Page 16 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

NINE

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO

Jasmine knew Jason Scragg was trouble the moment she first set eyes on him in the playground of Micklewick Bay Primary School.

She’d been in a huddle, chatting with Stella, Florrie and Lark, when his arrogant swagger had caught their attention as he made his way around, appraising the other children, a menacing gleam in his eye.

Even at such a young age, his body language exuded a sinister vibe, sending out a clear message: he wasn’t to be messed with.

He’d only just arrived at the school and yet already he was flanked by a couple of “henchmen” in the form of Tyrone Hornsby and Decker Dixon; two of the school’s hard-knock lads, as they walked slowly around the playground, side by side.

Such posturing meant they were given a wide berth by the other pupils, particularly the younger ones, though Jasmine couldn’t help but think it made them look slightly ridiculous.

Rumours abounded about him being expelled from two previous schools, which was why he’d ended up in Micklewick Bay.

It wasn’t long before Scraggo made his presence felt on a more personal level, particularly with those he’d singled out as being easy to intimidate.

He’d taken up residence in a corner of the playground that was tucked out of view from the playtime supervisors.

Like some sort of juvenile gangster, he’d send Tyrone and Decker to seek out the latest “victim” he’d picked off, telling the unsuspecting pupil that Scraggo wanted a word.

Everyone soon came to learn that it was more than a “word” the bully was after.

It invariably meant the handing over of pocket money, sweets or anything that had caught his eye.

The undercurrent of fear he generated thanks to the threats of what he’d do if he found out anyone had “spragged” on him, meant no one dared tell the teachers or playground supervisors. Particularly so, Max Grainger.

Once Scraggo had her friend on his radar, it was as if he’d made it his mission to make the younger boy’s life a misery at every opportunity.

He mocked him mercilessly for having dirty, scruffy clothes, and for having shoes with holes in.

He took great pleasure in telling Max he smelt like a rubbish bin, which had led to him thinking up the cruel nickname: “Rubbish”.

‘Urgh! Rubbish, you stink! Doesn’t your mum wash your clothes?

’ he’d mocked, his face twisted into a spiteful sneer.

‘Oh, yeah, I forgot, you don’t have one.

She ran off with another fella, didn’t she, Rubbish? ’

‘No, she didn’t!’ Max had cried.

‘Yeah, well, where is she then, Rubbish? If she’d cared about you, she’d have stayed, wouldn’t she?’ Scraggo had said, barging past Max and knocking him with his shoulder.

When this had been reported back to Jasmine, her heart had ached for her friend; the thought of how much it would’ve hurt him was almost unbearable.

If she’d seen Scraggo at that moment, such was her rage, she’d have had no qualms about giving him a piece of her mind and to heck with the consequences.

She knew her mum did her best to wash Max’s clothes whenever she had the opportunity, but it didn’t stop the smell of number nine lingering once he’d gone back there; it was ingrained in his clothes and the very fabric of Max’s home.

Jasmine had ventured inside her friend’s house only once when Bazza Grainger was at the pub, and she’d been shocked at the chaos – not to mention the smell.

Carrier bags, clothes and a variety of junk were strewn around everywhere, making it difficult for her to navigate her way across the floor without standing on something.

Unwashed dishes were piled in the sink, spilling out onto every available worktop, and the wallpaper was peeling from the walls.

She’d never seen anywhere like it. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought the place had been ransacked.

Not that she said anything to Max; it wasn’t his fault, and there was no way she’d hurt his feelings.

The situation intensified when Scraggo had picked up on Max not having a coat after the younger lad had arrived at school one morning soaked to the skin, rain dripping from his curls and down his face.

He, along with Tyrone and Decker, had pounced on him in the toilets where he was trying to dry himself off with the paper hand towels, taunting him mercilessly, saying his dad was a layabout who spent all his time in the pub.

That he was a “cheapskate” who’d rather spend money on beer than his son.

And they’d refused to believe Max when he’d said he’d lost his coat.

To this day, Jasmine was sure they’d had something to do with it.

Word of what had happened to Max soon filtered to Jasmine and her friends.

And as soon as she’d got home that night, Jasmine told her mum about it.

Heather had immediately dug out one of the coats Jonathan had outgrown, which she’d set aside for Max to wear in a year or two’s time.

She’d given it to Max when he called over for his tea that evening, telling him she’d been having a sort out and asking if could do her a favour and take it off her hands.

Max had been delighted with his new coat.

But his happiness was to be short-lived.

Two days later, Max had been distraught once more when it had gone missing from his coat peg at school.

After a frantic search, Jasmine, with the help of Stella, Florrie and Lark, had found it slashed and stuffed down one of the girls’ toilets.

And if that wasn’t enough, it had been daubed with paint.

Though he’d tried to hide it, pretending it didn’t matter, it was clear that Max was heartbroken.

Despite the headmaster being given the names of the suspected perpetrators, Mr Trousdale did nothing, which had enraged Jasmine. She realised then that the rumours about Mr Trousdale being scared of Jason Scragg’s father were very probably true.

The headmaster’s lack of action meant Jason Scragg’s bullying campaign continued, with Max hiding what was happening from Jasmine as much as he could.

But she’d noticed how he dragged his feet on the walk to school, not to mention the notes stuck to the back of his jumper with the word “Rubbish” scrawled across.

