Mollie Cinnamon Is Not a Cupcake

by Sarah Webb

  He’s teasing me, but I let him get away with it. “OK, maybe not a march. A Save the Songbird Cafe campaign. We can start with an online petition to send to the bank. And I’ll ask Sunny to design a campaign poster we can put in the cafe’s window and on the ferry. I can make a short film about the Songbird, talk to people who use it, and we can set up our own Facebook page and post the interviews. Once we’ve raised awareness, we can ask people to send donations to help keep it open.”

  Landy has that amused smile lingering on his lips.

  “What?” I demand. Is he making fun of me again?

  “It’s a grand idea, Mollser. A brilliant idea, in fact. I can help you with the film if you like, and set up an online petition. When do we start?”

  Lunchtime is really busy and Alanna asks me to take the orders – me! I write down what people want in a little notebook, like a proper waitress. Alanna even ropes in Landy to help in the kitchen. He was a bit reluctant at first – “I burn toast, Alanna,” he said – but she managed to convince him. I want to say something to Alanna about her parents, tell her how sorry I am, but I know now isn’t the right time.

  The cafe is mostly full of tourists straight off the one o’clock ferry: birdwatchers dressed in dark green with binoculars around their necks, mums and dads with young kids who all keep asking me, “Where’s Click?”

  One particular little boy of about six, with a round, freckled face, is driving his grandparents mad with his Click questions. He doesn’t seem to like sitting still. He’s hopping around like a piece of popcorn in the microwave.

  “Hello again, Teddy,” Alanna says, passing by his table with a tray. “Click will be here very soon. You keep watching out of the window. I bet if you draw a dolphin picture he’ll come even sooner. Mollie will get you some pencils and paper. And if it’s really good, I’ll give you a lollipop.”

  “I like lollipops,” he says.

  As I get the coloured pencils, I spot Alanna slipping out of the door of the cafe. Where’s she going when the cafe is so busy? I watch her stand at the harbour wall and raise her hands to her mouth, like she did the first day I was on Little Bird.

  Seconds later, Teddy is squealing and pointing out of the window. “Click! I can see him.”

  Click starts playing in a small fishing boat’s wake, leaping into the air and diving back down with a splash.

  “I love Click,” Teddy says, beaming at me as I give him the pencils and paper. “This is such a cool island. And this is the best cafe ever.”

  I feel a little sad inside. If the cafe shuts, so many people will lose out. Forcing myself to be brave (I’m not usually all that good at talking to strangers, especially adults), I explain to his granny and grandpa that the cafe may have to close down. I ask them to sign our petition for the bank when Landy has set it up and to make a donation if they can. They think it’s terrible that the cafe is in danger and promise to help. Then they thrust ten euros into my hand. Our Save the Songbird Cafe campaign has begun!

  As I walk back to Nan’s house later that afternoon, my feet are throbbing from standing all day. Now that I’m on my own I start thinking about Flora again and how much she hurts me sometimes. I don’t think she means to, but that’s just it − she doesn’t seem to consider me and my feelings at all. I’m upset about the cafe, too. Poor Alanna. It’s so unfair. She works really hard, and it’s such an amazing place. Why is everything so rotten sometimes? I put the money the couple gave me in a cookie jar on a shelf in Alanna’s kitchen, but a lone ten euros isn’t going to go very far.

  It’s cold, and I shiver and thrust my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. My fingers hit something smooth and cold.

  I pull out a small blue bottle – one of Alanna’s remedies. She must have slipped it in there earlier. The liquid inside smells like the island – the tang of the sea, mixed with wildflowers and something I can’t quite identify, something sweet. I breathe it in and immediately feel less anxious and more determined. I can’t get discouraged. I need to start working on the Songbird campaign right now. They can’t destroy the cafe − I won’t let them. I know Nan will help. I start to run.

  Chapter 13

  I burst through the door of Summer Cottage like a whirlwind and race down the hallway to the kitchen.

  “Nan! Where are you, Nan? I need to use your camera again.”

  “Goodness, child, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Nan says, clutching her chest. She was making a cup of tea, but she puts the kettle down. Then she reaches for a small brown plastic bottle and pops a pill in her mouth. She washes it down with some water.

  “Are you OK?” I ask.

  “Just my angina. These are beta blockers. It’s nothing to worry about, pet. I think I overdid it in the garden. Weeding is hard work. So what’s all this about?”

  “Developers are trying to buy the cafe and turn it into a hotel,” I say in a rush.

  “I know, child. I didn’t want to say anything as I knew it would upset you. Awful, isn’t it? Having to sell the place is one thing, but seeing it destroyed.” She shakes her head. “Poor Alanna.”

  “That’s why we’re going to start a campaign to let people know and hopefully raise some money to save it. Landy’s going to help and I’ll ask Sunny too. I’m going to make a film about the cafe and what it means to people, and put it up on a special Songbird Facebook page. That’s why I need your camera.”

