SATURDAY – 4AM – UZMAI wake, cold but still fully dressed apart from my denim jacket, which lies discarded on the over-stuffed armchair in the corner, I'm even wearing my boots. As my eyes adjust to the strange darkness around me, I scramble off the bed, feeling my way to the wall and reach for the shutters. Faint light streams softly into the room from the ancient church across the square and then I remember where I am.
My bedroom is at the back of Madame Joubert's guest house, away from the street and facing a small park. I can just make out the benches, and the fallen leaves, blowing around in the wind like discarded wings. It's a tranquil place, a place for couples, lovers, romantics, the same place where Sylvain and I used to meet in the summer. We stole a kiss on the steps of that c
