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Chapters (84)
  1. Dedication
  2. Time is a Killer
  3. Contents
  4. Map
  5. 1
  6. Twenty-seven years later …
  7. IRevellata
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. IISaint Rose’s Day
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. IIISempre giovanu
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. Twenty-seven years later
  77. Acknowledgements
  78. AFTER THE CRASH
  79. BLACK WATER LILIES
  80. DON’T LET GO
  81. About the Author
  82. Also by Michel Bussi
  83. More on W&N
  84. Copyright

‘Clotilde, cards on the table, you’re fifteen. OK, you’re more mature than other girls your age, you’re original, you’re rebellious, imaginative, you’re just the kind of girl I admire; but you’re fifteen. So my suggestion is that I take you on as an associate. Are you OK with that? With us becoming collaborators? Sharing the same dream, nothing but that. Saving the dolphins, saving the planet, saving the universe; I can tell you, there aren’t many girls I’ve made that suggestion to.’

He holds up his hand like a summer-camp monitor who’s just scored against some nine-year-olds, and we high-five.

When I’m dreaming about him leaving his hand in mine.

Putting his lips to mine.

Pressing his skin against mine.

‘We’re the same, you and me, Clotilde. Fishers of dreams against the rest of the world.’

He’s brought Maman here.

Perhaps he’s kissed her.

Perhaps he’s undressed her, perhaps they’ve made love.

Perhaps he desires Maman’s body, what man could fail to desire her, but perhaps it’s me he was thinking of when he caressed her, when he murmured in her ear that he loved her, when he entered her.

Perhaps it was me that he loved, even if his morals forbid it.

‘I want a contract, Natale. A contract that commits you to thirty years. I want 30 per cent of the profits from your business, a boat with my name one day, an office all in glass with a view of the sea, a pair of dolphins all to myself, and I want to be able to dress the way I like. If you can grant me all that, then I will go and jump on Papé Cassanu’s knee and discuss your crazy idea.’

He burst out laughing.

‘And will that be all?’

‘Yes … Plus a kiss on the cheek.’

34

20 August 2016, 8 a.m.

The sea carried away empty bottles, wet confetti and broken streamers like so many dreams abandoned at the end of the night by exhausted dancers, party-goers on the brink of despair; the waves returning them the following morning, bleached and faded.

It was still early.

The Aryon floated among all the detritus. Natale, lost in thought, seemed oblivious, as if he had long since abandoned hope that the sea would spew up the bottle he had thrown into it many years before.