Mollie Cinnamon Is Not a Cupcake

by Sarah Webb

  I’m going to interview lovers snapping their locks onto one of the lock bridges. That was my idea, Mopsy. Julian had never even heard of the lock bridges. I told him he was such an old dinosaur.

  Anyway, must run. We have so much filming to squeeze in over the next few days, it’s unbelievable. We’re flying to Auckland this Thursday for a whistle-stop tour of the city and from then on it’s dash, dash, dash. So, unless there’s an emergency, I won’t be in contact. My poor old brain won’t know what time of the day or night it is. After Paris it’s straight back to Dublin for three days to do some editing and voice-overs (so sorry I won’t make it down to see you, but it will be Manic Monday, my darling) and then we fly on to Rome and then New York, New York − so good they named it twice. The Big Apple of my dreams. Speaking of which – sweet dreams, my darling, darling Mopsy.

  Good night, or “buonanotte”, as they say in Paris.

  I love you so much, Mollie Mops. I LOVE YOU, LOVE YOU, LOVE YOU.

  Flora

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX + a billion trillion zillion

  “Bonne nuit,” I whisper to myself. “It’s bonne nuit, Flora. Buonanotte is Italian.”

  Reading Flora’s email has made me feel totally miserable again. It sounds like she’s having such an incredible time and I bet she’s not missing me at all. And secondly, she’s off to Paris without me. I was the one who told her about the lock bridges. Now she’s going to share my discovery with the whole of Ireland and take all the credit. Everything seems so unfair and so wrong. We were supposed to visit the bridges together. And worst of all, she’s going to be in Dublin, but she’s not even bothering to come and see me. It’s only a few hours’ drive. If she really missed me as much as she claims, surely she’d jump in a car and visit me.

  I wanted to tell her my news, but now I feel like a deflated balloon and I can’t be bothered. I snap the lid of the laptop shut and stare at the photograph of Audrey Hepburn and her cat. “What was your mum like?” I ask her. “Did she drive you crazy?”

  I love Flora, but sometimes she makes me want to scream.

  Chapter 12

  Alanna’s sleep remedy didn’t do me much good on Thursday night. I tossed and turned all night, thinking about Flora’s email. I stay in my room for most of Friday and pretend to be doing my schoolwork, but mainly I just stare out of the window and doodle in my notebook.

  On Saturday morning I’m sitting at the kitchen table, moving my cereal around my bowl, still thinking about Flora. I haven’t replied to her email yet. Should I beg her to come and visit me? Or should I try to forget that my own mum isn’t all that interested in seeing me?

  Nan slides me a glass of orange juice. “Alanna was wondering if you’d like to help out in the cafe today.”

  “I don’t really feel like it.”

  “What’s up, pet?” Nan says. “You seem a bit out of sorts this morning. And you were the same yesterday.”

  Nan’s face is soft and kind, like Granny Ellen’s. As I look at her and think how nice she is, I get a sudden burst of inspiration. “Can you drive me up to Dublin, Nan? To see Flora. She said in her last email that she’s going to be back for three days, just after Valentine’s Day. I’m not sure about the exact date, but I can ask her. Maybe we could drive up and surprise her.” It’s the perfect plan. We can just appear and go, “Ta-da!” That way she’ll have to act all happy to see me, even if she isn’t.

  Nan looks worried. Eventually she says, “I’m not sure surprising your mum would be such a great idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s … complicated. Maybe you could ring when she’s home and have a good long chat?”

  “You can’t give someone a hug on the phone. And why is it complicated?”

  “You’ll have to ask your mum.”

  “Ask her what?”

  Nan looks awkward. She stays quiet.

  “I’m sick of this stupid family,” I say. “I’ve got a right to know what’s going on. Flora hates having difficult conversations. She’s always been like that. She won’t let me talk about Dad or about Granny Ellen. And you’re just the same.”

  Nan’s face colours a little. “That’s not fair. It’s not my news to tell, Mollie.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me what’s happening?”

  “It’s nothing bad, I promise.”

  “Then what is it, Nan. Please?”

