Anna stayed still, watching them, her hands curled around the thick chenille curtains. If I just stand here, she thought. If I stand here and don’t turn around, then Mother won’t say anything, and nothing bad will happen.

‘Anna, there’s something I need to tell you.’

She pulled the curtains, shutting out the ordinary world, then took a deep breath and turned to face her mother.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

Anna bent double in the armchair, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. She felt winded, as if someone had punched her in the pit of her stomach.

Her mother was still speaking, but Anna couldn’t take in the words.

‘I wanted to tell you … I know I should have said something sooner … I didn’t want you to be upset,’ she was saying softly. ‘Anna, I’m so sorry.’

‘But I don’t understand. Isn’t it bad enough that they’ve locked him up all these years, without sending him back to Germany?’

‘It’s the Government’s decision.’ In the dim glow of the firelight, Anna could see tears shimmering in her mother’s eyes.

Anger flared inside her, pushing out the pain. ‘But Papa hasn’t set foot in Germany for thirty years! It’s not his home anymore. He’s lived in England longer than he ever lived there.’

‘I know, my dear. But that’s what the authorities have decided. They’re repatriating the whole of your father’s camp, so they can turn it into a military hospital.’

‘But there must be something we can do about it? Surely there’s someone we can write to? Our Member of Parliament, or the newspapers …’

‘Don’t you think I’ve tried?’ Dorothy’s mother’s voice was short. ‘I’ve written letters, begging everyone I can think of for help. But they all say there’s nothing they can do. And as for the newspapers – do you really think they’d take up the case of a German?’

Anna thought about the newspapers that were delivered to the men on the ward. How they gleefully described the atrocities the Germans had carried out on the brave British, and declared: ‘The only Good Hun is a Dead Hun.’

‘We have to face the fact, your father isn’t welcome here anymore,’ Dorothy said quietly.

Anna wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, but she could see her mother was already upset enough. Flying into a rage wouldn’t help anyone.

Her gaze fell on the envelope lying on the hearth. ‘Does Liesel know?’

Dorothy shook her head. ‘Not yet. I wanted to go and see her, to tell her myself.’

‘When is he leaving?’

‘Next month.’

Anna looked up sharply. ‘Before Christmas?’

‘I think so.’

Anna looked around the sitting room. It no longer seemed cosy or welcoming. It suddenly felt too hot and stuffy to breathe. The walls appeared to be closing in on her, the heat from the fire scorching her face.

She couldn’t cope with it. So much in her life had changed: her father going away, then Edward, then nearly losing their home, then Tom leaving, even Liesel … Anna wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Every little change, every departure, seemed to take a piece of her with it, until she hardly knew who she was anymore.