Page 17 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

TEN

PRESENT DAY – MONDAY

That night, Jasmine lay in bed. Max Grainger had slipped into her thoughts, keeping sleep at bay.

She recalled the day he’d burst into their kitchen, sobbing his heart out.

The pain in his eyes had haunted her for months afterwards.

It had been etched in her mind, the memories still vivid whenever she hauled them out, not that she’d done that for a long time.

Her mum had abandoned whatever it was she was stirring in a pan on the oven and rushed over to him, pulling him into a hug where he’d proceeded to sob uncontrollably.

Jasmine had hardly ever seen Max cry and on the rare occasions she had, it was nothing like the tears she’d witnessed then.

Max was always cheerful and upbeat, and rarely without a smile.

But that day, his usually twinkly hazel eyes were puffy and red, and his nose was streaming.

It had been obvious he’d been crying for a long time and she’d known instantly something bad must’ve happened, either with his father or Jason Scragg.

Jasmine’s stomach clenched at the memory. She’d always been protective of Max when they were younger, with him having no one to stick up for him at home.

When he’d finally stopped crying enough for her mum to ask if he could tell her what had got him so upset, he’d said, in between sobs, that it was “everything”.

Jasmine couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone look so utterly defeated, which even as a child, had felt wrong; he was too young to look like that.

It was as if every ounce of energy and spirit had been sucked out of him, a stark contrast to the usual lively, happy-go-lucky boy who bounced around on a wave of joie de vivre, despite his family circumstances.

Even one of her mum’s “cure-all” hot chocolates hadn’t tempted him that day, nor the prospect of dunking one of Jasmine’s freshly baked extra-chocolatey cookies into it.

It was something both she and Max used to enjoy doing whenever she’d made a batch with her mum.

Indeed, Jasmine’s family used to joke Max had a sixth sense for when they’d been baking since he’d always appear in the kitchen when the first batch of cakes or cookies were lifted from the oven.

Not that there was any wonder since the young lad was always ravenous; making sure his son was properly fed wasn’t exactly high on Bazza Grainger’s list of priorities.

Jasmine gazed into the darkness of her tiny bedroom, her heart twisting as she recalled Max’s reply to her mum when she’d asked what she could do to help make things better. His words still rang in her ears:

‘You c-can’t… f-fix it, Auntie… Heath…er. My d–dad’s… been p-put in… p–prison. The p–police took h–him. I’ve… r–run… away. Th-they d-don’t know wh-where… I… am.’

At the time, Jasmine remembered thinking she must’ve misunderstood, or heard wrong.

Surely the police hadn’t put his dad in prison?

Max was only nine years old – same as her.

The police wouldn’t leave him on his own with no one to look after him, would they?

That was the sort of thing that happened on the television, not in real life.

She’d never seen her mum turn as pale as she did that day; she’d clearly been stunned, too, though she’d stayed calm, no doubt for Max’s sake while she worked out what to do.

She’d watched her mother’s expression morph from shock to concern as Heather Ingilby switched into coping mode, just as she did whenever she was faced with a tricky situation.

Relief had washed over Jasmine, knowing her mum would get this sorted for Max, of that she was certain.

Jasmine had grown up with the belief that, between them, her mum and dad could fix anything.

Heather had sat Max down at the table, taking the seat beside him and asked him how he knew the police had taken his dad.

‘I s-saw them. I s-saw it hap… happen,’ had been Max’s answer.

Jasmine had felt sick just hearing that, but to have witnessed it must’ve been absolutely terrifying. It had explained why Max was so upset.

Reliving the memory had sent Jasmine’s pulse thudding, even more so when she recalled what Max had shared after her mum had asked him to tell them what had happened.

Jasmine and her mum had listened intently as Max went on to describe how he’d been in the back garden of his home while his dad was crashed out on the sofa in the living room when he’d heard a commotion.

Amongst the unfamiliar raised voices, he heard his father shouting angrily, along with the sound of furniture crashing about, and the loud barking of a dog.

He’d crept into the kitchen to hear a police officer telling his dad he was under arrest on suspicion of stealing a car and dealing drugs.

They’d started a search of the house using a police sniffer dog which was when Max had fled and raced through the back garden gate.

Finding no one at home at Jasmine’s house, he’d run and run until his legs were tired and he was overcome by a stitch in his side.

He’d ended up near the local allotments and had hidden behind a shed until he felt brave enough to head to the Ingilby’s.

‘Please don’t make me go back home, Auntie Heather. I’ll be scared the policemen will come back,’ he’d said, panic in his eyes. ‘Please can I stay here? Please can I live with you and Uncle Steve?’ he’d asked pleadingly.

The mere memory of the desperation in his voice still had the power to make Jasmine’s stomach churn. She closed her eyes, the image of him jumping up and flinging his arms around her mum and burying his head into her neck filling her mind along with the ensuing conversation:

‘ Please , please , Auntie Heather. I promise I’ll be good.

Please let me live with you. You always make me feel so happy when I’m here.

And everyone always thinks I’m Jingilby and Jonathan’s brother cos we’ve got nearly the same colour hair and we’ve all got loads of freckles.

You and Uncle Steve could adopt me. You could be my new mum and dad. ’

‘Ooh, sweetheart.’ Heather had wrapped her arms around him, her bottom lip quivering as she’d blinked back tears. ‘I wish it was as?—’

‘ Please , Mum, please can Max live here?’ Jasmine had asked, suddenly brightening and taking up her friend’s plight.

‘He can share with Jonathan.’ She’d thought it was the perfect solution since Max had idolised her brother who was two years their senior and they were as mad on football as one another.

