Chloe. Freya North

crazy bitch!’

      As Chloë tacked up, she smiled to herself with Carl’s words stroking her psyche. Fancy such affection lacing such seeming insults! To be called a ‘crazy bitch’ by Carl was something to be savoured and played, again and again. And ‘daft cow’ – well! When Brett had called her ‘darling’ it had meant so little that it had grated her ears savagely. When he ended his calls with ‘Love you!’ she would often hold the receiver away from her ear. And hold it even more distant when he closed the conversation with his trademark ‘ciao!’ Now, with Carl’s love-laden calumnies chiming in her ears and a small child tugging eagerly at her jacket, Chloë looked around her and beamed gratitude at the hills and the sheep and the hazy boundless sky.

      Wales, as Peregrine had said, was an absolutely splendid idea. Wales, as Jocelyn had said, was a heady contradiction of rustic simplicity and rural grandeur. Wales, as Gin often trilled, was wild, wet and Welsh! Wales, as Carl said once, was a cool country, pretty and awesome in equal measures.

      ‘Wales,’ said Chloë quietly to herself as she gave the small child a leg up and checked the pony’s girth straps, ‘Wales is the best thing that’s happened to me.’

      Just you wait!

      ‘MissChloëCadwalladerEsquire,’ called Carl as Chloë and her young charge ambled out of the yard, ‘you’ve forgotten your badge! Agin.’

      Chloë brought Desmond to a square halt and checked. It was quite true, once again, or agin (she now heard certain words exclusively in New Zealandish dialect).

      ‘Where would I be without you!’ she called with fondness, carefully unpinning Jocelyn’s brooch from her breast.

      ‘You’d be on your hands and knees scouring the grass for it, like last week!’ laughed Carl, hands on hips, divine forearms on display. ‘Or rummaging about on the muck heap like the week before, you dim wench!’ He sauntered over, his clumping boots scumbling leisurely over the cobblestones.

      ‘Thanks a million, young man,’ said Chloë, entrusting her heirloom to the man with the perfect wrists, ‘and please,’ she grinned, ‘call me Shiklo!’

      ‘It’s pretty,’ said Carl, holding the brooch in the approximate direction of the suddenly swallowed sun. Chloë loved the way his ‘t’s were unclipped, more a roll of the tongue inside his smile.

      ‘It’s perhaps the most precious thing I have,’ she said seriously.

      ‘Apart from your sanity? And that’s on its way out!’ said Carl, slapping his thighs in mirth.

       Oh! His thighs!

      ‘Oh ha bloody ha!’ retorted Chloë, desperate to keep a straight and severe face.

      ‘Well, I’d be right honoured to be Guardian of the Badge till your return, milady!’ said Carl with an extravagant bow.

      ‘Thank you, kind sir!’ chirped Chloë, allowing him a fleeting smile and a lascivious wink. The small child regarded them with a certain incredulity, and a maturity that exceeded both theirs.

      ‘Come!’ said Chloë to the horses.

      ‘Shit Chlo,’ called Carl after her, ‘wouldn’t mind!’

       Maybe soon.

      You mean?

       Yes. Well. Wanted to take it slowly. You know, have fun with the infamous bases. Base three’s next you see. Got to feel ready for the home run. Heavens, this is a first for me, remember.

      William felt uncomfortable. His neck felt stiff and his legs were begging for a stretch. His bladder was full. Again. He was thirsty and felt tension spread across his forehead. He looked pale. And a little panicked. But he felt uncomfortable more because he was driving. He was nearing the Severn Bridge and was bang on schedule but still he felt ill at ease. He hated driving because he trusted a bicycle more, and his legs the most. Most of all, he hated the fact that the car he was driving belonged to Morwenna.

      ‘William!’ she had chastised most unbecomingly, putting an affected whistle to the ‘w’, ‘Well!’ (she did the same there too) ‘I really do think it’s time you bought yourself a motor. A little run-around at least.’ She paused. ‘Hmm! A little run-around