Mollie Cinnamon Is Not a Cupcake (15 page)

First thing the next morning we walk down to the cafe for some hot chocolate and cake. Flora stumbles a little on the lane in her platform runners – I’m wearing wellies − but finds it easier when we get to the road. It’s a bright, sunny day and she’s wearing her new Prada sunglasses. When we got to Nan’s house last night, she was surprised by how comfy and warm it was, just as I had been when I arrived. She said it’s been renovated since she last stayed there, but she remembers the view from Granny Ellen’s room and the garden.

I cooked dinner last night. Nothing fancy − just spaghetti carbonara, which Nan showed me how to make − but Flora was dead impressed. “Look at you, all grown up,” she said.

“I’d forgotten how quiet the island is,” she says now as we pass the gate that leads to Red Moll’s castle.

She’s right – it is quiet. The only noise is the sound of songbirds twittering in the hedgerows. There are no traffic sounds, no school children shouting across the road to friends, no old ladies chatting at the bus stop.

“I guess it is,” I say.

“And the air’s so fresh. Not like Paris. Don’t get me wrong − it’s an amazing city, but they have a big problem with smog at the moment. Some days you’re not even allowed to use a car in the city centre. You have to walk or get public transport.”

As soon as she says the word Paris, I feel my back stiffen. I start to walk a little quicker.

“Slow down,” Flora says.

I go even faster.

“Woah there, Mopsy!”

I ignore her.

“Mollie! What on earth’s wrong?”

I swing around. “If you can’t guess, I’m not telling you.”

“What are you talking about? Come on, darling, help a girl out. Have I said something wrong?”

I give a dramatic sigh. “It’s all about you, isn’t it, Flora? Me, me, me. My precious travel show. All the fab places I’ve been to.” I take off her voice. “‘OMG, Paris is, like, soooo amazing. And Sydney is soooo amazing. And Julian is soooo amazing. And, like, we’re soooo in love I have to spend every minute with him and I can’t possibly visit my daughter even though she’s only practically down the road.’” By the end I’m almost shouting.

Flora goes pale. She lifts her sunglasses so she can see me clearly. “Oh, Mopsy. I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted to go to Paris. But it wasn’t meant to be. We’ll go soon, darling − just the two of us. And I do wish you could meet Julian. Then you’d understand why I’m so mad about him and why I was so excited about the hotel trip. He really is dreamy.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Flora!”

“Sorry. And, Mopsy, if you wanted to see me so badly why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did! In my email, remember? I begged you to come and see me. You didn’t pay any attention. You kept going on about sunglasses and the Eiffel Tower. You’re so lost in your own world sometimes, you don’t think about me.”

Flora looks uncomfortable. “I do think about you, Mollie. All the time. I just get a bit carried away. I’ll try harder − really I will. And you’ll only be here a few more weeks. To be honest, I’m sick of travelling. I thought I’d love all the gadding about, but I’m wrecked. If I have to see the inside of another airport, I’ll scream. I just want to be home, with you.” She pauses. “You do want to come home, don’t you, darling?”

I don’t answer. The truth is I want to be with Flora, but I also want to be here. Leaving the island would mean leaving Alanna and Landy and Sunny and the cafe, not to mention Nan. And I wonder how much Flora has really changed.

“I am so sorry about Paris,” Flora says. “And I promise on my life that we’ll go there together ASAP. Can you forgive me, Mopsy?”

Her eyes are all big and sad, like a puppy’s. How can I say no? Flora is just Flora. I don’t think she means to be so hopeless. I say I forgive her and she pulls me into an enormous squashy hug.

Alanna is thrilled to see us. “How’s my Songbird girl this morning?” she asks. “And, Flora, nice to see you again.”

We called in briefly yesterday to fill Alanna in on Nan’s progress. I’m not sure Flora knew quite what to make of Alanna at first. I guess her dress sense can be a little theatrical at times and her sunflower-yellow dungarees were very bright. Today she’s in her green jumper dress with the cat on it, with black cat’s ears on her headband.

“What can I get you?” Alanna asks. “Let me guess − an Americano and a hot chocolate? And there are some red-velvet cupcakes just out of the oven.”

“Perfect,” Flora says. “Mollie’s been telling me all about your delicious cupcakes. I can’t wait to try one.”

