Page 27 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

Though Jasmine had understood her landlord’s reasons, she hadn’t been too thrilled that the only time such an inspection could take place was when she was at work. Despite being permanently busy, she kept a tidy home, and knowing he would have no issues in that regard, she’d reluctantly agreed to the visit. Since she’d had no feedback, she’d assumed everything was okay. But now, after her mum’s text, it crossed her mindthat he might have had an ulterior motive for the inspection. The worst of it was that she wouldn’t put it past him not to be upfront. She’d always found him slippery and reluctant to make eye contact. And he hadn’t exactly been quick to respond to any problems, like when the radiator in the bathroom had started leaking last winter. She’d managed to turn it off, but it had meant having a shower was a freezing prospect in a room with such fridge-like temperatures.

As for the other problems with the property he was responsible for, like the rotting windows which Jasmine had done her best to hide with regular applications of paint, the missing roof tiles which were the reason for the damp patch on the ceiling in Zak’s bedroom to name but a few, they seemed to get ignored, despite informing Micklewick Mansions of them on a regular basis. She’d heard it was the same with most of her landlord’s other rental properties. But what gave her concerns extra weight was the fact that Don Carswell, the head estate agent, was also her landlord’s brother, and if rumours were to be believed, they were as dodgy as one another.

She swallowed down the ball of stress that had lodged in her throat. It sometimes felt that no matter how hard she tried, her life didn’t get any easier. It was exhausting having the sole responsibility of keeping everything running smoothly. Much as she hated to admit it to herself, she did feel the green-eyed monster occasionally rear its ugly head at the mums waiting at the school gates, talking about what a great help their partners were. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. She needed to focus on getting back home, so she could check for herself that the For Sale sign was for next door.

Jasmine pushed the key into the front door of her home, a puzzled expression on her face. She’d had a good look at the“For Sale” sign and, from the way it had been positioned so centrally between the two houses, it was impossible to tell if it was advertising her home or the one next door.

Kicking her sandals off and scooping up the handful of post on the doormat, she rushed to the kitchen, hooked her bag over the back of a chair and grabbed her laptop. Once it had booted up, she clicked on the Micklewick Mansions website and hastily typed “Rosemary Terrace” in the search bar. Scrolling through the list of properties it threw up, her heart lurched when an image caught her eye. The page seemed to take forever to load, and she jigged her leg impatiently, a sense of doom mushrooming.

‘Oh, my god!’ She pressed her hand to her mouth.

Looking back at her were photos of her home, with hers and the children’s belongings for all to see.

A mix of anger and anxiety whirled like a tornado inside her. None of it made sense. Why had the letting agents not told her? Why did they think it was okay to send someone round to take photographs when she wasn’t in? And worse, how was this going to affect Zak and Chloe? Moving house was unsettling. With what had been going on with the Scraggs, they were already dealing with enough.

She snatched up her phone and called the Micklewick Mansions’ number, asking the receptionist to put her through to Don Carswell. On hearing the identity of the caller, the receptionist immediately declared he was out of the office and would be for the rest of the day.

But Jasmine knew a fob-off when she heard one. She reached for her bag then gathered up the handful of newly delivered letters – she could scan over those as she headed into town, see if there was anything from the estate agents, though she very much doubted it. Don Carswell may be too much of a coward to speak to her, but she needed an explanation. There was no way she wasgoing to take this underhanded, unprofessional treatment lying down. She was going to wipe the floor with him.

And then, she’d have to set to with the task of finding her and the kids somewhere new to live. A wave of exhaustion went head-to-head with the rage boiling inside her.

Before she’d even set foot inside Micklewick Mansion’s office, her worst fears had been confirmed by the photos for all to see in the window advertising her home. She’d stormed through the door, taking Don Carswell by surprise as he was sipping his coffee and engaged in what appeared to be flirty banter with the receptionist. Jasmine tore a strip off him before he had a chance to speak; she had no time for his smarmy excuses. She accused him of being deceptive and unprofessional before stomping out of the office and slamming the door behind her.

Out on the street, Jasmine’s chest was heaving and her stomach was churning. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been this worked up; it was as if everything was piling on top of her, threatening to extinguish the good news of her Danskelfe Castle contract. Tension was making her head feel like it was ready to explode, sending her stress shooting out geyser-like. She bit down on her bottom lip – there was no way she could head home feeling like this. She had a fairy-themed birthday cake to start on when she got back, and she didn’t want to channel negative vibes into it. She needed to take a minute to let her emotions calm down; she couldn’t think straight at the moment, with what felt like a cyclone raging around her mind.