  Nan sighs. “Flora has a new boyfriend, that’s all. She didn’t want to tell you while she was away and until she knows if it’s serious. They’ll be staying at the Merrion Hotel when they’re back in Dublin. A post-Valentine’s Day treat, apparently. She told me so that I’d know how to get hold of her if I needed to.”

  Suddenly it all starts to make sense. “So instead of coming to see me, she’s staying in some posh hotel? With Julian, the director guy? Is that right?”

  “Did she tell you about him?” Nan asks, surprised.

  “Not that he’s her boyfriend. But she’s always going on about him in her emails.”

  “She does seem very keen on him. I’m not sure she’s thinking straight at the moment.”

  “She gets like that when she has a new boyfriend. She goes all daydreamy and forgetful, and nothing else matters.” I feel even more miserable. Thanks, Flora, for picking this Julian guy over me. Thanks a lot.

  “I’m sorry, Mollie,” Nan says. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Your mum’s doing her best. Try not to be too angry with her. You should talk to her about how you feel. It’s important. Don’t let it all build up inside. Flora will be sleeping now, so why don’t you go down and give Alanna a hand? It might lift your spirits a bit. Sunny will be there. You can try calling Flora later.”

  “OK. And thanks for telling me the truth, Nan.”

  I march down the lane towards the cafe, my mind full of Flora and Paris. Maybe Julian’s the reason I’m not going with her − maybe the whole insurance thing was just an excuse. I know Nan said I should talk to Flora, but honestly, trying to talk to my mum about serious stuff is like attempting to film a butterfly or a puppy that won’t stay still. She just changes the subject or laughs and tells me to “lighten up”. She’s impossible!

  As soon as I walk through the door of the Songbird Cafe, I get a blast of the smell of baking and hot chocolate, which instantly lifts my mood.

  “Boy, am I glad to see you, Mollie!” Alanna appears from the kitchen and wipes her hands on her apron. Her cheeks are bright pink – the kitchen must be hot. “Tell me you’ve come to help. It’s nearly Valentine’s Day and I’m so behind with my love potions I could scream.”

  I expect her to grin. But her face stays serious.

  “Love potions, really?” I ask. “Do they work?”

  She shrugs. “It’s like the remedies − if you believe they work then maybe they do. I’ve been trying to bring in a bit of extra money by selling them on the Internet. So are you ready to dabble in some spell-making?”

  “OK.” I can’t muster up much enthusiasm. Thoughts of Flora are beginning to fill my head again.

  Alanna looks at me for a long second, the gold flecks in her eyes shining. “Nothing bad ever happens in the Songbird. You’ll feel all your troubles melt away. I guarantee it. And now, to work, my little love elf.”

  Sunny is sifting flour into a food mixer in the kitchen. There’s a smudge of flour on her cheek.

  “Hi, Sunny,” I say.

  She smiles at me and waves.

  “Sunny’s on biscuit duty this morning,” Alanna says. She hands me a pale blue apron from the back of the door. I take off my hoodie and put the apron on, already feeling more professional.

  “Let’s get cracking,” Alanna says. “First of all, you can stir that. Slowly and carefully.” She points to a small copper saucep
an that’s simmering gently on the hob. I take the wooden spoon and start stirring. Delicious tangy orange smells waft up from the golden-coloured liquid. Alanna starts chopping some dark green leaves, the large knife flying up and down in her hand. She looks like a MasterChef winner.

  “In the olden days, the love potions were pretty disgusting,” she says, adding two pinches of the chopped leaves to my saucepan. “Next the chickweed.” She starts chopping up some small white flowers. “They even added things like mice and frogs.”

  “Like a spell from a fairy tale or the witches in Macbeth?” I ask. I put on a spooky voice. “‘Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble… Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog.’”

  Alanna laughs. “Exactly! That’s brilliant, Mollie. Clever you. It’s Shakespeare, right?”

  I nod, chuffed that I remembered it. “Yes. We did it in school.”

  “Some love potions really were gruesome,” Alanna explains. “Like putting a pin into a dead mouse and leaving it to get rusty. If you put the pin in a girl’s clothes, she’d follow you all over the world, apparently.”

