‘Please…’ I try again.

‘It’s true,’ Mutti gasps through her tears. ‘Karl’s dead.’

‘Your brother—’ Vati begins, shuts his mouth and shakes his head.

A numbness engulfs me.

I’m sitting on the sofa, staring at Vati, willing him to say something. Something that will make it all better.

When I was little, Vati was the biggest, strongest person I knew. He was in command, and I was safe and secure. In my world, he had the power of God. But now his big frame is crumpled. In the face of death he is as helpless as the next man.

‘What happened?’ I’m numb, trembling.

Vati slides his arm from Mutti’s shoulders, collapsing forward as if he no longer has the strength to hold himself upright, and rests his forearms on his legs.

‘Not Karl,’ Mutti sobs, mopping her eyes with a sodden handkerchief. ‘Not my boy. Anyone but Karl…’

‘What the hell happened?’ I’m suddenly angry. ‘Why won’t you tell me what happened?’

Someone slips a cup and saucer into my hands.

‘Have a drink, it’ll help with the shock.’ Bertha’s voice, soft and gentle. ‘Come now.’

I do as I’m told but my hand is shaking so much I can barely lift the cup to my lips.

‘I spoke with Hauptmann Winkler, just a few minutes ago,’ Vati says, his voice tremulous, like an old man’s. He takes a slug of whisky, or brandy, or whatever is in the glass Bertha hands him. He nods to Mutti to do the same. She gulps hers and coughs.

‘He’d been on a routine training exercise, preparing for a test on aerobatic manoeuvres,’ Vati says, his features dropping as though pulled down by a great weight. ‘He had to learn how to handle an aircraft at high speeds. It was good and clear this morning though a little gusty, but Karl had flown in more difficult conditions. It was all going very well, but ten minutes into the flight, Winkler said, Karl had misjudged the speed of a steep descent and been unable to pull out of it in time. He crashed the aircraft into the ground.’ Vati takes a deep breath. ‘He had multiple injuries, most seriously to his head. He arrived at the hospital in a coma. But the doctors were unable to save his life.’

‘He crashed…’ I say, processing Vati’s words. My ears still buzz. There’s a growing pressure in my chest.

‘Why was he in the aircraft on his own?’ Mutti asks, her voice rising. ‘I mean, he was inexperienced! What on earth were they thinking!’

‘Shh, my dear, don’t upset yourself even more.’ Vati rubs his paw-like hand on her thin knee. ‘He’d been flying for over a year. It was a single-seater plane. A Heinkel HE 51. According to Winkler, he’d flown one many times before and had impressed his superiors. A bright future cut tragically short, he said. The only consolation is, had he lived, his head injuries were so horrific, it would have meant very severe disablement, so it was probably for the best.’