I ran across the green and into Dandelion Cottage. Harold was back from his knitting workshop and I had to do more hugging duties with him. Then I started yawning to give him the idea of beddy-byes, but he said, “Tallulah, before you go up the wooden stairs to Noddsville, let me just show you my new cloak. It’s hand-knitted, and as you can see it has shell buttons.”

As he was swishing around modeling it for me, he said, “You see, the shells show man’s connection with the earth or, in this case, Skegness beach.”

At last I was in my squirrel room. I have my squirrel lamp switched on by my bed, and outside the wind is howling across the moors. But I am snug inside with my letter.

My letter from the Dream Boy.

I paused before I opened it.

To drink in its atmosphere of boyness.

Then I sniffed it.

And licked it.

I don’t know why.

I’m turning into Matilda.

Ooooh. I can imagine him writing it. With a quill pen probably. A candle guttering late at night in his room. He is wearing his usual late-night wear—velveteen breeches and flouncy shirt. I don’t know why his shirt is wet as he writes. Maybe he has been for a midnight swim. Or a late-night, fully clothed bath.

To cool his ardor and passions, which are running riot.

He looks out of his window over the moonlit dales, thinking of me as he last saw me in late summer. My long dark tresses framing my face. Looking up at him with my green eyes. And as he looks long and deep into my eyes, I feel an urge to raise my bottom eyelids and …

Hang on a minute—I have changed into an owlet!!!

Get a grip, Tallulah!!

I opened the envelope.

Here goes:

Dear Tallulah,

Hello, Green Eyes, welcome back to Heckmondwhite and the dizzy world of showbiz!

Well done for making it to the new term—personally, I think it was your spectacular Sugar Plum Bikey that did it. I don’t think any of us who were there will forget your skirt catching in the back spokes, and you flying off into the backstage area.

Top.

I am off to Liverpool tonight to start my course but hope to see you in a couple of weeks when I come home. Good luck.

Knock ’em dead, but try not to break a leg! OR ANYONE ELSE’S.

Lots of love,

Alex

xxx

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Outside in the dark I can hear an owl hooting. It will be big Connie out there, collecting food for the owlets.

She is holding her own mouse massacre. Ruby says the owlets will start hunting for themselves in a week or two. Having to do their own hunting will be a shock for them. They probably think there is a big owl in the sky that just hands them stuff.

I don’t think you would poo in front of the big owl in the sky. At the same time as eating. Pooing and eating doesn’t seem right to me.