And it was August.
And I was sixteen; bereaved and bitter, staring out at the uncaring waves on my final evening in the islands.
She wasn't there.
And from now on, my parents had announced, we wouldn't be either. There were other places to be, they'd declared. Other parts of the world to explore.
I didn't give a sewer rat's tattered arsehole.
This was where I needed to be.
This was the only place in the entire world that mattered.
Our place.
But it wasn't my choice to make.
So I swore I would be back, some day.
No matter how long it might take me.
.:.
It was August, and I was twenty five.
I tugged at the neck of my horrible rash vest and fiddled with my board-shorts so they sat more comfortably on what hips Mum's genes had granted me. I fastened the impossible and maddening um