We sit on the sofa in front of the window. Flora looks around the cafe, taking in the conservatory dancing with sunbeams, the kitchen dresser full of cupcakes on pretty cake stands and the view of the fishing boats bobbing in the harbour.

“I can see why you like this place so much, Mollie Mops. There’s something magical about it, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” I say forcefully. “Which is why we have to save it.”

“Save it? What do you mean?”

I knew she hadn’t been listening properly when I told her about our campaign on the phone. “Alanna owes the bank money and they’re not giving her enough time to pay it back,” I explain. “They’re trying to make her sell the cafe to these property developers. They want to knock it down and build a hotel. We’ve started a campaign to save it. See…” I point to one of Sunny’s posters, hanging in the window. “But so far we only have eighty-one signatures on our online petition for the bank and only a few people have made donations. I don’t know what else to do.”

Flora is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “I could ask Julian, Mopsy. He might have some good ideas. And I’ll sign your petition if it helps.”

“Thanks, Flora.” That makes eighty-two signatures. It’s nowhere near enough. We need to make a bigger impact or else there won’t be a Songbird Cafe and Alanna’s heart will break. I can’t let that happen. I just can’t.

“Are you sure they’re coming, Flora?” I ask for the millionth time. “I don’t see a camera crew on the ferry.”

“There’ll just be the two of them,” Flora says. “Lucas and Davida, the news reporter. I wish I could present the piece instead, but as I’m your mum it wouldn’t be right.”

Here’s the funny thing – it was Lucas who came through for Flora in the end, not Julian. Julian said he was far too busy to worry about some cafe on an island in the middle of nowhere. Luckily Lucas said he’d help instead. In fact, he insisted.

Turns out Julian is not so dreamy after all and Flora promptly broke up with him. She says she’s more disappointed than sad. She thought Julian was different to all the selfish men she’d gone out with in the past.

“Only two people?” I say now.

Flora laughs. “Try not to look so disappointed, Mopsy. That’s all we need – a cameraman and a presenter. Lucas is a director, too. He’ll edit the piece and all being well it will be on
Six One News
tonight.”

“You mean they might not show it?”

She shrugs. “Something big might come up, like an earthquake or a landslide. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.” Flora smoothes down my hair.

I whip my head away. “Hey! Watch the hair.”

She laughs. We’ve been getting on pretty well over the last two days. I think clearing the air by telling her how I felt about everything really helped. Yesterday we talked more about Paris and why I had been so upset. I explained that it wasn’t just the cancelled trip that had annoyed me. It was the fact that she hadn’t even checked with the production company before promising me I could go. Plus, making poor Nan break the news to me wasn’t very kind. I told her I was sick of being disappointed all the time and hearing about it from someone else. She has to start telling me the truth herself, even if it’s bad news.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never been very good at having difficult conversations. You know that I tend to brush things under the carpet and hope they’ll go away. I’ll try harder, I promise. I want to be a good mum and be there for you. But it’s important that I work, too. I didn’t go to college or anything. I just did that media course. I want to make something of myself and I want you to be proud of me. It’s really important to me.”

“I
am
proud of you, Flora,” I said.

“Really? I thought you saw me as a bit of an airhead.”

“Flora! You’re not an airhead. You’re a brilliant presenter and I’m very, very proud of you.”

“That means a lot to me, darling. Thank you. And I’ve been doing some thinking over the past few days. I’ve been asked to do a second series of
Travelling Light
. Lucas is taking over from Julian as director, and he promises the filming schedule won’t be as hectic this time. But it will mean a lot more foreign trips over the next few months. I can’t take you with me, so it would mean staying here with Nan for a while. How would you feel about that?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just shrugged.

“It’s your choice, darling. If you want me to leave the programme, I will. I mean it. I want to be the best mum I can be, Mollie. I know I haven’t always put you first, but that’s going to change. So it’s up to you – Little Bird or Dublin? You don’t have to tell me right now. Think about it, OK?”

I was thinking about it all night. And it’s still on my mind now. I miss Dublin – the shops, the cinema, Shannon – but Little Bird isn’t so bad. In fact, I’m starting to quite like living here. And I’ve made some good friends already. It’s a really difficult decision.

