat beside him and asked him how he knew the police had taken his dad.

‘I s-saw them. I s-saw it hap… happen,’ had been Max’s answer.

Jasmine had felt sick just hearing that, but to have witnessed it must’ve been absolutely terrifying. It had explained why Max was so upset.

Reliving the memory had sent Jasmine’s pulse thudding, even more so when she recalled what Max had shared after her mum had asked him to tell them what had happened.

Jasmine and her mum had listened intently as Max went on to describe how he’d been in the back garden of his home while his dad was crashed out on the sofa in the living room when he’d heard a commotion. Amongst the unfamiliar raised voices, he heard his father shouting angrily, along with the sound of furniture crashing about, and the loud barking of a dog. He’d crept into the kitchen to hear a police officer telling his dad he was under arrest on suspicion of stealing a car and dealing drugs. They’d started a search of the house using a police sniffer dog which was when Max had fled and raced through the back garden gate. Finding no one at home at Jasmine’s house, he’d run and run until his legs were tired and he was overcome by a stitch in his side. He’d ended up near the local allotments and had hidden behind a shed until he felt brave enough to head to the Ingilby’s.

‘Please don’t make me go back home, Auntie Heather. I’ll be scared the policemen will come back,’ he’d said, panic in his eyes. ‘Please can I stay here? Please can I live with you and Uncle Steve?’ he’d asked pleadingly.

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