Part I: Past
The Start of it All
It is an ideal day to break someone’s heart. Heavy rain has faded overnight to an overcast sky and a fine drizzle, leaving pressure and spirits low. Unfortunately, it is also weather to confine the less intrepid indoors and for them to relieve an expected day of boredom with the amusement of baiting an unwary sister. Sitting at the breakfast table, Jasmine isn’t thinking about heartbreak. She is furious. If she had known she would be eating with her fractious twin sisters, she would have risen an hour earlier. But the sound of the rain rattling against the windows lured her to snuggle further into her warm duvet for just a few more minutes. Now, she is paying for that moment of indulgence.
One of Jasmine’s abiding beliefs is that humans should move through this planet doing as little harm as possible and she is often disappointed. Through sheer persistence, she has had bacon removed from the breakfast buffet while she is in residence, but this particularly rankles her youngest sister, Phoebe. This morning, while Jasmine is sitting with her oat milk, fair-trade Mayan Gold coffee and her palm oil-free peanut butter on spelt-bread toast, Phoebe retaliates by spraying her sister’s food with scrambled egg. The teenager would not have dared had their father had been at the table or even one of her oldest two sisters, but only their mother was present and she had never been willing nor able to control her youngest daughter.
Jasmine, fearing her principles of non-violence may crumble under her seething need for justice, leaves the table with Phoebe’s delighted laughter ringing in her ears. Breakfast becomes a single granola bar and a cup of bitter reminiscences. After a shower in cold water – for the ancient hot water system struggles to cope with a horde of girls – she pulls on a shirt and jeans and tops it off with her waterproofs. As she carefully tucks a few errant strands of hair into her anorak hood, Jasmine is still fuming, although as a woman of many strong convictions, outrage is not a new emotion. With one last check in the mirror, she finds a speck of egg clinging to a recalcitrant curl. Her curls, she feels, are a metaphor for her place in her family; no one else has them and no one else wants them.
She has never been more grateful to have an escape, a place to go to when life with her own family becomes too much. When she steps out onto the path, she still isn’t thinking about heartbreak. Concentrating on avoiding puddles, for her country boots are well worn and no longer waterproof, she is not thinking of endings but beginnings. The familiar path to her boyfriend’s house reminds her of the first time she trod this route and the excitement that had tingled along every synapse.
Jasmine’s two older sisters had attended the small local primary before transferring to a hothouse boarding school. Jasmine had always assumed she would follow them, but midway through her schooling, the primary closed. With no one consultingherwishes, Jasmine found herself starting at a private day school in Bridgetown. She confidently expected she would eventually follow her sisters, but eleven came and went, followed by twelve and finally thirteen, and she continued at the same day school. Finally, she understood. There would be no prestigious boarding school for her. She was not worth it.
By sixteen, she’d had enough. The private school was a dumping ground for girls of little ambition or curiosity but whose parents wanted to insulate them from the imagined roughness of state education. Jasmine struggled to find common ground with her fellow students. She had no interest in the latest fashions. What was the point when you wore a uniform all day? Nor was she interested in the newest boy crooner. Why moon over someone you would never meet? Conversely, the ideas that ignited Jasmine’s mind – the impending climate crisis, the plunging rates of social mobility, the iniquitous distribution of wealth – were met with nothing more than a shrug from her classmates.
The thought of two years of further misery was unbearable. Jasmine had prepared her case, approached her father, argued her cause, and won. When she started sixth form, it was at the state-run college in Bridgetown. On the first day, Jasmine had joined the queue of youngsters at the village bus stop somewhat nervously, but she need not have worried. The half-a-dozen teenagers had ignored her, althoughshehad foundthemfascinating. When the bus arrived, she mimicked their actions, flashing her bus pass and trailing after them, up the stairs, down the rows as if she had done this before. She wasn’t confident enough to sit beside one of them, so she continued her surveillance surreptitiously using the curved mirror which allowed the bus driver to watch for any shenanigans on the top deck. There were four girls, who sat together, two rows, one in front of the other and two boys, who sat apart, each sprawling over an entire row.
A playful shout was an excuse to look over her shoulder. And that was the first time she saw Petey, the first time she fell in love. Courtesy of her single-sex education, Jasmine had little experience of interactions with a different sex. Boys were a mystery to her and their rumbustiousness was both mesmerising and intimidating. Tall and good-looking, with mind-blowing grey eyes and a grin that could make the sun shine, Petey was oblivious of Jasmine’s fast-forming infatuation. He was busy, good-naturedly teasing one of the girls about whom she had been kissing, all while playing catch with his mate using a pair of balled-up sport socks.
Every Monday morning, he was there but she never saw him at any other time until one night, having stayed late for a debate club meeting, she saw him waiting at the college bus bay. Her heart gave a little leap when his head dipped in a slight nod, a gesture of recognition and acknowledgement. When the bus arrived, Jasmine followed him upstairs and bravely sat down in the row in front of him. Although there were a couple of pensioners downstairs, the top deck was empty.
Petey looked down at his phone in disgust and put it away. Then he said his first ever words to her. “I’ve seen you at the bus stop in the mornings. D’you live in Larkford?”
Jasmine did not trust herself to speak. Her voice might quaver. So she nodded.
“What’s your name?”
There was no choice but to answer. She put all her effort into keeping her tone level. As a result, the word came out flat, almost bored-sounding: “Jasmine.” She wisely left off her surname.
“Hey, Jasmine. I’m Petey.” His fingers tapped on the back of her seat.
“Hello.”
Jasmine wished she could think of something witty and profound to say. Something that would make his eyes light up in delight – something, anything that would prolong this conversation. But she was not like her sisters and quick repartee did not fall from her lips. Nor could she snare a boy with one lingering look as she had seen her elder sister, Anna, do. Of course, Anna was beautiful and slender and graceful, and Jasmine wasn’t any of those.
“What you studying?”
“Maths, Politics, Economics, and Law.”
“Wow!”
Finally, Jasmine thought of something she could say. “And you?” she asked.
“I’m not a brainbox like you,” he said, pleasantly. “I’m on day release. Apprentice electrician.”
And so it began. The next Monday morning, she almost missed the bus, but when she clattered up the stairs and swung down the aisle as the bus driver pulled out onto the road, Petey looked up and said, “Hey, Jasmine.”
And Jasmine gave a shy smile and said, “Hey, Petey.” And it didn’t matter that he said nothing more to her the entire journey; her heart was singing. Debate club was cancelled the following Monday, but Jasmine stayed in the library until the late bus. Like the previous week, she and Petey had the top floor to themselves.
“So, how was your weekend?” Petey asked, turning his stunning grey eyes on her.
Jasmine made a face. She was getting better at talking to boys. “Two essays,” she said. “How was yours?”
“Two parties,” he replied, adding his jaw-dropping grin. “You should’ve come. All work and no play makes Jasmine a very dull girl.”
A few weeks ago and Jasmine would have died at this comment, but she had watched Petey closely and realised he only ribbed the girls he liked. “Maybe next time,” she said, smiling at the thought of a next time.
Three days later, Jasmine was queuing for lunch in the canteen when the girl behind her nudged her arm.
