by Sarah Webb
“That’s OK.” I duck my head and pick up the book.
“Nice stripy mittens, by the way. Where did you get them?”
“My granny knitted them for me.” I stroke the soft, fluffy wool with my fingertips. They were my birthday present the year I turned eight. I loved them so much she made me a second pair in case I ever lost the first. They’re fingerless, so I can wear them all the time, even indoors.
“Magic.” Alanna leans over and reads the title of the book. “The Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook.” She smiles. “Do you like baking?”
“Sometimes.”
“Any time you’d like to help out in the cafe, you’re more than welcome. Sunny works in the kitchen a couple of times a week. She’s there now, in fact, with her mum. They’re keeping an eye on the place for me. I can’t pay much, but you can eat as many cupcakes as you like.”
I’m suddenly shy and slightly in awe of her. “Thanks,” I say. “I’ll think about it. But isn’t the cafe closing or something?”
“Where did you hear that?” Alanna’s face has gone pale, making faint freckles on her cheeks stand out.
I shrug. I don’t want to admit that I was eavesdropping on Alanna’s conversation with Nan.
Luckily she doesn’t push for an answer.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” she says. “I’m doing everything I can to keep it open. I took out a big loan to pay for the conservatory, you see, and I’m having trouble paying it back. But I will. I just need more time.”
“Can’t your mum and dad help?”
“No. They’re … they’re not around.”
There’s an awkward silence.
“Nan?” Alanna reminds me. “Is she here?”
“Oh, sorry, she’s gone over to the Cotters’ house to borrow one of Lauren’s school skirts for me. I have to start at Bethlehem Heights tomorrow.”
“I bet you’re delighted about having to wear one of Lauren’s hand-me-downs,” Alanna says, rolling her eyes.
I laugh. “Tell me about it. Nan offered to buy me a uniform, but it would be a waste. I won’t be here long.”
“You’re off to join your mum soon, aren’t you? Paris, right?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “Paris.”
“Well, you won’t see Nan for a while if she’s at the Cotters’. Nora, Lauren’s mum, loves a good gossip. She has quite the sharp tongue, too. Lauren takes after her, unfortunately. But Landy’s a pet. He’s Lauren’s twin brother. Have you met him yet?”
Landy. So that’s what the boy from the castle is called. “I bumped into him last night.” I don’t tell her the details – running away from Nan’s and getting caught hitting the castle by Landy – it’s all too embarrassing.
“Stick with him tomorrow,” she says. “And pay no attention to Lauren. Her bark’s worse than her bite. Same with Chloe. Bonny’s sweet. I just wish she didn’t hang on Lauren’s every word. Now I’d better get back to the cafe. Tell Nan I stopped by to drop this off.” She pulls a brown envelope out of her pocket and places it on the desk. “Only a boring bank statement, I’m afraid.” She gives a fake yawn. “Oh, and I nearly forgot. This is for you.” She hands me a small dark blue bottle.
The glass is cool against my skin. “What is it?”
She smiles, her eyes all warm and kind. “Put a few drops on your pillow before you go to bed. It will help you sleep.”
How does she know I’ve been having trouble sleeping?
“Does it really work?” I ask.
“My grandmother’s remedies always work. Now, I have to skedaddle. Valentine’s Day is only a hop and a skip away and I have primrose to pick for a potion. Don’t be a stranger now, promise?”
After she’s gone, the whole room seems flatter. I wish she was still here.
Curious, I twist the small gold cap off the bottle she gave me and sniff. I’m instantly hit by the scent of apples, lemon and freshly cut grass. I breathe in again, and it makes my nose tingle. I give a huge yawn. Maybe Alanna’s strange potion really can help me sleep better. But it’s probably just the power of suggestion. Another huge yawn makes my jaw crack and I put the cap back on. If only Alanna could make me another special remedy – to make me feel less lonely. But I guess that’s impossible.
