I shook my head at the handkerchief, tightening my face and forcing a sob back into my throat. ‘But you gave the drawings back.’ I remembered how kind he had seemed in the lantern room – as if he were on my side. He hadn’t let the police sergeant take Mutti’s sketches.

‘I didn’t need them,’ he said. ‘I didn’t need to take anything else.’ Then again: ‘I’m so sorry.’

He gave me a sad smile, turned away and walked back up the high street, through the dark, rushing streams of rainwater.

Chapter 21

21

When I eventually got to the bakery, I was in a very bad state indeed. Mrs Rossi wasn’t there, so I returned the umbrella to the shop girl, Edie, apologizing for its sogginess.

‘Oh, I’m sure she won’t mind, Petra,’ Edie said nicely. ‘It’s what they’re for after all, ain’t it? A dry umbrella’s a wasted one, eh?’

Edie talks too much and she’s not exactly the brightest of sparks, but she’s a very kind soul. She used to be good friends with Mags when they were at school together. Edie tucked a strawberry-blonde curl behind her ear, leant down and looked at me closely. ‘You feeling all right, Petra?’

I must have wobbled a bit, as she got me a chair then and made me sit down.

‘You look like death warmed up,’ she said. ‘Here . . .’ She took an iced biscuit from the tray of baked goods under the counter. ‘Don’t tell anyone! You look like you haven’t eaten all day. Honestly, this rationing’ll be the end of all of us!’

I could hardly tell her what was really wrong, could I? That I was reeling from that terrible conversation – the booming of the German artillery, Pinstripe’s words of doom . . .

‘Yes, I’m probably just hungry.’ I took the biscuit and nibbled at it. I inhaled the sweet, warm air. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I won’t clutter up the shop for long, Edie. Pa’s given me a shopping list and I’d better get to the fishmonger’s before Arthur Briggs closes for lunch.’

‘Well – I’m afraid you won’t have any luck there,’ Edie said.

‘Why? What do you mean?’

‘Fishmonger’s been closed all day,’ Edie said. ‘Haven’t you heard?’

‘Heard what?’

‘Arthur Briggs was arrested last night.’

‘Arrested? What on earth did he do?’ My head was full of spying and treachery . . .

Edie’s curls bounced excitedly. ‘Racketeering,’ she said. ‘Making a profit out of the war. He’d got his hands on a stash of forged ration coupons and was selling them off to his customers, apparently.’

‘Good grief. Really?’

‘Looks like he’ll be in prison for a bit,’ Edie said. ‘Like your poor mum.’

I stared at her and swallowed a dry ball of half-chewed biscuit. ‘My mum’s not in prison, Edie,’ I said.