  Nan leans back against the kitchen counter and takes another sip of water. “It’s a wonderful idea, Mollie. There’s been a building where the cafe is for hundreds of years. It used to be a blacksmith’s, way back. They think there was a link with Red Moll’s castle. If only we could find proof that Red Moll actually lived on the island, those developers would have a fight on their hands. I can’t believe they’re thinking of plonking a hulking great hotel right in front of that beautiful castle. It’s despicable.”

  “I thought it was certain she lived there. There must be some record.”

  “I wish there was. Ellen did a big history project on Red Moll when she was in secondary school. She did a huge amount of research and I helped her. We even went to the National Library, but we couldn’t find mention of Little Bird and Red Moll. In fact, there are very few references to Red Moll at all in the documents from that time. Women’s lives weren’t seen as important in those days.”

  “But that’s so wrong!”

  “I know. Ellen felt very strongly about that too. The only place Red Moll’s name is mentioned is in the records of her plundering English ships for their cargo and seeing off English generals who tried to take over her family’s land, plus some references to her clashes with foreign pirates.”

  “So are you saying you don’t know where Red Moll really lived? What about all those stories Granny Ellen used to tell me? About all the sea battles and scaring off the slave traders? Are you saying they’re not true?”

  “They’re true, all right,” Nan says. “And Red Moll did live here − I’m sure of it. Those stories were passed down through generations of McCarthys and O’Sullivans and Cotters and all the other families that have lived on this island for hundreds of years. But unless there’s some sort of written document from that time, there’s no historical proof.”

  “Then we have to find proof. There must be something in the castle grounds: old coins, swords − I don’t know – bones?” I clench my fists so tightly that my knuckles go white.

  Nan shakes her head. “Archaeologists have been combing the castle and the land around it for years and they’ve never found anything of note. I know it’s frustrating, but I think you should focus on the other parts of your campaign.” She pauses and smiles sadly. “Ellen would be so proud of you. When she wasn’t much older than you are now she organized a protest against the closure of the island’s primary school. All the papers covered it and it was even on the six o’clock news. She saved the school.” Nan’s eyes well up. “Sorry. Let me get a tissue.”

  As Nan wipes her eyes, I think about G
ranny Ellen. She told me a lot of stories, about her life as a travel agent and all the different countries she had visited but very few about the island, and none about Nan or PJ. She certainly never mentioned any campaigning – I would have remembered that. I’m discovering a side of her life I never knew, and it makes me miss her more than ever.

  After dinner, I’m still fired up about the cafe. I want to do something – now! I’ve set up the Facebook page and I’ve posted lots of photos of the island and the cafe. The more I think about it, the stronger I feel about everything. I have to help Alanna. My film about the island needs to be really great. Talking to Nan has given me an idea. I need to include the castle in my film, so people will see how wrong it would be to build a hotel right in front of it, even if I can’t prove that Red Moll actually lived there. I should shoot some footage now, at twilight – the ruin will look spectacular against a darkening sky.

  Nan is reluctant at first to let me go outside. “Can’t you go in the morning? It’s brass monkeys out there, child.”

  “Please?” I beg. “It’ll be all dramatic and atmospheric − perfect for our campaign.”

  “Go on then. If you must. But don’t be more than an hour, mind. And you’re not stepping outside this house without a coat and welly boots.”

  Nan gives me a torch and makes me wrap up warmly, winding a woolly scarf around my neck so many times that I almost can’t breathe. I take it off as soon as I’m on the lane and stuff it into the pocket of my jacket. I know Nan means well, but what is it with adults and dressing us up like Egyptian mummies? Granny Ellen was just the same.

  I’d forgotten how spooky the lane is in the half-light. I can hear rustling in the hedgerows again. I know it’s probably just a field mouse, but it still gives me a fright. I whisper, “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!” to myself as I march along, pretending I’m Dorothy, lost in the woods, in The Wizard of Oz. I’m relieved when I get to the road.

  I walk towards the harbour, climb over the gate that leads to the castle and tramp across the field in Nan’s green welly boots, stomping in a couple of muddy puddles on the way. I’d be too embarrassed to wear wellies in Dublin, but on Little Bird everyone wears them. I hate to admit it, but they’re ace for splashing about in and having dry feet is actually pretty cool.

  After climbing over the small wall into the field just behind Alanna’s cafe, I walk past the mossy old trees, and there it is − the tumbledown remains of Red Moll’s castle. Last time I was here I was too angry to think straight. Now, I stand and gaze up at the castle, imagining what it must have been like in Red Moll’s day. I spot the ruins of a spiral staircase sticking out from one of the walls, almost hidden by ferns. There must have been a brilliant view of Dolphin Bay from the top of the castle. Maybe that’s where Red Moll had her quarters. Granny Ellen told me that Red Moll slept in a four-poster bed and the hawser, or front rope, of her favourite galley ship was attached to one of her bedposts at night. The thought of the boat tied to her bed, like a pet, always makes me smile.

  I start to feel a prickling at the back of my neck. I sense I’m not alone. There’s someone watching me. Adrenaline washes through my system, making my skin tingle.

  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!”

  Chapter 14

  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:

  To Mollie,

  You are in my heart, always.

  All my love,

  Nan XXX

  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 sta
rt 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?”