Deciding a head-clearing walk along the top prom would probably help, she made her way through the streets until she reached the top of Skitey Bank. Before long, she found herself sitting on the wooden bench that Florrie and Ed had funded in memory of his grandparents, Bernard and Dinah Harte – they’dalso been Florrie’s much-beloved bosses at The Happy Hartes Bookshop. Her heart was still pounding, but she figured that probably had as much to do with the pace she’d walked to get there as it was the stress of finding out she’d be losing her home.

She rubbed her hands vigorously over her face. ‘Ugh!’ Why was it when something good happened, something had to take the shine off it? she wondered. Her life had worked that way for so long she’d almost got used to it, plodding on, dealing with whatever was thrown at her, accepting it without question, not thinking too deeply about it. It wasn’t as if she asked for a lot; as long as her children were happy and healthy, and were warm and well-fed, that was enough for her. She felt blessed that she had such a wonderfully supportive family and the best group of friends anyone could wish for. She knew they’d have her back whatever the problem; they were as good as family to one another. But she couldn’t help but think that somewhere along the way she’d lost her identity, which was why Lady Caro’s offer meant so much to her. Maybe the old Jasmine, the one before her dysfunctional relationship with Bart had taken its toll, would resurface and her spirited personality would be allowed to shine.Don’t get carried away. Baby steps and all that.But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that.

Her next thought was that she should ask Stella about her legal rights regarding what had happened with her home. She visualised what her friend would have to say to Don Carswell, taking pleasure in imagining her words wiping the smarmy smile off his face. Stella was the queen of scathing put-downs. What she’d give to see that!

But then again, Jasmine reasoned with herself, did she really want all the extra hassle of lodging a complaint? She had enough to contend with right now, and she had a feeling the grief that would come with it could quite possibly tip her over the edge. She wanted to focus her energy on making sure Jason Scragg’sobnoxious kids got the message to leave Zak and Chloe alone, wanted to make sure her children knew that she wasn’t too preoccupied with any other concerns for them to talk to her or share their worries. Was it too much to ask that their life be on an even keel for a while?

She looked out to sea where the sun was dancing lightly over the waves, her gaze absently skimming over the little fishing boats that chugged their way over the water, seagulls circling above. The murmur of the sea was still audible up here on the top prom, a soothing, rhythmic sound. Her eyes moved along, landing on the pod of surfers in their glossy black wetsuits this side of the pier. They were out in force today. In the distance, to the right, Thorncliffe was basking in the sunshine, as were the patchwork of fields that belonged to Clifftop Farm.

Something caught her attention on the bottom prom, and she watched as a figure threw a skateboard to the ground before making a great show of jumping aboard and propelling himself forward at an alarming speed, narrowly missing holidaymakers ambling along. Jasmine watched with morbid fascination as the skateboarder attempted some elaborate manoeuvre which resulted in his skateboard flying off in the direction of the beach while he collided with a sandwich board advertising the local surf school. She winced, momentarily distracted from her worries, as he tumbled head-first over the board with an almighty clatter. It must’ve hurt if the sound of the impact from the top prom was anything to go by. In that moment, she knew it could only be one person: Ando Taylor.

The sound of a motorbike roaring by on the road behind her pulled her thoughts away from Ando and back to the reason for her sitting on the bench. She was considering heading back home when she remembered the letters in her bag. Unzipping it, she reached inside, wondering if she’d find an official letter from Micklewick Mansions.

The first piece of correspondence was a receipt from the football summer holiday activity week that Zak had enrolled on. A small smile fluttered on her lips at the thought of how much her son was looking forward to it, especially with his new friend.

The next was a leaflet advertising incontinence pants.Who chooses where to send these ads?‘I might wear belly-whackers but I’m not quite ready for those just yet,’ she said aloud, setting it down on the bench beside her.

Another envelope contained bumpf from one of the companies she bought her cake decorating supplies from. She’d look at that later.

She eyed the remaining piece of post. Something about it sent a ripple of unease running through her.Oh, what now?

She slid her finger under the flap and eased out the thick piece of folded paper, dread pumping through her as she opened it out. Her eyes landed on the letterhead: Parker-Conley Legal.

Her first thought was that it was a letter regarding her official notice to quit Rosemary Terrace. But as she read down the neatly typed rows of words, she realised it was something far worse.

She was being threatened with legal action.

FOURTEEN

She reread the letter, tears blurring her eyes, myriad emotions tearing at her insides. ‘Not this again!’ she cried, turning the head of a man walking his dog nearby.

Stuffing the letters into her bag, she scrambled to her feet, tears spilling onto her cheeks. It felt as if she’d been hit with one thing after another with no chance to recover in between. She was punch-drunk with it all. She walked on, down Skitey Bank and towards the Jolly, passing the boats and lobster pots, with no thought as to where she was going.

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