On Monday morning, I wish I’d taken Nan up on her offer to buy me a new school uniform. I’m sitting in the car in the hand-me-downs that Nan brought back from Lauren’s yesterday. I’m not into minis, and this scratchy beetroot-coloured skirt is more like a belt. It’s so short that the equally beetroot jumper almost covers it. I’m also wearing a white school shirt that’s a bit too tight for me: one of Chloe’s cast-offs. I’ve never worn a full uniform before – my current school has a dark green hoodie with a crest on it, but that’s it – and it makes me feel strange and uncomfortable.
I’ve been to lots of different schools. Flora never likes to stay in one place for too long. Granny Ellen used to say she had “itchy feet”. It means I have to leave friends behind and make new ones. I’m used to it by now, though. I remind myself that the first day is always horrible, but then it gets easier.
“Stop pulling at your skirt, Mollie,” Nan says. “It’ll be fine. All the girls wear them short, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Apart from my stick-insect legs,” I say. “Thank goodness it’s only for two months. And I have Paris to look forward to. As soon as Flora gets my email I’m sure she’ll sort things out.” I still haven’t heard back from her, but maybe she’s somewhere they don’t have Internet or mobile reception. Or maybe she’s too busy to answer me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it yesterday. She has to make the TV people change their minds about Paris.
“I hope she does, child,” Nan says. “But for now you’ll be attending Bethlehem Heights, so best make the most of it. Better get going − the ferry’s waiting. Shall I stay with you or—?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” I grab my rucksack from the footwell, open the passenger door and jump out.
“Don’t forget your jacket, child,” she calls.
I hear sniggers behind me. Lauren, Chloe and Bonny are standing by the harbour wall, watching me. Nan was right − their skirts are almost non-existent.
“Hi, Nan,” Lauren simpers. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of Mollie, won’t we, girls?”
“Well then, I’ll leave Mollie in your capable hands, Lauren,” Nan says, getting out of the car and moving towards me as if she’s about to give me a hug or something. I step away quickly and she gives me a wave before getting back into the car.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said in the cafe,” Lauren says as soon as Nan’s gone. “It’s not on, you know, slagging off the island. You think you’re so cool just because you’re from Dublin. Who cares about stupid Dublin? It’s smelly and noisy, and Mum says most people in Dublin would move if they could.”
“To New York or Paris,” I say. “Not to a snoresville island in the middle of nowhere.”
Lauren jabs a finger in my chest. “Just watch it, understand? There’ll be no Nan or Alanna to look after you today.”
I sit as far away as I can from Lauren and her cronies on the ferry. Unfortunately, that means sitting near Landy. He nods at me and says, “Hi, Mollie Cinnamon,” with that annoyingly smug smile on his face again.
I scowl at him. The truth is, I’m feeling a bit shaken after what Lauren has just said to me.
“It’s like that, is it, city girl?” he says, turning away. “I’m just trying to be friendly.” He sticks his headphones over his ears, leans his head back against the cabin wall and closes his eyes.
While Lauren and Chloe are looking at something on Chloe’s iPhone, Bonny shuffles along the red plastic seats to sit beside me.
“You all right?” she whispers. “Lauren didn’t scare you, did she?”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t mind her − she’s jealous. She’d love to live in Dublin. And Landy’s a good guy. He just likes winding people up.”
“What are you doing over there, Bonny?” Lauren shouts across. “You need to see this giggling baby. It’s so funny.”
“See you later, Mollie.” Bonny jumps up and rejoins Lauren and Chloe, leaving me all on my own again.
The teachers at Bethlehem Heights seem decent enough. The year head, Miss McKennedy, is also our science teacher, and she tries to make me feel welcome by finding me a place to sit beside Bonny. Landy’s pretty much ignoring me. I can’t really blame him after the way I behaved on the ferry. At least Bonny is friendly when Lauren and Chloe aren’t around.
We have English and geography before morning break. I’ve done some of the work we’re covering already, like how to write formal letters. Other things are new – oxbow lakes and other river stuff – but at least none of it is too hard. I keep thinking of what lessons I’d be doing back at home and wishing I was there. I’d be sitting beside Shannon and chatting when the teacher’s back was turned.
“How are you finding things so far?” Bonny asks me as the class files outside to take soil samples for biology.