It had been the same with his PE bag, which he’d found on the floor next to his coat peg, the contents strewn far and wide and, judging by the footprints, they’d been given a thorough stamping on.

Adding insult to injury, his name on the inside of his bag had been scribbled out and the word “Rubbish” written in its place.

Despite Max’s efforts at hiding it, word soon got round the other pupils at Micklewick Bay Primary School, resulting in them keeping him at arm’s length in order to avoid attracting Jason Scragg’s attention. No one wanted to be tarred with the same brush as Max Grainger and suffer the consequences.

Which was what had prompted Jasmine to take action. She knew it could lead to her getting into serious trouble with school and her parents, but she felt so strongly about what Scraggo and his pathetic henchmen were doing to Max, she was prepared to risk it.

By the end of the week, she’d formed a plan and was ready to put it into action as soon as the moment presented itself.

It was the mocking voices and cry of, ‘Leave me alone!’ that caught the attention of Jasmine and her friends that Friday when they’d barely left the school gates.

Jasmine looked on in disbelief as her brain processed the scene before her: Max was covered in rubbish.

How did that happen? Her gaze moved to the figure standing beside him, her jaw tightening as her eyes landed on Scraggo.

She took in the upturned bin in his hands and cruel sneer on his face, realisation hitting her. ‘No!’

Scraggo threw the bin to the ground, the clatter echoing around the street, as he and his cronies started laughing and jeering at Max.

In the next moment, he gave Max a hefty shove, knocking him to the ground.

‘Urgh! You really are rubbish now, aren’t you, Rubbish ?

’ He loomed over Max, sniggering as other pupils gathered round them.

A burning rage exploded in Jasmine’s chest. Much as she hadn’t wanted anything as horrible and humiliating as this to happen to Max, she’d been waiting for an opportunity to exact revenge on her friend’s behalf. And now was the perfect time.

Seeing Max struggle to his feet, fighting back tears, snapped her into action. She stormed her way over to Scraggo who was making a big show of encouraging the onlooking pupils to mock her friend.

‘Leave him alone! Just leave him alone!’ she roared, fury propelling her as she hurtled towards him, her backpack swinging from side to side on her back. The cries of her friends telling her to be careful falling on stony ground behind her, she felt utterly fearless.

Scraggo, along with everyone watching, turned to face her. ‘Or what?’ he asked, mockingly, before shoving Max again.

‘Or you’ll be sorry, that’s what!’

‘Oh, yeah?’ He threw an amused look in the direction of his two friends, before swaggering towards her, an arrogant smile curling his top lip. ‘How d’you reckon I’m gonna be sorry, then? You’re nowt but a weedy girl.’

Jasmine landed in front of him, her nostrils flaring, her face burning with anger.

He gave her a hard shove to the shoulder and she staggered backwards.

‘Come on then, show me how I’m gonna be sorry.

’ A gasp ran around the group of pupils who’d been watching events unfold, tension suddenly filling the air as he reached for her.

‘Get your hands off me!’ she yelled as he took hold of her shoulders.

‘Argghhh!’ Before Scraggo had a chance to utter another word his legs were whipped from beneath him and he hit the floor with a resounding thud, air huffing from his lungs.

‘That’s how.’ Jasmine made a show of dusting her hands off.

‘And what was that you were saying about me being a weedy girl?’ She wriggled her backpack from her shoulders and reached inside.

‘And this is for what you did to Max’s coat.

’ She squeezed hard on the bottle of red paint she’d brought from home, covering Scraggo’s coat and school trousers.

‘How’s that for a taste of your own medicine, you loser? ’

‘Gerroff! You’re crazy! Gerroff!’ Scraggo yelled, rolling around and covering his face with his arms to avoid the paint, but Jasmine’s aim was too good and she wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d emptied the bottle on him.

Hoots of laughter registered in her ears, along with the voices of Stella, Florrie and Lark who’d started clapping and cheering. Cries of ‘Whoop! Whoop!’ and ‘Go, Jazz!’ filled the air as the rest of the onlooking pupils joined in.

Scraggo staggered to his feet, his coat spattered with paint, the laughter and jeers growing louder. With his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, he grappled for his schoolbag and made a hasty retreat.

‘You okay, Max?’ Jasmine asked softly as she helped brush the rubbish from his clothes.

He nodded, still dazed. ‘Yeah.’

‘Did he hurt you?’ Her eyes went to the graze on his chin; she’d take him back to her house so her mum could clean it up for him. Thoughts of her mum sent a dart of panic shooting through her; Jasmine knew she wasn’t going to be pleased once she’d heard what her daughter had done.

‘Not really. There’s this, though.’ He pulled his top lip taut, revealing a chip in one of his front teeth.

What she saw chased all worries of her mother from her mind, though she tried to hide her shock, not wanting to cause Max any further distress. ‘Don’t worry, that can be mended.’ She pushed up a smile. ‘D’you remember when our Jonathan chipped his tooth?’

Max nodded.

‘Well, the dentist did something to it – can’t remember what it was exactly – but now you can’t even tell his tooth was broken. It’s that good, I can never remember which tooth it is. My mum and dad’ll sort it out for you like they did for Jonathan.’

Max swallowed and peered up at her. ‘Thanks, Jingilby,’ he said in a small voice.

‘What for?’

‘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 was epic . 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 school and 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.