Page 55 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

Monday morning proved to be an even more frantic dash around than usual at Rosemary Terrace, with Jasmine and the children being late to leave the house thanks to Zak misplacing his football boots. He’d found them stuffed under his bed where he’d left them after getting back from his grandparents the previous day – die-hard Micklewick Lions supporters, he and Connor had worn the team’s football strip on the Sunday, too. It was unlike Jasmine not to check the kids had everything ready for school the following day, but it had completely slipped her mind. But then, her Sunday had been more than a little out of the ordinary.

With no news from the garage about her car, she was grateful for the use of the Spick ‘n’ Sparkle van rather than the three of them having to walk – or rather, run – up to school. But with her colleague returning later this week, she’d have to chase the garage, see if they could speed things up a bit.

She hadn’t told Zak and Chloe about her unpleasant encounter with Jason Scragg over the weekend, not wanting to worry them, but she’d gently reminded them that if there was any trouble from Bruce or Nina Scragg, then they were to discreetly inform a teacher.

It was while she was scrubbing the shower of one of the Spick ‘n’ Sparkle clients that a text landed from Micklewick Mansions. She pulled off her cleaning gloves and retrieved her phone from her pocket, her expression clouding over. ‘Not again!’ she said, as she read the message informing her they’d organised a viewing of her home for later that morning. She jabbed at the screen until she found the call icon, pressing it.

It didn’t come as a shock to Jasmine that Don Carswell was unable to take her call.

‘Look, I know it’s not your fault, but for future reference, a bit more notice would be nice,’ she said to the young receptionist. ‘I know I’m only a tenant, but I’d prefer to be in when strangers are wandering around my home. So, in future, I’d be grateful if you could call me in advance, that way we could at least have the chance to arrange a viewing for a mutually convenient time. I wouldn’t even mind showing whoever it is around myself.’

‘I’m really sorry, Miss Ingilby, I completely understand, and we do have a note of this on our file, but the prospective buyer was insistent they look around first thing this morning. They seemed pretty keen, so we didn’t like to put them off. If it helps at all, they looked very respectable, and Mr Carswell will be accompanying them. Are you okay with that?’ the receptionist asked.

‘I suppose I’ll have to be.’ The young girl sounded sweet, making Jasmine instantly regret her snappy tone. ‘Sorry I bit your head off. Like I said, I appreciate it’s not your fault, but if you could just bear it in mind for any future viewings.’

With the call ended, Jasmine sat on the floor, her shoulders slumped as her irritation leached away. She was going to have to increase her efforts on the house-hunting front. She might have to give Lark’s suggestion of the old bakery further consideration. The idea had been growing on her, especially with it having a garden for the kids, though she’d put it to the back of her mindon the grounds that it wasn’t even available to rent yet and there was no way of contacting the owner. It wasn’t just that, she hadn’t wanted to build her hopes up; she had a feeling it would be out of her budget anyway. She could only hope some new rental properties had appeared since the last time she’d scoured the internet.

It hadn’t all been bad news that morning. A call to the garage revealed that her car should be ready for collection by the end of the day. The cost was eye-watering, but at least last Thursday had been payday, so she’d be able to afford it – just. Jasmine was thankful she didn’t have the headache of searching for a cheap run-around on top of looking for a new home. She very much doubted that would have been within her budget.

The following morning, Jasmine was relieved to find a conveniently located parking space directly outside one of the grand Victorian houses on the top prom. It had been split up into luxury apartments, one of which belonged to Hilda Jenkins whose home she was about to clean. She was lifting her cleaning equipment out of the van when an inexplicable wriggle of unease slithered up her spine. She turned cautiously to see Jason Scragg standing beside her, a threatening look in his eyes. His unexpected presence made her gasp, and he smirked. She noticed an elderly lady, walking her dog, eyed him warily as she gave him a wide berth. Jasmine couldn’t blame her.

‘I’ve just had a phone call from that flaming school, complaining about my kids.’ From the tone of his voice Jasmine guessed it hadn’t been a friendly phone call.

‘And?’ She set her jaw. Not for one minute did she want him to think she was intimidated by him.

‘And I reckon it’s got summat to do with you and your goody-goody brats.’

‘I can assure you, you’re mistaken there, which means I’ve got nothing more to say to you. So, if you wouldn’t mind moving out of the way so I can get past…’

‘Or what?’ He stood directly in her path, pushing his puny chest out and performing more of the ape-like posturing she’d witnessed on Saturday. Jasmine felt a giggle rise up inside her. She swallowed it down, telling herself it would only serve to antagonise him. She just wanted him to go. Hilda would be expecting her. She’d have the kettle on and a plate of biscuits set out, and Jasmine didn’t want to make her worry or wonder where she was.

‘Or you’re going to make me late for my shift.’ She deliberately kept her tone indifferent.

He sniggered and her stomach churned at his breath that caught in her nose. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d smelt anything so foul.

She took a step forward, hoping he’d move aside, but instead he inched closer. She felt her heart start pumping fast, sending a surge of adrenalin racing around her body; she could really do without this right now but there was no way she was going to back down.

‘Not scared, are you, Ingilby?’

Jasmine didn’t flinch. Instead, she held his gaze, trying not to inhale the revolting stench that emanated from him. ‘You know, I always think people like you must feel inadequate or inferior in some way. I mean, why else would you behave like this? I actually feel sorry for you that you haven’t moved on from being the toxic little bully you were at primary school. You’re no different, are you?’ She battled the urge to take hold of the bull ring in his nose and lead him out of the way. ‘And, in answer to your question, no, I’m not scared.’ The emotion currently raging around her was anger that men like him thought they couldget away with this sort of behaviour, thinking it was okay to intimidate women.

His top lip curled into a snarl, revealing his row of rotten teeth. ‘Think you’re dead good, don’t you, Ingilby? But I reckon it’s time someone taught you a lesson or two, put you in your place, like.’

‘You’re pathetic.’

He took a step forward, sticking his chest out further, centimetres separating them. Jasmine was just about to bring her knee up when a voice stopped her.

‘If you know what’s good for you, Scragg, you’d move out of the way right now.’ Before Jasmine had a chance to think, Max was standing beside her, glowering down at Scraggo.

‘Oh, aye, or what?’ Scraggo turned, tipping his head back so he could make eye contact with the person addressing him. ‘You again! Make a habit of poking your nose in where it’s not wanted, do you?’ He made a show of swaggering on the spot, unaware of how ridiculous he looked. ‘And who are you, anyroad?’

‘Don’t you recognise me, Scragg?’ At almost a foot taller than Jason Scragg, Max towered over him.

‘No, should I?’ Scraggo faltered and he started inching away.

‘Oh, I think you should.’ Max regarded him with utter disdain. ‘I’m Max Grainger, remember me? I remember you. Hard to forget really, with your nasty little campaign to make my life a living hell when we were at school.’

Scraggo flinched. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve got me confused with someone else. I’ve never bullied no one, me.’

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