  “Yuck!”

  “There were worse. Like making tea from boiled gander poo or making the person you fancy eat minced cat liver. Then they’d fall wildly in love with you.”

  I make a gagging noise, then ask, a little worried, “So what’s in this one?”

  “Nothing gross, I promise. It’s far more romantic: orange blossom and apple. Plus a drop of mistletoe resin, a teaspoon of ground wedding cake and the nectar from a honeysuckle flower that I collected last summer. It’s for a woman in Kerry who would like her boyfriend to propose to her. She has to slip three drops of it into his morning coffee every day for a week.”

  “Why doesn’t she ask him herself if she wants to get married so badly?” I ask.

  Alanna laughs. “That’s a good question. But she wouldn’t pay me good money to concoct a potion for her then, would she? Careful now − don’t let it boil over.” She peers into the saucepan. “OK, I think that’s ready. Now we let it cool before bottling it.”

  “What’s next on the job list?” I ask.

  “Bunting. Hope you’re good with scissors.”

  We decide on a yellow-and-pale-blue colour scheme for Pancake Day, which is on Tuesday, and red and pink for Valentine’s Day on Thursday. We’ll put up the heart-shaped bunting on Tuesday evening, after Alanna has served the last pancake. Once she’s shown me what to do, Alanna goes back into the kitchen to blend the soup. Sunny and I sit on the sofa in the window, cutting out blue and yellow triangles from thin card and stapling them carefully to blue ribbon. It was a bit fiddly at first, but I’m starting to get the hang of it.

  The bell above the door jangles. Lauren strides in, followed by Chloe. Lauren catches sight of me and her cheeks flare. They order two skinny cappuccinos with marshmallows and then retreat into the conservatory.

  As they walk past us, the air seems to chill. Or maybe that’s just my blood. Sunny puts her hand over mine, her palm warm and solid against my skin.

  I ignore the girls’ stares and whispers and concentrate on the bunting. I’m trying to act all cool and together, but my body is betraying me. My palms are sticky and my heart is thumping in my chest. I will Lauren to leave me alone. If Landy was here, or even Bonny, I wouldn’t feel quite so nervous. I wish this island wasn’t so small and there was another cafe to escape to. Then I feel awful – I wouldn’t want to go to any cafe that wasn’t the Songbird.

  “Wish I could cut out paper triangles.” Lauren’s voice is extra loud. “Wouldn’t that be super fun? If I was in preschool.”

  She and Chloe both giggle.

  Keep cutting and stapling, I tell myself. Don’t listen.

  “Shame this place will be closing soon,” Lauren continues. “Dad says there’s a developer interested in buying the cafe. Wants to knock it down and build a hotel here instead.”

  Sunny drops her scissors and they clatter onto the floor.

  “Poor Sunny,” Lauren says. She and Chloe are standing at the edge of the little conservatory now. “You won’t have anywhere to spy on people, will you? A hotel won’t let you hang around like a weirdo, scaring off the guests.”

  “You want to watch yourself, Lauren Cotter,” I say.

  She puts a hand on her hip, her eyes flashing. “Or what? You’ll push me again?”

  “I didn’t push you and you know it,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “No, I’ll put something in your coffee. Alanna’s teaching me all about making potions. I could give you acne or warts.”

  “Yeah, right,” she says, but she looks a bit uncertain. “Anyway, Alanna makes the coffee in here, not you.”

  “Actually, Mollie’s working here now, Lauren.” Alanna appears from the kitchen, carrying a tray. “And Landy’s just texted to say he’s on his way over with a ladder to help the girls put up the bunting. Would you two like to give us a hand as well?”

  Lauren blinks rapidly and plays with a strand of her hair. I think the mention of her brother has made her nervous. “Sorry, we’re busy,” she says. “Can we have those coffees to go, Alanna?”

  “Funny you should say that.” Alanna nods down at the two white-and-blue Songbird takeaway cups sitting on the tray.

  “Did you ask for takeaways?” Lauren asks Chloe.

