‘For the best?’ Mutti’s eyes are wild. She turns to Vati and begins to shout at him. ‘Who the hell does he think he is, saying what was best for our son? It is his fault our Karl is dead and he thinks he knows what’s best? He probably told the doctors to stop trying to save him. He probably ordered them to kill him—’

‘Hélène!’ Vati says sharply. ‘You are overwrought. Hauptmann Winkler was devastated. I could hear it in his voice. You think he wanted to lose one of his most promising pilots in a stupid, senseless accident? Of course not.’

‘Oh, Franz… how can I?’ Her eyes brim with tears again. ‘Not Karl…’

Vati stands slowly. He looks sapped of all strength.

‘I’m going to call the doctor to bring you a sedative,’ he says as he shuffles towards the door. ‘Look after her, Herta.’

I move to sit next to Mutti and slip her hand into mine. It’s limp and delicate, like the foot of a bird. I squeeze it, but she barely responds. She stares into space, tears sliding one after the other down her cheeks.

‘I’ll take care of you, Mutti,’ I tell her, trying not to think of Karl lying somewhere on a slab in an icy morgue.

The crushing pressure in my chest intensifies, threatening to squeeze all the air from my lungs and strangle my heart until it stops beating altogether.

*

Karl and I are in the treehouse. I can smell his cologne, clean and crisp, mingled with his own warm, oaty scent. He smiles and the corners of his mouth fold up, revealing the white of his teeth. His deep brown eyes wrinkle, just a little, at the edges and his skin is sun-kissed and glowing. He turns slightly and I see the soft fuzz of baby hair at the back of his neck.

‘Let’s play Roman soldiers,’ he says, handing me a wooden sword. ‘Whoever wins can be the Emperor and the other has to obey their orders for the rest of the day.’

‘That’s not fair,’ I say, sulking.

‘Why not?’ He smiles at me, knowing exactly why, but he wants me to say it anyway.

‘Because you always win. You’re bigger than me.’

‘Then fight harder – and cleverer. It’s the cleverest who win,’ he says, leaping up and tapping me with his sword.

I try to hit him back, but I can’t reach him because Karl is at the controls of his bomber. I’m sitting behind him, but he doesn’t seem to know I’m here. I try to shout his name, to warn him, but no sound comes from my mouth. The plane is shaking violently and he is sweating, fighting to regain control. It lurches and rolls, dropping fast. The engines roar. I scream, silently. There is a stench of oil, gasoline and hot metal. And something else – sweat and impending death. The ground rushes and then the dreadful crash and a screeching sound of metal being crushed.