‘If Jerry shows up,’ someone else echoed, ‘I’ll be chucking more than flamin’ lemonade bottles – I’ll chuck the kitchen sink’n’all!’

People laughed. But then there was another voice from the front of the queue, low and cold: ‘The thing is, ladies, Jerry’s already here – isn’t she?’

It was an old man I didn’t recognize, and he had turned around to stare straight at my mother. There was a terrible silence. I looked at Mutti. What was she going to say?

But Mutti didn’t say anything at all. She looked at me, and then looked down so no one could see the tears that had already started in her eyes. Someone giggled. Someone else shuffled her feet, and then whispered in her friend’s ear. My face was burning. Perhaps I should say something – Don’t talk about my mother like that, you nasty old man!

But then Mrs Rossi said very briskly, ‘Thank you, sir. Who’s next, please, ladies?’ and the dreadful silence eased.

When we got to the front of the queue, Mrs Rossi leant across the counter to Mutti and whispered, ‘Don’t pay any attention to him, my dear.’

Mutti nodded. Her eyes were very sad. ‘He lost his brother in the Great War, I believe.’

She knew this horrible man? But I had never seen him before in my life.

‘Ah.’ Mrs Rossi seemed to understand. ‘He finds it hard to be kind, then, I think,’ Mrs Rossi said. ‘Hard to forgive.’

‘Yes. It is very difficult for him.’

‘Difficult for you too,’ Mrs Rossi said, her chocolate-brown eyes looking at Mutti with sympathy. She and her husband were from Italy – she knew what it was to feel like an outsider in a village like ours. I saw her slip an extra bun into our paper bag. ‘Difficult for all of us, my dear.’

Chapter 10

10

The fire wasn’t the only act of sabotage. Just a few days later, three telephone lines in the village were cut, including the line to the police station. At first it was blamed on high winds, but when the man came to repair them, he said it was obvious the lines had been severed deliberately. It was starting to become clear that there was someone in the village who was not on the same side as everyone else. People looked at each other differently when they passed in the street, searching each familiar face for a trace of something sinister. Is it you? they seemed to say, as their eyes narrowed with suspicion; they hugged their shopping bags tightly as if someone were about to make a grab for them. And all the time that fishing net full of Smith family secrets kept squirming heavily in my mind, and the unspoken mistrust between us grew deeper and more dangerous.