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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

‘He lives in Calenzana. It’s important, Miss Idrissi. He talked to me about that accident a lot before he left the force. He went on investigating it for years afterwards. You should go and talk to him. Cesareu is a great guy. A lot more intelligent than people around here think. About the accident, he has … how can I put it …’

‘What?’ said Clotilde, raising her voice for the first time.

The butterfly beat its wings one last time before flying off.

‘He has a theory.’

11

He opened the notebook.

He didn’t like what he was about to read.

But he had to do it.

He had to feed his hatred.

*

*     *

Sunday, 13 August 1989, seventh day of the holidays
Midnight-blue sky

There’s a dance tonight.

And I should tell you straight away, I’m not queen of the ball!

I’m sitting a little bit away from the others, a bit in the shadows, on the sand with my book on my knees.

When I say a dance, it’s really more of an impromptu party at the campsite, with three strings of bunting and the big boom-box that Hermann borrowed from his father, resting on a plastic chair. Nicolas has brought all the cassettes with the Top 50 hits he’s recorded straight off the radio, so we even get to hear the jingles and the ads between the songs.

And there’s one in particular.

THE hit of the summer!

The hit that, if you’re lucky, my future reader, you will have never heard of because it’s going to disappear from everyone’s memories as quickly as it sucked the blood from them this summer.

It’s a crazy thing, called the lambada.

It’s really more of a dance than a song, and involves the boy sticking his thigh between the girl’s thighs. Against her pussy, to be absolutely straight about it.

I kid you not.

Just let anyone try that with me …

There’s no risk of that happening, by the way. What boy my age would want to do that with a dwarf like me? It wouldn’t be his groin he was pressing against my pussy, it would be his knee! So I’m sitting here on my sandy cushion, dressed as a witch, reading Dangerous Liaisons.

The campsite version.

Basile Spinello just dropped by to tell us to turn down the music a bit.

‘Yes, Papa,’ Cervone, his twit of a son, said.

I agree with Basile.