“All right, I guess,” I say.
“Is it different to your school back home?”
I nod. “Mine’s a lot bigger, for starters. We have four classes in every year, and it’s a new building, so the classrooms are a lot brighter.” Bethlehem Heights has mustard walls with flaky damp patches, and dark brown carpet tiles. Plus, all the windows are dripping with condensation.
“Lauren says your mum’s on the telly. Is that true?” she asks. “Is she really famous?”
“There you are, Bonny.” It’s Lauren. Bonny immediately moves further away from me. “She’s not famous,” Lauren says. “She’s only a weather girl. It’s hardly Hollywood. Chloe, find that clip of Mollie’s mum on YouTube. It’s so funny.”
I feel my cheeks heat up. I can guess which clip she means. Flora made one silly mistake, years ago – and, yes, I guess it is kind of funny – but trust them to find it!
Chloe holds up her iPhone and plays the video. In it, Flora mistakes the coast of Norway for Italy. It was one of her first days forecasting, she was very nervous and, to be honest, she’s never been all that good at geography.
Bonny just laughs. “That is funny. And I recognize her – Flora Cinnamon, right?”
It gives me the confidence to say that Flora’s presenting a travel show now.
“Oh, la-di-da,” Lauren says. “A travel show − big deal.”
I ignore her.
“You look like your mum,” Bonny says. “You have the same eyes. It’s just the hair that’s different.” She’s right − our hair couldn’t be more different. Flora’s hair is poker-straight while mine is super wavy.
“You know what your hair reminds me of?” Lauren says. “Worms. Lots of wriggling red worms stuck on top of your head. Maybe we should call you Worm Head. Or Wormie.” She upends a large stone with the tip of her shoe. Pale pink worms, woodlice and earwigs move away from the sudden light. Lauren picks up a worm. She holds it up to my face. I twist my head, but it hits my cheek and sticks for a second before falling off. I rub fiercely at my slightly sticky skin. Disgusting!
The rest of the day doesn’t get any better. During maths, Lauren and Chloe flick pieces of chewed-up paper into my hair, and during Irish class they make fun of my accent. On the way back to the ferry I lag behind them, hoping they’ll just leave me alone. Landy’s following us, keeping his distance.
“Wormie can’t go back to Dublin, you know,” I hear Lauren say loudly so that I can hear. “Her mum’s off filming and she doesn’t want Mollie tying her down. Her dad isn’t around and her granny’s dead. Nan only took her in because she had to. No one wants her.”
Bonny surprises me by standing up for me. “Poor Mollie,” she says. “Maybe we should be nicer to her.”
When Lauren and Chloe stare at her, Bonny says, “What? I’m just saying it must be hard.”
She half-turns and blushes when she realizes I’m behind them. I know she’s being kind, but I hate people feeling sorry for me, so I poke out my tongue. I regret it the second she turns away.
On the ferry, I listen to my iPod and stare out of the window, turning my music up high, so I don’t have to deal with their teasing. I try to forget what Lauren said: No one wants her.
As we chug into the harbour, I spot Click leaping out of the waves, but even that doesn’t cheer me up. Not today.
Chapter 7
Nan is standing at the harbour wall, waiting to meet the ferry. I can’t deal with Lauren being all sweet and innocent in front of her after spending the day tormenting me, so I stay on the boat until everyone else has climbed off. I wait so long that the captain, a woman with windswept blonde hair and a tanned face, sticks her head into the cabin. “Are you coming back to the mainland with me? Or are you getting off?”
“Sorry.” I make my way slowly towards the harbour steps.
“How was your first day?” Nan asks as soon as I reach her.
I stay quiet.
“That good, eh?” she says. “Let’s get you home.”
She tries to get me to talk all the way to Summer Cottage and again during dinner, but I don’t feel like it.
“Listen, Mollie,” she says after we’ve eaten. “I know first days can be difficult, but give it time. And I’m here if you want to talk, OK? I’m not going to force you, but you know what they say, ‘A problem shared is a problem halved.’”
I nod silently.
