Me: I thought we were going to Dartmoor to find Dave. I wasn’t expecting to find you and Harriet still asleep.

Nell: Stop shouting. It’s Sunday morning.

Me: But we need to get out there and find them.

Nell: What are you wearing?

Me: Hiking boots.

Nell: On your head.

Me: My all-encasing hat. I’m undercover.

Nell: Good grief.

Me: Get up, Nell.

Nell: We have to wait until after Sunday Songs.

Me: Why?

Nell: We’re travelling up to Dartmoor in the Whippets Institute minibus and it will only be available after then.

Me: I thought Poppy was going to fly us all in her helicopter.

Nell: There are far too many of us for a helicopter.

Me: Are there?

Nell: Yes. Besides she’s never taking llamas again. They are far too skittish.

Me: I didn’t know the llamas were coming.

Nell: Everyone is coming. This is David we are talking about and Rupert. Not to mention Sally.

Me: Is it wise?

Nell: What?

Me: Arriving with an army?

Nell: Only Poppy will be armed.

Me: You know what I mean.

Nell: You decide who can’t go then. Harriet and I have been up all night processing applications.

Me: Applications?

Nell: Everyone on this mission has to fill out a form. Do keep up.

Me: I haven’t filled out a form.

Nell: Why not?

Me: I didn’t know I had to.

Nell: Well, put that rucksack down and fill in one now, please.

Me: Of course. Do you have any spare copies?

Nell: On the dining room table.

Me: There are an awful lot of questions, Nell.

Nell: I know.

Me: Why does it matter what I eat on my toast?

Nell: Why do you think?

Me: Oh, I see. Lime marmalade.

Nell: Sherlock Martin strikes again.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Me: Dave needs to come home now.

Nell: Yes, he does.

Me: Beach walks aren’t the same without him.

Nell: I agree.

Me: We’re all hanging our heads. Harriet isn’t herself at all.

Nell: She and David are very close.

Me: And I know you’re missing Knitwear Wolf.

Nell: Rupert is a good friend. I enjoy his company. Did I tell you Poppy thought she saw Dave on the hill?

Me: No, you didn’t.

Nell: It turned out to be a bull.

Me: It’s an easy mistake to make.

Nell: David is a large animal.

Me: I’ve been thinking about the postcard they sent you.

Nell: Here we go.

Me: Was it in Labrador writing, or would you say it was more in the style of a Golden Retriever, or even a wolf?

Nell: It was typed.

Me: Who uses a typewriter up on Dartmoor?

Nell: Who uses a typewriter anywhere?

Me: It could have come from anyone, Nell.

Nell: You’re right.

Me: Lionel King has been conspicuously absent recently. No boat and no binoculars.

Nell: It’s the Easter holidays. He might be away.

Me: And the cream tea incident bothers me.

Nell: Why? If someone was holding Dave, Sally and Rupert against their will they wouldn’t give them a cream tea.

Me: Lionel would. Especially if he knew Owl Pacino was watching them.

Nell: Perhaps.

Me: I’m not sure I’d want a cream tea.

Nell: There’s always room for a scone.

Me: Yes, my darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy is probably starving.

Nell: I’m going to try calling them on my iBone again. If there’s still no answer we’re going up to Dartmoor ourselves.

Me: When you say we, do you mean I’m included?

Nell: Of course. Family to the rescue and all paws on deck.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Me: Why are you two looking at me like that?

Nell: Did you order the wrong marmalade?

Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about?

Nell: It was you, wasn’t it?

Me: No.

Nell: If you admit it now it will be better for you in the long run.

Me: I don’t even eat marmalade, Nell. I’m allergic to oranges.

Nell: Exactly.

Me: What do you mean?

Nell: It’s lime marmalade.

Me: Unusual.

Nell: Nobody likes it. You know that.

Me: I don’t, actually.

Nell: So, why order 12 jars?

Me: It wasn’t me.

Nell: Poppy is not amused.

Me: I bet she isn’t.

Nell: You’re going to have to eat on your own. It’s lime marmalade until Christmas for you my friend.

Me: I don’t even like it.

Nell: You should have thought of that before you ordered it.

Me: This isn’t fair, Nell. Anyone could have ordered it.

