Page 21 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

THIRTEEN

‘What?’ Jasmine scrunched up her nose. Her first thought was that her mum must be mistaken.

The little houses on Rosemary Terrace were packed in like sardines, maybe the For Sale sign was on number twenty next door.

After all, their front doors were side by side and if the sign was placed between them, then it could very easily confuse people.

She massaged her brow with her fingertips.

‘Everything okay?’ asked Florrie.

‘Um… I think so,’ said Jasmine, distracted as she tapped out a quick reply to her mum. She pressed “send”, just as the signal bars shrank from four to none. ‘Bugger!’

Aware of her friend casting a concerned glance her way, Jasmine recounted the message from her mum.

‘Surely it must be next door, Jazz. That house has been empty for a while. It would make sense if the owner put it up for sale. I mean, it’s not as if you’ve heard anything from your landlord about your place, have you?’

‘Not about that, no.’

‘Well, there you are. He’s legally obliged to give you notice if he wants to sell the property unoccupied,’ Florrie said.

‘And, more importantly, if he was going to advertise it for sale, he’d have to let you know the estate agents would be calling round to take photos and measure up, wouldn’t he?

And since that hasn’t happened, I reckon you can stop worrying, and get back to basking in the fabulous news of your new business venture. ’

Jasmine felt reassured by Florrie’s logic.

‘Yeah, I s’pose you’re right.’ She reasoned that since Micklewick Mansions Estate Agents were also the letting agents for her home it would suggest they’d have given her notice if her tenancy agreement was coming to an end.

And they’d also inform her if her home was being put on the market, especially if people were to be shown around while she still lived there. At least, she hoped they would.

‘Good. Now sit back, enjoy the scenery and stop fretting.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Jasmine chuckled at Florrie’s friendly-bossy tone.

But as they drove on, a doubt started running through her mind.

Though her landlord hadn’t given her notice of his intention to sell eighteen Rosemary Terrace, he had been in touch a couple of weeks ago, telling her he was sending someone round to inspect the property, make sure it was in a good state of repair, which was completely out of character.

She usually had to hound him to get things fixed, and even then there was no guarantee it would happen.

The reason he’d given was that he’d had his fingers burnt when another of his properties had been trashed by a tenant who’d done a runner owing several months’ rent.

Though Jasmine had understood her landlord’s reasons, she hadn’t been too thrilled that the only time such an inspection could take place was when she was at work.

Despite being permanently busy, she kept a tidy home, and knowing he would have no issues in that regard, she’d reluctantly agreed to the visit.

Since she’d had no feedback, she’d assumed everything was okay.

But now, after her mum’s text, it crossed her mind that he might have had an ulterior motive for the inspection.

The worst of it was that she wouldn’t put it past him not to be upfront.

She’d always found him slippery and reluctant to make eye contact.

And he hadn’t exactly been quick to respond to any problems, like when the radiator in the bathroom had started leaking last winter.

She’d managed to turn it off, but it had meant having a shower was a freezing prospect in a room with such fridge-like temperatures.

As for the other problems with the property he was responsible for, like the rotting windows which Jasmine had done her best to hide with regular applications of paint, the missing roof tiles which were the reason for the damp patch on the ceiling in Zak’s bedroom to name but a few, they seemed to get ignored, despite informing Micklewick Mansions of them on a regular basis.

She’d heard it was the same with most of her landlord’s other rental properties.

But what gave her concerns extra weight was the fact that Don Carswell, the head estate agent, was also her landlord’s brother, and if rumours were to be believed, they were as dodgy as one another.

She swallowed down the ball of stress that had lodged in her throat.

It sometimes felt that no matter how hard she tried, her life didn’t get any easier.

It was exhausting having the sole responsibility of keeping everything running smoothly.

Much as she hated to admit it to herself, she did feel the green-eyed monster occasionally rear its ugly head at the mums waiting at the school gates, talking about what a great help their partners were.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that.

She needed to focus on getting back home, so she could check for herself that the For Sale sign was for next door.

Jasmine pushed the key into the front door of her home, a puzzled expression on her face. She’d had a good look at the “For Sale” sign and, from the way it had been positioned so centrally between the two houses, it was impossible to tell if it was advertising her home or the one next door.

Kicking her sandals off and scooping up the handful of post on the doormat, she rushed to the kitchen, hooked her bag over the back of a chair and grabbed her laptop.

Once it had booted up, she clicked on the Micklewick Mansions website and hastily typed “Rosemary Terrace” in the search bar.

Scrolling through the list of properties it threw up, her heart lurched when an image caught her eye.

The page seemed to take forever to load, and she jigged her leg impatiently, a sense of doom mushrooming.

‘Oh, my god!’ She pressed her hand to her mouth.

Looking back at her were photos of her home, with hers and the children’s belongings for all to see.

A mix of anger and anxiety whirled like a tornado inside her.

None of it made sense. Why had the letting agents not told her?

Why did they think it was okay to send someone round to take photographs when she wasn’t in?

And worse, how was this going to affect Zak and Chloe?

Moving house was unsettling. With what had been going on with the Scraggs, they were already dealing with enough.

She snatched up her phone and called the Micklewick Mansions’ number, asking the receptionist to put her through to Don Carswell. On hearing the identity of the caller, the receptionist immediately declared he was out of the office and would be for the rest of the day.

But Jasmine knew a fob-off when she heard one.

She reached for her bag then gathered up the handful of newly delivered letters – she could scan over those as she headed into town, see if there was anything from the estate agents, though she very much doubted it.

Don Carswell may be too much of a coward to speak to her, but she needed an explanation.

There was no way she was going to take this underhanded, unprofessional treatment lying down.

She was going to wipe the floor with him.

And then, she’d have to set to with the task of finding her and the kids somewhere new to live. A wave of exhaustion went head-to-head with the rage boiling inside her.

Before she’d even set foot inside Micklewick Mansion’s office, her worst fears had been confirmed by the photos for all to see in the window advertising her home.

She’d stormed through the door, taking Don Carswell by surprise as he was sipping his coffee and engaged in what appeared to be flirty banter with the receptionist. Jasmine tore a strip off him before he had a chance to speak; she had no time for his smarmy excuses.

She accused him of being deceptive and unprofessional before stomping out of the office and slamming the door behind her.

Out on the street, Jasmine’s chest was heaving and her stomach was churning.

She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been this worked up; it was as if everything was piling on top of her, threatening to extinguish the good news of her Danskelfe Castle contract.

Tension was making her head feel like it was ready to explode, sending her stress shooting out geyser-like.

She bit down on her bottom lip – there was no way she could head home feeling like this.

She had a fairy-themed birthday cake to start on when she got back, and she didn’t want to channel negative vibes into it.

She needed to take a minute to let her emotions calm down; she couldn’t think straight at the moment, with what felt like a cyclone raging around her mind.

Deciding a head-clearing walk along the top prom would probably help, she made her way through the streets until she reached the top of Skitey Bank.

Before long, she found herself sitting on the wooden bench that Florrie and Ed had funded in memory of his grandparents, Bernard and Dinah Harte – they’d also been Florrie’s much-beloved bosses at The Happy Hartes Bookshop.

Her heart was still pounding, but she figured that probably had as much to do with the pace she’d walked to get there as it was the stress of finding out she’d be losing her home.