Page 22 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay
She rubbed her hands vigorously over her face.
‘Ugh!’ Why was it when something good happened, something had to take the shine off it?
she wondered. Her life had worked that way for so long she’d almost got used to it, plodding on, dealing with whatever was thrown at her, accepting it without question, not thinking too deeply about it.
It wasn’t as if she asked for a lot; as long as her children were happy and healthy, and were warm and well-fed, that was enough for her.
She felt blessed that she had such a wonderfully supportive family and the best group of friends anyone could wish for.
She knew they’d have her back whatever the problem; they were as good as family to one another.
But she couldn’t help but think that somewhere along the way she’d lost her identity, which was why Lady Caro’s offer meant so much to her.
Maybe the old Jasmine, the one before her dysfunctional relationship with Bart had taken its toll, would resurface and her spirited personality would be allowed to shine.
Don’t get carried away. Baby steps and all that.
But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that.
Her next thought was that she should ask Stella about her legal rights regarding what had happened with her home.
She visualised what her friend would have to say to Don Carswell, taking pleasure in imagining her words wiping the smarmy smile off his face.
Stella was the queen of scathing put-downs. What she’d give to see that!
But then again, Jasmine reasoned with herself, did she really want all the extra hassle of lodging a complaint?
She had enough to contend with right now, and she had a feeling the grief that would come with it could quite possibly tip her over the edge.
She wanted to focus her energy on making sure Jason Scragg’s obnoxious kids got the message to leave Zak and Chloe alone, wanted to make sure her children knew that she wasn’t too preoccupied with any other concerns for them to talk to her or share their worries.
Was it too much to ask that their life be on an even keel for a while?
She looked out to sea where the sun was dancing lightly over the waves, her gaze absently skimming over the little fishing boats that chugged their way over the water, seagulls circling above.
The murmur of the sea was still audible up here on the top prom, a soothing, rhythmic sound.
Her eyes moved along, landing on the pod of surfers in their glossy black wetsuits this side of the pier.
They were out in force today. In the distance, to the right, Thorncliffe was basking in the sunshine, as were the patchwork of fields that belonged to Clifftop Farm.
Something caught her attention on the bottom prom, and she watched as a figure threw a skateboard to the ground before making a great show of jumping aboard and propelling himself forward at an alarming speed, narrowly missing holidaymakers ambling along.
Jasmine watched with morbid fascination as the skateboarder attempted some elaborate manoeuvre which resulted in his skateboard flying off in the direction of the beach while he collided with a sandwich board advertising the local surf school.
She winced, momentarily distracted from her worries, as he tumbled head-first over the board with an almighty clatter.
It must’ve hurt if the sound of the impact from the top prom was anything to go by.
In that moment, she knew it could only be one person: Ando Taylor.
The sound of a motorbike roaring by on the road behind her pulled her thoughts away from Ando and back to the reason for her sitting on the bench.
She was considering heading back home when she remembered the letters in her bag.
Unzipping it, she reached inside, wondering if she’d find an official letter from Micklewick Mansions.
The first piece of correspondence was a receipt from the football summer holiday activity week that Zak had enrolled on. A small smile fluttered on her lips at the thought of how much her son was looking forward to it, especially with his new friend.
The next was a leaflet advertising incontinence pants. Who chooses where to send these ads? ‘I might wear belly-whackers but I’m not quite ready for those just yet,’ she said aloud, setting it down on the bench beside her.
Another envelope contained bumpf from one of the companies she bought her cake decorating supplies from. She’d look at that later.
She eyed the remaining piece of post. Something about it sent a ripple of unease running through her. Oh, what now?
She slid her finger under the flap and eased out the thick piece of folded paper, dread pumping through her as she opened it out. Her eyes landed on the letterhead: Parker-Conley Legal.
Her first thought was that it was a letter regarding her official notice to quit Rosemary Terrace. But as she read down the neatly typed rows of words, she realised it was something far worse.
She was being threatened with legal action.