Mollie Cinnamon Is Not a Cupcake (12 page)

I swing around and look at the trees behind me. There’s a figure in a red hooded cloak standing at the far side of the field, staring straight at me. I gasp and drop the camera.

“Mollie, it’s me − Alanna.” She flicks down the hood and walks towards me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

My skin is still tingling and my breath quick. “I thought you were Red Moll’s ghost!” I pick up Nan’s camera and check it over. Luckily it doesn’t seem to be damaged.

“I come up here all the time to pick wild plants, and I’ve never seen her. Although I’d like to − she was an amazing woman. You and Nan are related to her, aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” I say proudly.

“What are you doing up here on your own? And what’s with the camera?”

“I’m filming the castle. I hope you don’t mind, but we’re starting up a Save the Songbird Cafe campaign – me, Landy and Sunny.” Nan had Sunny’s mum’s email address, so I was able to ask her about designing a poster. She got straight back to me and promised to help.

I tell Alanna about all our ideas and about the ten euros I’ve already hidden in the cookie jar. When I’ve finished, she says, “Mind? I’m touched. I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I must put all the campaign details up on the cafe’s website.”

“Good idea. I know I’m new to the island, but you’ve been really nice to me and I wanted to do something to help. The cafe can’t close, Alanna. It just can’t.”

“So the island is starting to work its charm on you, is it, sparrow?”

“The cafe is. It’s a really special place.”

“I think so too.”

“Alanna…” I hesitate. Now that we’re on our own, I want to say something about her mum and dad, but I don’t know how to bring it up.

“You know, don’t you?” she says quietly. “About my parents.”

“Yes. And I’m so sorry.”

“Me too,” she says. “But don’t feel bad for me, Mollie. I love this island and I have good friends here, people who look out for me. I’m very lucky. Now, you should get back to your filming before the light completely fades.”

I have a thought. “Alanna, I know this might sound a bit weird, but could you waft around over by the castle and pretend to be Red Moll?”

Alanna laughs. “No problem, Miss Director. I’d be honoured to. Am I pining for my young husband who’s away at sea?” She puts on a super-sad face and touches the back of her hand to her forehead. “Or am I fighting off foreign pirates who are trying to invade my castle?” She snarls fiercely and pretends to stab someone with a sword. She looks magnificent, although I don’t think the real Red Moll would have worn a green jumper dress with a cat on it under her cloak.

“You’re definitely fighting pirates.” I put the camera to my eye. “And − action!”

Tuesday is Pancake Day and I spend most of the afternoon at the cafe. It turns out I’m rather good at making pancakes. Sunny helps too, but she’s not great at flipping – most of her attempts end up across the cooker or on the floor – so Alanna puts her in charge of mixing the batter instead. She’s better at that. Sunny is seriously smart. She’s able to double or treble the batter quantities in her head, no problem.

When I get home that evening, I stink of cooking oil and I have to wash my hair twice to get rid of the smell, but it was a fun day, so I don’t mind. We laughed a lot – even Sunny, although her chuckles were mouse-quiet, breathy ones.

On Thursday morning – Valentine’s Day – I get a surprise when I walk into the kitchen. Nan has decorated the breakfast table with confetti – tiny red sparkling hearts. There’s a napkin with a funny bulge in it beside my plate. Underneath is a cupcake with a large pink heart iced on top. There’s also a big red envelope sitting on my cereal bowl. I open it. On the front of the card inside is a cute illustration of a kitten holding a heart. The card reads:

Hey, I got a Valentine’s card! Although I’m not sure it counts if it’s from your great-gran.

Nan walks in then. “Morning, Mollie. Happy Valentine’s Day, pet. I’m surprised to see you up at this hour − usually I have to drag you out of bed.”

“Thought I’d get to the cafe early,” I say. “To help Alanna put up the last of the Valentine’s Day decorations.”

“That’s kind of you.” She pauses, her expression going all serious.

Uh-oh, what have I done now?

“I know you like working with Alanna, but you must do the schoolwork your teachers have been setting.”