Nell: Why would we? We all like oranges.

Me: Was the marmalade addressed to me?

Nell: You’re far too clever for that.

Me: Am I?

Nell: Barks and Spencer sent it to me.

Me: They don’t usually deliver here.

Nell: Exceptions can be made.

Me: Maybe we can send it back.

Nell: Do you have the receipt?

Me: Of course not. I didn’t order it.

Nell: Who did then? Is anyone else allergic to oranges?

Me: They could just like limes.

Nell: I suppose David might eat it if it’s spread on toast with lots of butter.

Me: Have you heard from him yet?

Nell: A postcard arrived from Dartmoor this morning saying they were having a lovely time and will be home soon.

Me: A postcard? Isn’t that a bit odd?

Nell: Says the person who sent me 12 jars of lime marmalade.

Me: It wasn’t me, Nell. Sorry.

Me: Did you just take a biscuit off that table?

Nell: Kev put it there. It would have been rude not to.

Me: Are you sure it wasn’t dropped by a Beefy?

Nell: Beefies drop mackerel not biscuits. Do keep up.

Me: Tell me again what Owl Pacino saw up on Dartmoor.

Nell: A handsome wolf in biking leathers, a beautiful Golden Retriever and an exceptionally large black Labrador.

Me: Were they running for their lives?

Nell: No. They were enjoying a cream tea.

Me: On Dartmoor?

Nell: Yes. At a cafe. Dartmoor is famous for its cream. The scones won’t have been up to Poppy’s standard but you can’t have everything.

Me: It certainly sounds like them.

Nell: It is them. How many wolves do you think wear biking leathers?

Me: I could probably count them on one hand.

Nell: Well then.

Me: Why haven’t they been in touch? It was supposed to be a day trip.

Nell: Maybe they have. I had a message from Barks and Spencer yesterday telling me my delivery would be here between 10am and 11am.

Me: Barks don’t deliver to our area.

Nell: Exactly.

Me: We’d all better check our iBones again for messages.

Nell: I agree.

Me: Talking of messages, the publishers wanted me to know that my book ‘Conversations with Nell’ is featuring at the London Book Fair this year.

Nell: I am aware of the title and you mean our book. I think I had a paw in the writing of it.

Me: Yes, of course. You’re my inspiration.

Nell: Anyway, that’s very good news. You should be proud.

Me: I am. I just wish I could have been there too.

Nell: Just be happy your book is. The more people who know about us the better.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Me: I can’t believe my niece Scarlett is 18 today.

Nell: Yes.

Me: It seems only yesterday she was just a little girl.

Nell: She’s been taller than you for 10 years.

Me: Don’t exaggerate. It’s more like 6.

Nell: Anyway, Naughty Nigel asked me to read a poem.

Me: How lovely.

Nell: Would you like to hear it?

Me: I would indeed.

Nell: ‘It’s Nigel here and I’d like to say

That a really cool girl turned 18 today.’

Me: Are you rapping?

Nell: Don’t be ridiculous.

Me: It sounds like you are.

Nell: Can I just read this, please?

Me: Of course.

Nell: ‘That girl is you, Scarlett and you’re so fine

I’m proud to say that you are mine.’

Me: I don’t think she is just Nigel’s.

Nell: Poetic licence. May I continue?

Me: Yes.

Nell: ‘My brother Boo, and me and I

And brother Seamus in the sky,

Who’s looking down with Ganning too,

Who’s always watching over you,

We need you to know you’re greatly loved

By your family down here and up above.

Even by Xav

That wretched cat

Who’s getting lazy

And rather fat’

Me: That’s a bit rude.

Nell: Xav can take it.

Me: True.

Nell: ‘But nobody more than your darling mother.’

Me: Absolutely.

Nell: Stop interrupting. It’s Nigel’s poem.

Me: Yes. I forgot.

Nell: ‘Who loves you more than any other.

To the moon and back

And twice round the sun

Which is mad to be frank

And shouldn’t be done.

Happy Birthday dear Scarlett

Please know this is true

We’re so glad to be celebrating

18 years with you.’

Me: Perfect.

Nell: Did I just see several llamas go past carrying Gladys in my handbag?