“There they are,” Flora says, waving at two figures on the ferry. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“OK, Mollie,” Flora says, all efficient. I’ve never seen her in work mode and she’s a different person − calm and organized. “Davida’s going to ask you why you think the cafe should be saved. Talk nice and slow. I know you’re nervous, but just tell her why you love the cafe so much and what it means to the island.”

I’m standing at the cafe door and my stomach is full of butterflies. I look at the crowd gathered around. So far I’ve counted sixty-three people in total – quite a turnout for such a small island. Some of Bat’s birdwatching friends have come a long way to support the cafe, along with lots of other people from the mainland. The only person who’s missing is Nan. Bat’s collecting her from the hospital right now. They’re due back on the six-thirty ferry.

Alanna is here too, of course, trying to look hopeful rather than sad. Sunny is here with her mum and little sister, and so are Landy, Bonny and, worse luck, Lauren and Chloe. Lauren is standing at the front of the crowd, wearing too much make-up and tossing her hair around like a diva. I think she wants to be on the telly, but Davida hasn’t noticed her. Or if she has, she’s ignoring her. Davida’s already done an interview with Alanna. It was heartbreaking. When Davida asked her what she’d do if the cafe closed, Alanna’s eyes filled with tears and she just shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said. “It’s been in my family for generations. It’s my life.” She got a huge round of applause from the crowd when she finished.

“That was brilliant,” Flora said, hugging her. “Don’t give up, Alanna. It’s not over yet.”

“Pay no attention to the camera,” Lucas tells me, as he moves me to stand just under the cafe’s sign, ready for my interview. “Just look at Davida and answer her questions. You’re probably like me − happier behind a camera.”

I nod. “Much happier.”

Lucas is tall, with dark brown eyes and cropped black hair and his face is very serious until he smiles. Luckily he smiles a lot, and from the way he gazes at Flora and laughs very loudly at her jokes, he clearly adores her.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about this when he first arrived, but I’m getting used to it. And unlike some of Flora’s ex-boyfriends, he doesn’t talk to me like I’m five years old. Flora told him I’ve been taking video footage of the island – I showed her some of it last night – and he said he’d love to see it. He even said I can have a go on his camera later − although it looks a bit heavy for me to carry. He’s not dreamy or Hollywood handsome, but he is really nice.

Davida stands beside me as Lucas adjusts the camera. “Ready?” she asks him.

“Ready,” he says.

Davida shakes out her hair and then smiles at the camera.

“I’m on Little Bird Island with Mollie Cinnamon, a direct descendant of the infamous pirate queen Red Moll. Mollie is one of the people behind the campaign to save the island’s only cafe. Mollie, can you tell me why the Songbird Cafe is so important to Little Bird?”

For a second I can’t speak. My heart is pounding in my ears and my palms feel sticky. And then I spot Flora. She’s moved so that she’s standing directly behind Davida.

“Look at me,” she mouths, pointing to herself. “Tell me.”

I focus on Flora. “We don’t need a big hotel on the island that brings in tourists for a few months of the year,” I hear myself say. “We need somewhere special to meet every day, somewhere there’s a friendly face and a warm welcome. I’m new to this island, but the cafe is already an important part of my life. It’s like in that film,
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
, when Audrey Hepburn says that nothing bad ever happens at Tiffany’s. That’s what the cafe is like. It’s a place where you can forget about your worries and have some delicious cake and hot chocolate. Everyone needs somewhere like the Songbird Cafe. Somewhere you feel at home.

“And this island is part of history. My ancestor Red Moll lived up there.” I point to the castle peeking out over the Songbird’s roof. “She defended the people of this island from slave traders,” I continue. “They can’t build a big hotel in front of her castle − it just isn’t right. So I’m asking people to help us fight to keep the cafe open.”

Davida smiles at me. “Thank you, Mollie. An eloquent plea indeed.”

The crowd claps and cheers their support – apart from Lauren, of course, who is rolling her eyes. Flora nods at me and beams. Then I spot Alanna. Her eyes are welling up with tears again. She blows me a kiss. Flora puts her arm around Alanna’s waist and gives her a squeeze.

“And how can people show their support for the campaign, Mollie?” Davida asks me.

“We have a Save the Songbird Cafe Facebook page you can like,” I say. “And you can sign our online petition and make a donation.”