“I did loads yesterday and I’ll do some more later.” Although I’m not sure when I’ll have the time. I need to start editing the footage I’ve taken of the island and interviewing some of the islanders. Our campaign is going really well so far. Landy’s already set up our online petition and Sunny’s uploaded the campaign logo she designed to the Facebook page. She drew the words “Save the Songbird Cafe” in beautiful sweeping calligraphy and surrounded the lettering with a border made out of tiny birds, dolphins and butterflies. She’s also created a poster for the cafe using the same lettering and motifs.

“Good,” Nan says. “I’m glad you’re keeping up with your work. And I thought you might like to ring your mum, give her your love and wish her good luck with her news broadcast tonight. Valentine’s Day is a time to celebrate everyone we love, including our mums and our great-granddaughters. And I do love you, Mollie. Very much.”

I don’t know what to say to that. It’s nice, but a bit cringey.

She hands me the house phone. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve put Flora’s number in with the right codes. You just need to press the green button. Will you send her my love? Tell her I’ll talk to her again soon.”

I nod. As soon as Nan has gone, I put the phone down on the kitchen table and sit back in my chair. I still haven’t replied to Flora’s email. I’ve been trying to forget about the whole new-boyfriend thing. Do I really want to talk to her? After all, shouldn’t
she
be ringing
me
? She’s the one who left me on this island so she could go off and see the world.

But I know that being a proper presenter means everything to her and she’s probably really nervous about tonight – her first time on the news. Nan’s right: I should wish her luck. I pick up the phone and press the green button. The ring tone sounds funny – foreign, I guess.

“Hello?” Flora says cautiously.

“Flora, it’s me − Mollie.”

“Hi, darling. What a lovely surprise. I thought it was Nan. Hang on a second.” I can hear a mumbled conversation in the background before she comes back on the line. “Sorry about that. I’m having coffee with the crew. We’re just planning today’s filming. Paris is so amazing. The buildings are out of this world.” She gives a dreamy sigh. “Every street is like a movie set. We’re on our way to the Notre-Dame lock bridge in a few minutes. Pont de l’Archevêché. Phew – nailed it! I’ve been practising how to pronounce the name all morning. Don’t forget to watch me.
Six One News
, yes?”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Oh, and happy Valentine’s Day, darling,” she gushes. “Did you get any cards?”

“Just one from Nan.”

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to send you one. Hang on a second.” When she comes back on the line, her voice is flatter. “I’m exhausted, to be honest, Mollie Mops. Utterly worn out. Can’t wait to have a good old flop in my hotel later.”

“You can always have a rest in the posh hotel in Dublin,” I say. “The Merrion, isn’t it? I looked at the website. It has a spa and everything. Or will you be too busy with your new boyfriend?”

Flora goes silent. Then she says, “Nan! I’ll kill her. I wanted to tell you about Julian myself. It’s early days, you see. But I’m glad you know now. And guess what he gave me for Valentine’s Day? A whopping big bottle of Chanel No. 5. I got quite a shock. It’s very expensive.”

“He must really like you.”

She giggles. “I think he does. Hang on…” There’s a noise in the background and more mumbled conversation. “Sorry, darling, our taxi’s just arrived. I’ll have to run in a second. Tell me quickly what you’ve been up to.”

“I’ve been trying to save the Songbird Cafe. Developers want to knock it down and build a hotel instead so we’re organizing a campaign.” I tell her the plan.

“Lovely,” she says, a little absently – she’s clearly not listening to me. “That reminds me. Lucas, that’s the cameraman, do you know what he’s done, the darling boy? He’s only gone and put together a whole load of clips of me from the dailies – and set them to music. Little bits of film of me smiling and laughing and making all sorts of funny mistakes. It’s adorable. Must have taken him ages.”

“When did he give it to you?”

“He emailed the file to me first thing this morning.”

“For Valentine’s Day?”

She giggles again. “Oh, no, darling.” She pauses for a moment. “The email was a bit flowery. He included a poem about treading on dreams or something.”

“‘Tread softly because you tread on my dreams,’” I say. “It’s Yeats. We did it at school.”