Me: You might have done.

Nell: Was she wearing my hat?

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Me: Is Harriet waiting for someone?

Nell: Yes. We all are.

Me: Are we? Who are we waiting for?

Nell: David, Sally and Rupert.

Me: I wondered where they were.

Nell: They should have come back from Dartmoor ages ago.

Me: Have you tried contacting them on the iBone?

Nell: I’ve been trying for hours. They’re not answering.

Me: The signal can be bad up on the moors.

Nell: It’s most unlike them not to keep in touch.

Me: Dave will be hungry. He’s missed dinner.

Nell: Poppy packed enough sandwiches for an army so there’s no need to worry about that.

Me: Did Dave choose ham, or bacon?

Nell: Ham. His love for Sally won through in the end. Once he’d written a list he realised what to do.

Me: A list?

Nell: Yes. Sally on one side and Bacon on the other.

Me: Has Sally seen it?

Nell: Yes. Fortunately, it made her laugh.

Me: Bless him. Darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy.

Nell: Poppy was so impressed she made him bacon sandwiches as well.

Me: I hope there were scones.

Nell: Of course there were scones. You can’t have a picnic without scones.

Me: I’m a bit worried about them now too. You don’t think the Hound has got them, do you?

Nell: What Hound?

Me: The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Nell: You do know that Hound isn’t real, don’t you? It’s just a story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Me: You’ll be saying Sherlock Holmes isn’t real next. And Doctor Watson.

Nell: You’re blurring reality and fiction again. This simply won’t do. Go and fetch a cup of tea.

Me: All right.

Nell: If you see Owl Pacino, or Tawny Tim, on your way ask them to come through, please. Go on. Chop chop.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Me: Look at my darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy with his neon green chew.

Nell: Don’t disturb David, please. He has some serious thinking to do.

Me: Has he done something wrong?

Nell: No, he has a very difficult decision to make.

Me: He’s not splitting up with Sally, is he? Those two are so sweet together.

Nell: What are you talking about?

Me: I know long distance relationships aren’t easy.

Nell: This has nothing to do with Sally. In fact she’s staying on for a while as she can work remotely.

Me: Wonderful.

Nell: She and David are joining Rupert on a trip to Dartmoor today, actually.

Me: Weren’t you invited?

Nell: There’s no room on the motorbike. Sally will go in the sidecar and David will ride behind Rupert.

Me: That’s a shame. A nice day out is exactly what you need at the moment.

Nell: Is it?

Me: Yes. It might stop you thinking about a certain bad lion.

Nell: I couldn’t care less about lions, or seals. I am my own Labrador.

Me: So what’s Dave trying to decide then?

Nell: It’s all about sandwiches, if you must know.

Me: Sandwiches?

Nell: Yes. Poppy has offered him bacon, or ham.

Me: Can’t he have both?

Nell: No. Poppy wants a decision.

Me: It’s going to be bacon then, isn’t it?

Nell: Not necessarily.

Me: Bacon is his favourite thing ever.

Nell: I know, but Sally prefers ham.

Me: Oh, I see. This is a difficult one.

Nell: It is.

Me: Will Dave selflessly give up bacon so his lady love can enjoy what she desires most?

Nell: Good grief.

Me: Or will the power of bacon triumph?

Nell: Exactly.

Me: He’s going to choose bacon, isn’t he?

Nell: It’s David. Sally will understand.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Me: Is something going on?

Nell: No. Why?

Me: You’re all huddled together on my bed and three of you are looking worried.

Nell: It’s cold. The bed is comfortable and we can see the field through the window.

Me: What’s in the field?

Nell: Sunday Songs.

Me: It doesn’t explain why you’re sulking and the others are concerned.

Nell: I’m not sulking. I’m indifferent.

Me: You usually enjoy the singing.

Nell: It’s not about the singing.

Me: You can’t just be generally indifferent, Nell. There has to be something you don’t care about.

Nell: If you must know, Princess has gone sailing with Lionel.

Me: On his yacht?

Nell: Yes. I believe Princess might be swimming alongside. Seals tend to do that. But there was definitely talk of a fish lunch.

Me: Well, you don’t even particularly like a fish lunch so there’s no need to be jealous.