  Chloe shakes her head. “No.”

  Alanna smiles at Lauren. “Lucky guess.”

  “Are you trying to tell us we’re not welcome here?” Lauren says.

  “Not at all,” Alanna says. “Everyone’s welcome, Lauren. You know that. You should think about being more welcoming yourself. A little birdie told me you’ve been giving Mollie a hard time. Push her again and you’ll have me to deal with. Got it?”

  Lauren goes bright red and glares at me. “What have you been saying?” Without waiting for an answer, she slaps a five-euro note down on the nearest table. “Keep the change. I know you need it. What with the cafe closing and everything.”

  “That’s it! Scat, before I lose my temper,” Alanna says.

  As soon as they’ve gone, Alanna sits down beside us. She picks up a pair of scissors and starts cutting up the blue and yellow card rather violently.

  After a few seconds she says, “For the record, I do have a good acne potion if you ever need it.”

  “Thanks for sticking up for me then,” I say.

  “Always, sparrow,” she replies, nudging me with her shoulder.

  “Sparrow?” I ask.

  She smiles. “Yes. You’re smart and loyal, just like a sparrow. Sunny’s my little nightingale. Together, you’re my Songbird Girls. And we Songbirds stick together.”

  Sunny looks at me and nods firmly.

  Landy arrives as we’re adding the final touches to the bunting. There’s a fold-up metal ladder under his arm. “Lauren isn’t still here, is she?” he asks, looking around.

  “She just left,” Alanna says.

  “Phew. So where do you want this bunting?”

  With Landy and Sunny’s help, it doesn’t take long to put up the bunting. There are now jaunty blue and yellow arcs criss-crossing the cafe’s ceiling and hanging in the windows. It looks brilliantly festive. Sunny goes home for lunch, but Landy stays. He puts the ladder outside, comes back in and flops down beside me on the sofa.

  “It looks grand from out there,” he says. “Everyone will be able to see it from the ferry. Nice work, Mollie. Hey, Lauren didn’t give you a hard time earlier, did she? Dad told her to keep away from you, but she never listens to anyone, especially not him.”

  “It was fine.” I try to sound convincing. “But I wish she wouldn’t tease Sunny about, well, you know.”

  Landy frowns. “Not speaking, you mean?”

  “Yes. I can deal with Lauren’s snide comments, but Sunny can’t.”

  “What was she saying exactly?”

  “That Sunny was a weirdo who spied on people. She also said something about the cafe closing.
And some developers building a hotel. Is that really going to happen?”

  Landy exhales slowly, making his fringe lift a little. “Sounds like it. Dad was talking about that at dinner last night. If Alanna can’t pay the bank back, she’ll have to sell. And the developers are offering a good price.”

  “Can’t Alanna’s parents help?”

  Landy lowers his voice. “Did Nan not tell you about Alanna’s mum and dad?”

  Suddenly I realize what I’ve been missing all along. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

  He nods silently.

  “What happened?” I feel hollow and sad. Poor Alanna.

  “Car crash on the mainland. It was icy and they skidded off the road. Alanna lived with her aunt for a while, but that didn’t work out so she moved back here and opened her mum and dad’s cafe up again. Dad said Alanna had to take out a loan to do the cafe up a bit and build the conservatory.”

  “This place must be pretty special to her,” I say. “Where would she live if it closed down? And what about Sunny and everyone else who needs the cafe?”

  Landy gives a deep sigh. “I hear you. But some people think a hotel would be good for the island – bring in more tourists, new jobs. And the bank won’t give Alanna any more time to pay back the money she owes. They’re putting pressure on her to sell.”

  I almost jump out of my seat. “That’s so wrong! This cafe is special. We have to do something. We have to fight back – let the bank know that they’re being unfair, that they should give Alanna a break. If people know the cafe is in danger of closing, they’ll visit, and Alanna will be able to pay back the loan. We have to get the news out. Hey, I’ve got an idea! We should have a protest march.”

  He laughs. “A march? To where exactly? Up the hill and back down again? Like the Grand Old Duke of York?”