“Yes! That’s it. Aren’t you the brainbox, Mollie Mops?”

“Flora! It’s definitely for Valentine’s Day. He obviously likes you too. What’s Julian going to say?”

“I’m hardly going to tell him. Anyway, must run. Big day today. Kiss, kiss.
Adiós
. Isn’t that what they say in France?”

“
Au revoir
,” I say. “And, Flora, you know your Dublin trip? Do you think there’s any way—?”

But she’s already gone.

I put the phone down, feeling low. Flora didn’t say a word about coming to see me on Little Bird, and she rang off before I got the chance to ask her about it. When she’s in love, it’s as if I don’t exist.

At six o’clock, Nan switches on the news and we wait for Flora’s piece. It seems to take for ever to come on. There’s world news about strikes and uprisings, then national news about milk quotas (whatever they are) and upcoming elections. After an ad break there’s the local news and then finally – Flora! She’s standing in front of Notre-Dame Cathedral. I recognize it from the guidebook I was reading in the library at school. Its pale stone walls and flying buttresses are lit up with pink and blue lights and it looks spectacular.

Flora’s wearing a white coat I don’t recognize and a matching white beret. She looks amazing. Seeing her in the flesh makes me realize how much I miss her. She’s right there, so close I could reach out and touch her. But if I did, all I’d feel is the smooth screen of Nan’s big telly.

Flora walks towards one of the lock bridges. Its sides are covered with shiny metal padlocks. “This is Flora Cinnamon, reporting live from the Pont de l’Archevêché beside Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris, where sweethearts are celebrating their love this Valentine’s Day.” She says all this to camera while walking across the bridge. That must be hard, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. She seems really comfortable and not at all nervous. I look at her hands – no, not shaking a bit. Halfway across, she stops beside a man and a woman. “Miriam, you are from Slovakia and, Pat, you’re Irish. Tell us what you’re doing in Paris today.”

“Celebrating our five-year wedding anniversary,” the pretty blonde woman says. She looks up at her husband. “Pat engraved our initials on the lock himself.” She holds up a shiny brass padlock.

“So you’re a bit of an old romantic, Pat?” Flora asks him.

“Miriam brings it out in me,” he says with a grin. “She’s the best.” He kisses his wife on the cheek and she beams.

Flora turns back to the camera. “Couples travel here from all over the world to attach a specially engraved lock to the bridge. Miriam and Pat, would you like to do the honours?”

They clip their lock to the thick tapestry of love locks already on the railings while Flora looks on. The locks must make the bridge weigh a ton! She turns to the camera again. “This is Flora Cinnamon, sending you all Valentine’s greetings from Paris.
Buonanotte
.” She presses her earpiece against her ear and giggles. “Sorry, I meant
bonne nuit
.”

As soon as the news switches back to the RTÉ studio, Nan turns off the telly and says, “Wasn’t she great? You must be so proud of her.”

“She was brilliant,” I say. “And she didn’t seem nervous at all. Apart from the bit at the end when she said good night in Italian instead of French.” I imagine Lauren and Chloe laughing at Flora’s mistake and my stomach clenches.

Nan smiles. “But she made a great recovery. Your mum’s a natural on camera. And this travel show’s going to make her a household name.”

“She’s going to be famous, you mean?” I hadn’t really thought of that.

“Yes, I expect so. In Ireland, anyway.”

Great – she’ll be busier than ever. Just what I need! I know I should be pleased for Flora, but it’s hard. I wish she’d make time for me and listen to me for a change. I wish I could talk to her about how I feel. How can I make her understand how much I need her? She may not be perfect, but she’s the only mum I have.

“How did your phone call go earlier?” Nan asks, as if she can tell something’s wrong.

“OK. We didn’t get much time to talk.”

“You miss her a lot, don’t you?”

I nod, not trusting myself to talk without my voice cracking.

“Go and email her, pet. Tell her all the things you wanted to say, but didn’t get the chance to. Tell her how much you miss her. She might change her mind about coming to Little Bird if she realizes how much you’d love to see her. It’s worth a try.”