Nell: I’m not jealous. I couldn’t care less.

Me: I’m sure Poppy’s Sunday roast will be much tastier than freshly caught mackerel with new potatoes and a side salad all served on a beautiful boat.

Nell: You’re not helping.

Me: No. It does sound rather nice. Do you think Lionel has transferred his affections?

Nell: I have no idea.

Me: Only I can sort of see where he’s coming from. He seems to have a type.

Nell: I beg your pardon.

Me: I’ve often said there’s something almost seal like about you with your sweet face and beautiful eyes. Especially when you have wet fur.

Nell: I am nothing like a seal. I am a lady Labrador.

Me: Either way Princess is the one I feel sorry for. She is just a pawn in Lionel’s game.

Nell: Why bring prawns into this? You’re fish mad this morning.

Me: Never mind. Sorry.

Me: The light was glorious down on our beach today, wasn’t it? Everything sparkled. Especially Harriet.

Nell: Harriet always sparkles by the sea.

Me: Jim the Farm Dog thinks she sparkles all the time. Did you see the flowers he brought her?

Nell: I did. They are beautiful.

Me: This is a lovely time of year. Everything is about to bloom and shake off its dark winter coat.

Nell: You do realise many places are still struggling with snow.

Me: But under the snow Spring is waiting to emerge in all its glory.

Nell: Talking of emerging. You’re not going to believe this.

Me: I just might.

Nell: You know Princess took my reading glasses?

Me: It was an easy mistake to make, Nell. Hers are very similar.

Nell: They aren’t similar at all. Her glasses have a head band attached.

Me: Seal’s ears are very small, I suppose.

Nell: Seals don’t have external ears. You’re thinking of sea lions.

Me: How do they wear earrings then?

Nell: Good grief. I was trying to tell you something.

Me: Oh yes.

Nell: Princess came out of her pool today wearing a cowboy hat.

Me: Not a cardigan?

Nell: Nobody wears a cardigan in a swimming pool.

Me: Do you think she’s gone over to the other side?

Nell: Please stop all that nonsense. She says Lionel gave it to her.

Me: Really? Now that is interesting. Maybe Lionel is finally giving up.

Nell: Giving up what?

Me: You, Nell. It’s all about you.

Nell: Rubbish.

Me: Just imagine if Lionel had given his hat to Knitwear Wolf.

Nell: What?

Me: And Rupert had given Lionel his cardigan.

Nell: What are you talking about?

Me: All would be well.

Nell: Rupert would never ever relinquish his cardigan.

Me: Of course not. Sorry.

Me: What is it about the yellow chair today that’s making everyone who sits in it have a very unusual look?

Nell: I don’t know what you are talking about.

Me: Dave is looking rather mature and disapproving.

Nell: No, he isn’t. David is always thoughtful when he’s in the yellow chair.

Me: I’m used to you looking at me like that but not Dave. He only gives me loving looks. Darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy.

Nell: Good grief.

Me: And strangely enough you’re looking quite sweet and loving.

Nell: Loving or lovely? And what’s wrong with that?

Me: Which is the way you look at Kev not at me.

Nell: Let me know when I can join in this conversation.

Me: Although there is a tiny hint of exasperation so the look might actually be for me, I suppose.

Nell: Maybe it’s because today is 1st April and everything is not as it seems.

Me: You know I was thinking about that. Traditionally this is the day when you can make up impossible stories and newspapers often do.

Nell: Yes. The Guardian had upside down lightning on its newsfeed this morning.

Me: But in the crazy world of Nell there isn’t really much that would surprise anyone.

Nell: That unicorn downstairs certainly surprised me.

Me: Of course it did.

Nell: Until I saw it sitting there eating cereal I honestly didn’t think they existed.

Me: Any particular kind?

Nell: Just the normal white unicorn. None of that rainbow nonsense.

Me: I meant the cereal.

Nell: Something crunchy. It was making an awful noise.

Me: Are you sure it wasn’t a llama with a horn on its head?

Nell: Now, you’re just being silly. Unicorns look nothing like llamas.

Me: True.

Nell: And it wasn’t wearing pyjamas.

Me: Right. Sorry.