Me: You know how Harriet goes wild at the beach?
Nell: I do. She never stops running.
Me: I think she might just be generally wild on walks.
Nell: I’m inclined to agree. There we were walking along minding our own business when she shot out of the bushes at full speed.
Me: And ran straight down to the river.
Nell: And back out again.
Me: She had a wonderful time though, didn’t she?
Nell: We all did, to be fair.
Me: Yes. There’s something extremely relaxing about a walk along a leafy river bank in the summer sunshine.
Nell: Not when Harriet’s around.
Me: Even The New Poppy seemed strangely relaxed.
Nell: Don’t talk to me about The New Poppy. Did you hear what we’re having for lunch?
Me: No.
Nell: Cold soup.
Me: What?
Nell: Nasty cold soup and not even freshly baked crunchy bread spread thickly with farmhouse butter on the side. David is devastated.
Me: My poor Big Brave Beautiful Boy. Can’t we heat it up?
Nell: Apparently not. It’s meant to be cold. The New Poppy said she might throw a few croutons on the top if she has time. Whatever they are.
Me: This can’t go on.
Nell: No, it cannot. David has become a shadow of his former self.
Me: Oh dear.
Nell: He’s the Mayor of Kingsbridge. He needs sustenance.
Me: Except he isn’t.
Nell: We’re going to have to stage an Intervention.
Me: Goodness me.
Nell: The New Poppy needs to give us some answers right now.
Me: Yes, preferably before lunch because I’m not eating cold soup.
Nell: This isn’t about soup.
Me: It is a bit. I can’t stand the stuff.
Nell: No. It’s about Our Poppy. It’s her birthday tomorrow and we need her back.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
