Page 14 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

SEVEN

The chat in her car with Stella had helped settle Jasmine’s emotions such that she felt sufficiently calm to head to her parents’ house without the risk of her anger and indignation bursting out of her in front of her children.

Desperate to get her kids home, she gave her mum a hurried and abridged version of what had been discussed in the meeting at school, telling her she’d go into greater detail later.

‘Oh, my days, sounds like a horrible case of déjà vu!’ Heather said.

‘And you and Dad might want to prepare yourselves for a surprise visitor.’ Jasmine deliberately saved telling her mum about Max until she’d shared what had happened up at school.

‘A surprise visitor? Please don’t tell me that Scraggo’s threatened to call here?’ Heather’s outraged expression made Jasmine laugh.

‘No way! Don’t go worrying about that, he wouldn’t dare.’

‘Good.’ That seemed to pacify Heather. ‘Who then?’

‘Max.’

‘Max who? Surely not little Max Grainger?’

‘Little Max Grainger.’ Jasmine nodded.

‘How… I mean… Oh, it’ll be lovely to see him.’ Jasmine watched as her mum’s face softened. ‘But how do you know? Have you seen him?’

Jasmine explained how she’d bumped into him and the conversation that had ensued, which had Heather chuckling heartily.

‘And how’re your knees?’

‘Much better, thanks.’

Heather’s face was wreathed in smiles. ‘Your dad’ll be over the moon when I tell him – about Max, not your knees, flower.’

Jasmine knew her parents would be thrilled to see Max, he’d been a permanent fixture at their house when he and Jasmine were children.

Max Grainger had lived diagonally opposite Jasmine and her family on Arkleby Terrace, a street of sturdily built authority houses that boasted generously proportioned gardens.

Most of them were now privately owned, as was the case with Jasmine’s home.

Max lived at number nine, she at number eight.

They were in the same year at school and had known each other all their lives, with Max being a regular fixture in the Ingilby residence.

Though they weren’t related, Max had always addressed Jasmine’s parents as Auntie Heather and Uncle Steve.

Though money was often tight at number eight, love and affection flowed freely, as did laughter and happiness.

Jasmine and Jonathan never felt they were doing without, rather they were taught to value and appreciate what they had.

There were always hot meals on the table, and Heather prided herself on her laundry skills, ensuring her family’s clothes were clean and perfectly pressed.

Bus driver Steve, in what he jokingly used to refer to as his role of “hunter-gatherer” grew soft fruit and vegetables in a patch at the bottom of the garden, his green fingers supplying the family with an abundance of fresh produce – Jasmine and Jonathan would be tasked with picking the berries for which they were rewarded.

Both Jasmine’s parents instilled the importance of good manners and kindness in their children.

And though their respective family circumstances meant neither Heather nor Steve had gone to university, they were keen to encourage their children to follow their heart, telling them that they’d support whatever choices they made.

They had a strong work ethic, fitting in extra shifts around their children in order to save money for family holidays, Christmas and birthdays.

Keen to instil the value of money in their offspring, Jasmine and Jonathan were given weekly tasks in order to earn their pocket money.

All of this meant that both Ingilby children grew up feeling loved, valued and with a strong sense of their place in the world.

It couldn’t have been more different for little Max Grainger just a stone’s throw away on the other side of the road.

Max had no memory of his mother. He’d been just eighteen months old when she’d walked out after a blazing row with his father.

When it had become local knowledge, Heather had offered to look after Max while Bazza supposedly went out to work.

Everyone knew he was unable to hang on to a job for more than a week and spent most of his time in the pub, wasting what little money he had.

It would be fair to say he’d taken advantage of Heather’s kindness on multiple occasions.

Little Max spent so much time with the Ingilby’s he and Jasmine had grown up almost like siblings.

As Max had grown older, his father’s irritability had increased, which seemed to coincide with his drinking habit; there didn’t seem to be a day when Bazza wasn’t drunk.

He started accusing Heather of interfering, saying she was spying on him and reporting back to school and Social Services, who’d begun circling around number nine.

Of course, Heather hadn’t reported anything to anyone, of which she’d eventually manage to convince him.

Instead, she’d kept a close eye on little Max.

But Bazza’s explosive outbursts had meant she’d had to tread carefully around him in order to avoid his displeasure which he’d barked with such viciousness, she’d become scared of him.

Heather had told Jasmine when she was older that she’d felt torn at times, thinking that Bazza didn’t deserve his son, whom she described as an adorable, loving little boy.

She and Steve had dropped subtle hints to Max’s grandfather when they’d encountered him on his rare visits, but it would appear that Bazza had convinced Jimmy he was managing fine, especially with the Ingilby’s helping out the way they did.

‘Seemed, despite all his yelling and accusations that I was a busybody, I served a purpose in his mind after all.’

Heather also told her that it was obvious to others who lived close by that Bazza wasn’t parenting Max as he should, but they were too fearful of reprisals to say anything or take action.

She herself had been reluctant to report him and be responsible for the little lad being taken into care.

She’d added that the one saving grace was that he didn’t physically hurt his son.

If he had, then Heather and Steve wouldn’t have hesitated to involve the authorities.

Instead, they’d made sure Max was welcome at their home any time, day or night.

The open invitation meant he had access to a hot meal whenever he wanted, and had a chance to get warmed through in the colder months.

On the nights he slept over, sharing Jonathan’s room, Heather would surreptitiously gather up Max’s clothes and give them a whizz around the washing machine, repairing any holes and rips where possible.

Anything she deemed beyond saving she got rid of and replaced with something similar of her son’s.

And he’d loved the luxury of having a deep bath, filled with bubbles, spending ages playing with a collection of Jonathan’s old plastic toys they’d hung on to.

And he’d been over the moon when Jonathan had said he could have the Micklewick Lion’s football kit he’d grown out of.

Max had worn it non-stop for a week and told Jasmine he’d even slept in it.

Since then, Heather was sure to pass on any of the clothes her son had outgrown, which Max had declared to be “mint”.

It helped that Bazza didn’t seem to notice.

It was the same when his son returned to number nine with his wild curls tamed courtesy of Heather’s scissors.

To say Bazza Grainger was a cold-hearted, selfish man would be an understatement.

It was obvious to all he put his own needs before his young son.

He made no secret that he didn’t want a job, and any he’d had, he’d been sacked from for a litany of offences, including drinking, stealing and being abusive to his bosses or their customers, or not bothering to turn up.

He’d essentially made himself unemployable.

He seemed to forget – or not to care – how all of this would affect his son.