“PJ was full of stories about the school he taught at. Lots of embarrassing things used to happen to the children. One girl wore her slippers to school by mistake – fluffy rabbit slippers − and a boy of twelve called the teacher ‘Mum’. In fact, that used to happen a lot. Oh − and this is the worst one of all − a pair of pink knickers fell out of the bottom of a boy’s tracksuit once when he was running. They were his sister’s and they’d got mixed up with his uniform in the tumble-dryer.”
I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. “Nan, that’s terrible! Really?”
She nods and smiles. “I know − poor lad. He was mortified. It took him weeks to get over it. But none of it was as bad as what happened to me, of course. It still makes me cringe even now. It was truly awful.”
“What happened?”
“Well, when I was a teenager at Bethlehem Heights, back in the days of the dinosaurs, we had to wear big nylon knickers for gym, instead of shorts.”
I wrinkle up my nose. “Just knickers?”
“Yes, a white Aertex shirt tucked into big purple knickers.” She shudders. “Horrible. Anyway, my mum had forgotten to buy me new gym knickers, so she found some white ones and dyed them purple instead. She boiled them with some beetroot from the garden. It worked like a charm. Until I wore them in our first gym lesson. It was September and we were outside – our gym teacher was obsessed with fresh air – and it started to rain really heavily. Guess what happened? Purple dye started running down my legs. Everyone was pointing at me and whispering. I was so embarrassed I started to cry. For the rest of my time at school I was known as Beetroot Girl. I know school can be awful sometimes, Mollie, but at least nothing like that happened, did it?”
“No. But they did make fun of me.”
“I see. Try not to take it to heart, child. It will take them a few days to get to know you, that’s all. Would you like to take the laptop up into your bedroom and see if Flora’s emailed you back? Have you finished all your homework?”
I haven’t even started, but obviously I don’t admit that. “Thanks, Nan,” I say, sidestepping her question.
I take Nan’s laptop upstairs with me and click into my email account. There it is − a reply from Flora. Result! I open it, holding my breath.
All I want to read is: “Dear Mollie Mops, Nan has it all wrong. Of course you’re coming to Paris with me…”
Sent: Monday 4 February 08:00
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
S
ubject: I WANT TO MARRY MY HOTEL ;-)
Dear Mollie Mops,
I’ve only got a sec. Things are SO busy at the mo – you wouldn’t believe it.
We arrived in Sydney yesterday afternoon (Sunday) and the weather is amazing – hot and sunny and 25 degrees. Not like rainy old Ireland.
There’re four of us. Julian is the boss of Team Travelling Light – he’s the director. Have I told you about him already? Anyway, he’s super smart and funny. There’s also Fintan the sound man (small and cuddly) and Lucas the cameraman (tall and a bit intense, but very sweet). The producer and the researchers are based in the Dublin office. They do all the practical stuff like booking flights and hotels.
It’s hard work, but I’m learning LOADS. Julian is even helping me write some of my own scripts. Imagine – me, a scriptwriter! It’s so exciting, Mopsy!!! And he’s so handsome too. All wavy black hair and dark stubble – just like a Hollywood movie star.
Our hotel is called The Old Sydney Harbour Hotel and it’s right on the water. It’s super swish – all grey and silver and ultra chic. You should see the size of the white marble bathroom. The bath’s so enormous you can practically swim in it, and standing under the huge shower is like being in the rainforest. (I’m so in love with the hotel I think I want to marry it! ;) )
We’re finishing off our scripts today and we start filming tomorrow. Our first stop is Bondi Beach for some serious swimming and body-surfing action. I can’t wait.
I really wish you could join me while I’m filming in Paris, but it’s just not possible. Julian said even if our insurance did allow it, it wouldn’t be professional. You do understand, don’t you, poppet? We’ll have a special girls’ trip another time, I promise. And Nan’s happy to look after you until I get back – less than eight weeks now. It’ll fly by!
I’d better run, Mopsy. I think that’s Julian banging on the door. We’re supposed to be going for dinner together and I’m not even dressed – oops! You know what I’m like, darling, Johnny come late, late, lately!!!