Page 28 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

Soon she found herself wandering blindly around the ancient, cobbled streets of Old Micklewick in amongst the higgledy-piggledy cottages, tears pouring down her face.

‘Are you okay, lovey?’ a woman asked kindly.

Unable to form a single word, Jasmine nodded and walked on. She had no idea why she’d come to this part of town, all she knew was her home was the last place she wanted to be right now. She turned onto the little row of independent shops on Mariner Street that was bustling with people, a seagull screeching from one of the stout chimney pots. The sweet smell of fudge hung in the air, the heady scent of kippers being smoked further along.

She dragged her hand over her face and sniffed.

‘Jazz, flower, whatever’s wrong?’ Lark appeared before her in a cloud of essential oils, her bracelets jangling as she took hold of Jasmine’s arms. She was dressed in her usual boho style of floaty white top with wide lace straps, trimmed with mirrored beads, and a pair of harem pants, while Turkish-style shoes adorned her feet. Her long blonde waves hung loose over her shoulders.

‘What’s happened? Are you okay?’ The concern in Lark’s pale green eyes was enough to set Jasmine’s tears off again.

‘Oh, Lark, it’s t-too m-much… it’s all j-just too m-much. I-I c-can’t do th-this any m-more.’ Jasmine buried her head in her friend’s neck and sobbed.

‘Oh, lovey, everything’s going to be all right, I promise.’ Lark guided her to a quiet corner, smoothing her hand over Jasmine’s hair. ‘Why don’t we go back to my cottage? You can tell me all about what’s got you so upset and we can see how we can put it right.’

‘Ok-kay.’ Jasmine allowed Lark to lead her along the twists and turns of the street and down onto Smugglers Row, a mismatched huddle of small cottages with red pantile roofs. It was like stepping into another world.

Painted a delicate shade of pale pink, with its aged door made of wide planks of natural oak wood upon which hung a wreath constructed of white shells, Seashell Cottage couldn’t have looked more achingly sweet if it tried. Stepping into a tiny, tiled vestibule area, Jasmine was enveloped by the heady aroma of lavender and rose geranium essential oils, a fragrance she associated with her friend’s home. After kicking off their shoes, she followed Lark into the characterful living room whose Georgian sash window looked directly out onto the street. Privacy was afforded by the profusion of flowers in the window box outside and the lines of jewel-coloured beads that hung down from a wooden pole that Lark had made herself. The beadscaught the sunshine, sending kaleidoscopic rainbow splashes around the room, adding to the enchanted feel of the space.

‘Right, lovey, you plonk yourself down there while I make us some tea.’ She directed Jasmine to a small, squishy sofa covered with an old patchwork quilt and set with an array of brightly coloured plump cushions, handing her a box of tissues. Just like the rest of the tiny cottage, this room was filled with reclaimed furniture and accessories, all with their own unique history and story to tell. A large mirror with a decorative painted frame sat above a small inglenook, a log burner nestled within. Either side of the fireplace were built-in cupboards and shelves where Lark displayed her treasures along with a variety of crystals. Underfoot was a sisal carpet strewn with a couple of hand-woven rugs in sumptuous berry shades. A vibrant hand-stitched wall-hanging Lark had picked up in France on a sourcing trip with Nate adorned the wall by the door. Though the proportions of the room were small, Lark had been careful to ensure every bit of available space had been put to good use. To some it might feel cluttered, but Jasmine found its distinct hippy vibe soothing. It was Lark Harker to a “T”.

‘Here you go, get that down you.’ Lark padded into the room, handing Jasmine a chunky mug of what smelt like a bunch of dried weeds.

‘Th–thanks, Lark.’ Though her tears had ceased, her eyes were red and swollen, and her shoulders still gave the occasional shudder.

Lark set her own mug down on the coffee table before them then curled herself into the armchair next to her friend, flicking her blonde waves over her shoulders. ‘So, what’s happened, flower?’ She reached for Jasmine’s hand, smoothing it with her fingers. ‘It’s not like you to get so upset.’

Jasmine felt her throat tighten. She shook her head and closed her eyes, tears escaping through her lashes.

‘S’okay, Jazz, take your time. You can tell me when you’re ready.’

Jasmine dabbed at her eyes. ‘It’s everything, Lark.’ Her voice wavered. ‘It’s all got too much. It’s been hard enough making sure there’s enough money for everything, that the kids have got all they need, keeping track of when I’m meant to be working and where. But now there’s all this… I don’t have enough hands for the balls I need to keep in the air.’ She stifled a sob, looking at her friend through puffy eyes. The last time she’d cried like this had been when she’d heard Bart had died. She’d always been strong, but that had toughened her veneer even more so.

‘Oh, sweetheart, it’s no wonder everything’s got on top of you. The lasses and me have been worried sick about you for a while now. The only time you seem to stop to catch your breath is our Friday nights at the Jolly or the occasional reading at the bookshop. You’re heading for burnout, if you haven’t already reached it. It might not seem it right now, but it’s good that you’re having a cry and giving in to your emotions.’ She gave Jasmine’s hand a squeeze. ‘So, was the meeting at Danskelfe Castle not what you hoped it would be?’

‘It was the opposite.’ Jasmine took a sip of her tea and pulled a face at the bitter flavour that filled her mouth, making Lark giggle. ‘What the bloomin’ ’eck is this?’

‘It’s camomile tea, known for its calming properties. I gather you’re not a fan.’ Lark chuckled some more.

‘Tastes like my dad’s compost heap.’

‘And we all know of the benefits of homemade compost, so drink up and let it work its magic; you’ll get used to the taste soon enough.’ Lark grinned at her. ‘So, you know the old saying about a problem shared?’

‘Yes.’ Jasmine tried another sip of her tea; it wasn’t getting any better.

‘Good, then why don’t you tell me exactly what it is that’s got you so upset?’

‘Shouldn’t you be at the shop? I don’t want to take up your time if you’re busy.’

‘Busy is the last thing I am when one of my besties has just been sobbing her heart out. The shop can wait. Right now, nothing’s more important than being here with you, Jazz. And besides, I’d never settle if I left you like this, so fire away. Tell me all…’

Lark listened as Jasmine told her everything from Scraggo arriving back in town with his children – she’d looked horrified at hearing that – to the meeting with Lady Caro at Danskelfe Castle – Lark had clapped her hands together and squealed with delight – to learning that her home had been put on the market. She’d also repeated what she’d told Florrie about running into Max which had been greeted with one of Lark’s mysterious looks.

‘But then I got this.’ She fished the letter out of her bag and handed it to Lark. Jasmine watched as she read it, her friend’s face morphing from interest to utter disbelief and then to disgust.

‘What kind of people do that sort of thing?’ She hurriedly placed the letter on the table as if she couldn’t wait to get it out of her hands.

‘Bart’s parents, that’s who,’ Jasmine said sadly. She picked up the letter and read it again.

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