Her mum had remained noncommittal, saying they’d have to contact his grandad who lived over Harrogate way before any decisions were made.

They’d met Jimmy Grainger a few times and Jasmine’s parents had always found him pleasant.

Jasmine had overheard them discussing him and Bazza after one of Jimmy’s visits, wondering how on earth such a decent man could have produced a wastrel, layabout of a son, her dad declaring Bazza to be a “right bad apple, if ever there was one”.

Heather had managed to track down Jimmy Grainger’s phone number and brought him up to speed with the situation regarding his son and grandson.

Jimmy had been shocked to hear that things had got so bad that his son had ended up in prison and had gone on to explain how Barry, to give Bazza his proper name, had gone off the rails once he’d met Max’s mum, Martina, severing all ties with his parents.

His mother had gone to her grave believing her son hated her.

They ended the phone call agreeing that Max should stay at the Ingilby’s overnight and Jimmy would travel from his home in Harrogate the following day.

True to his word, Jimmy arrived just after eleven o’clock that Sunday morning, with Max eyeing him warily; being very young the last time he’d seen his grandfather, he’d had little recollection of him.

Jimmy had spoken to his grandson kindly, asking him questions about the things he liked, such as his favourite food – Auntie Heather’s Sunday dinners and Jingilby’s double-chocolate cookies – and if he was keen on sport.

Max’s eyes had brightened on hearing his grandad was an avid football supporter.

Jimmy had listened as Steve and Heather had sung Max’s praises, telling him he was a bright kid, and keen to learn, that he just needed a bit of stability in his life for him to reach his full potential.

‘Well, I’m his grandad, and it’s time I stepped up to the plate. I need to make sure that potential doesn’t go to waste,’ Jimmy had said.

After lunch, Steve had accompanied him to number nine where they’d gathered Max’s pitifully small amount of belongings together and placed them in the boot of Jimmy’s car, while Heather stayed with the children.

Jasmine and Max had watched from the front window, her stomach curdling at the thought of her best friend being taken all the way to Harrogate. She’d never been there before and it felt like it was at the other side of the world.

With the car packed, Jimmy had declared it was time to leave. ‘Come on then, lad, it’s time we were off, then we can get you settled in your new home.’

New home! Panic had clawed at Jasmine’s insides, her eyes burning with tears.

Max had leapt to his feet and thrown himself at Heather, his eyes filling with a mix of sorrow and uncertainty. ‘Can’t I stay with you, Auntie Heather?’ he’d whispered, his voice wavering. ‘Please?’

‘Not right now, lovey,’ Heather had said, her voice choked. ‘You need to go with your grandad, but you’re welcome to come and visit us any time you like. Don’t ever forget that, little love.’

‘And you can play football with me and my mates,’ Jonathan had said when he’d come in from the back garden.

‘And we can come and see you in Harrogate.’ Steve had squeezed Max’s shoulder, injecting a bright tone to his voice that hadn’t been remotely convincing.

‘It’s a lovely spot.’ Jasmine had never seen her dad cry before, and had been startled to see him swipe tears from his cheeks.

It appeared to act as a catalyst to her own tears and, like a dam bursting, they’d started streaming down her face.

She’d run over to her mum and Max, wrapping her arms around them both as she’d sobbed uncontrollably.

‘Come on, now.’ Heather’s voice had been thick with emotion. ‘Any more tears and your dad’s going to have to get a mop and bucket and swill this place out.’ She’d forced a smile as she began prising Max’s fingers from her.

‘Thank you both for everything.’ Jimmy’s face had been wreathed in concern. ‘We’ll keep in touch.’

‘Aye, you do that,’ Steve had said.

Jasmine and Max had stood looking at one another through puffy, bloodshot eyes. ‘You’ve been the best friend ever, Jingilby.’

‘So have you, Max.’ Jasmine’s voice had been no more than a whisper. Somehow, she’d managed to dredge up a smile.

In the next moment, his skinny arms had wrapped themselves around her, and he was practically squeezing the air from her lungs.

‘Thank you for sticking up for me,’ he’d said, releasing her and giving a snotty sniff.

‘S’okay.’ She’d barely been able to speak, her throat was so tight.

‘Bye,’ he’d said.

‘Bye, Max.’

Jasmine had watched in disbelief as he’d slipped his hand into his grandad’s and headed down the path, her heart ready to burst with sadness.

They were almost at the gate when Max had stopped and turned, pulling his shoulders back and fixing her with a determined gaze. ‘When I grow up, I’m gonna be a millionaire with a really fast car and I’m gonna drive back to Micklewick Bay and marry you, Jingilby!’

‘Don’t be so daft, Max.’ Jasmine had felt her cheeks burn crimson as a round of ‘Ahhs’ had gone up, followed by a ripple of laughter and a teasing whistle from Jonathan. But she hadn’t been able to stop herself from smiling through her embarrassment.

‘Ey up, flower, how’s that for a proposal?’ Her dad had chuckled, giving her a nudge.

‘Aye, well, there’s nowt like having a bit of ambition, lad.’ Jimmy Grainger had smiled down fondly at his grandson before throwing Jasmine an amused wink.

She’d switched her gaze back to Max. The smile he’d mustered was enough to trigger his dimples, along with the faintest hint of a twinkle in his tear-stained eyes.

She’d smiled back at him before he’d turned and walked away.

It was to be the last Jasmine would see of Max Grainger for over two decades and now, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of path his life had followed. And what had brought him back to Micklewick Bay.