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Back Time Is a Killer
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

I’ve been talking to you about 23 August for quite some time, my reader of yesterday and tomorrow, and now here we are.

Saint Rose: the morning of tenderness, the evening of promise, the night of caresses.

Day P for Popped Cherry for my twit of a brother Nicolas, I don’t need to remind you. Day W, Wednesday, for White Lies for Maman and Papa, who will exchange them on their anniversary, who will swear they still love each other, that love exists, yes of course it does, isn’t love what puts the presents beside the fireplace, among the cold and crumpled sheets, when the lovers have gone to sleep? Love is the grown-ups’ version of Father Christmas.

But I don’t care. I still believe in it!

When I was little and my friends swore in the playground that Father Christmas didn’t exist, I refused to listen.

One day, perhaps a lover who leaves me will swear that love doesn’t exist, and I will put my fingers in my ears.

I swear that I believe in Father Christmas, in people who live in the stars, in unicorns, mermaids and dolphins that can talk to humans.

Natale believes in that too.

I’m running towards him.

I’m meeting him in the Port of Stareso to tell him that I have cajoled, charmed, and flattered Papé Cassanu, the big oak of Arcanu, the bear of the Balagne, the hawk of Capu di a Veta, the guardian of Revellata, and that he’s going to say yes to the plan for a dolphin sanctuary at Oscelluccia beach. Then Natale will owe me more than a kiss, he’ll owe me a kiss every day, and trips on the Aryon, endless swimming with Idril and Orophin, and a whole series of other promises for when I’m older and have stopped believing in Father Christmas but still believe in love.

I’m following the path along the crest of the Revellata Peninsula, then I’ll climb down to the Port of Stareso in the north-east, towards Punta Rossa, with the Revellata lighthouse straight in front of me. It’s the highest and narrowest part of the peninsula, you look out over the sea on all sides. If I were to pee here, just by my feet, I wouldn’t be able to guess which side of the sea my little jet would flow down into. To the west, over the top of the cliff like a waterfall, or to the east, towards the beach, as a stream?