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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

Clotilde’s hand climbed a little higher up Franck’s thigh as she leaned her head back, offering her throat to the too-blue sky, like an artificial backdrop. A screen. A curtain put up by a lying God.

Franck shivered and Clotilde closed her eyes. On automatic. Disconnecting her fingers from her thoughts.

Holidays do that too.

Tanned skin, naked bodies, hot nights.

Maintaining the illusion of desire.

3

Monday, 7 August 1989, the first day of the holidays
Summer-blue sky

Hi, I’m Clotilde.

I’m introducing myself just to be polite, even if you can’t be polite back because I don’t know who you are, whoever it is reading this.

That will be in a few years’ time, if I manage to hang on. Everything I write is Top Secret. Totally embargoed. Whoever you are, you’ve been warned! Besides, O my reader, in spite of all my precautions, I don’t know who you might be?

My lover, the one I have chosen for the rest of my life, the one to whom – quivering on the morning after my first time – I will entrust the diary of my teenage years?

Some idiot who has just found it, because being the total disaster I am, that was bound to happen?

One of the thousands of fans who will rush to get their hands on this masterpiece by the latest literary genius (i.e. me!!!)?

Or me … But an older me, in fifteen years’ time … Or even incredibly old, in thirty years. I’ve found this old diary at the back of a drawer and I’m reading it as if it were a time machine. Or a mirror that made me young again.

But how will I ever know? So, when in doubt, I write at random, not knowing whose hands this notebook will fall into, or whose eyes will read it.

You have lovely eyes, I hope, beautiful hands, a beautiful heart, my future reader? You won’t disappoint me, will you? Promise?

*

Shall I start with a few words about myself, so you can get to know me? Because we’re going to have quite a bit of time to find out about each other.

So, Clotilde. Three points:

Point 1. My age. Already getting on … Fifteen. Wow, that makes me feel dizzy!

Point 2. My height. Still small … One metre forty-eight, enough to make me feel blue.