I didn’t sleep either. I read for a bit, then I turned off the light and stared at the ceiling, trying to think. I had all this stuff going round and round in my mind. I’d tried to deal with each worry as it popped into my head, but the more I tried, the more there were. There were so many, I couldn’t think, and in the end I dozed off. Suddenly I saw myself in a long, dark hallway, terrified as a prisoner on death row, I was struggling against something, I don’t know what, something pushing me into the darkness, then suddenly these two guys in balaclavas jumped out of the darkness, grabbed me by the arms and dragged me off, panting for breath. My legs were kicking into thin air. They threw me into this huge stadium where the terraces were already teeming with prisoners who looked weird, haggard and silent. Just as I was about to get to my feet and run away, these terrifying men appeared out of a tunnel and surrounded me, chanting my name in hoarse, frenzied, voices: Schiller! . . . Schiller! . . . Schiller! . . . They stretched their arms out towards me: Sieg Heil! . . . Sieg Heil! . . . Sieg Heil! . . . The silence on the terraces was more intense and I was crying in pain. I woke up with a start, turned on the light. Maman, where am I? I put my head in my hands. I looked down at the suitcase on the floor. I didn’t remember leaving it there. It was a stupid place to leave it, anyone might trip over it, I would have pushed it against the wall or under the bed, or put it on a chair. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It fascinated and terrified me, then I smiled to myself, it’s just a thing, a box, a suitcase that needs to be strapped up so it doesn’t burst and spill everything everywhere. It seemed strange, taking clothes when you’re going nowhere, when you’re going to spend a week with friends in your other home . . . But caught up in Rachel’s stories of the Holocaust, the suitcase reminded me of the concentration camps, of the life we leave behind.