The men are in the office, slamming open drawers and doors. One or two, it’s hard to tell. Another door bangs open, this time the inner, not the street door. Clipped footsteps and voices. Walter stiffens.

‘Vati and my Uncle Josef,’ he whispers.

I press myself hard against the wall, trying to increase space between my face and the rabbit bales; its surface is rough against my back. I wish it would absorb us, envelop us into the brickwork.

‘Leave my son out of this.’ I hear Walter’s father’s voice clearly. ‘He has nothing to do with anything. If you must take someone, take me. But he is not responsible. He’s just a lad.’

‘How old?’ barks a voice.

‘Nineteen,’ Walter’s father replies.

‘Old enough to know right from wrong. We’ll arrest all three of you.’

‘For what?’ a plaintive voice now. ‘Come on. There is no need for this…’ That must be Josef.

There is a shuffle, a heaving sound, then a cry.

‘On your knees, you, Jewish filth!’

‘I don’t understand – we’ve paid all of your exorbitant taxes!’ Josef’s voice again.

‘Shut up!’ The Gestapo man’s voice is low with threat. ‘Where is your son? We will confiscate this stock…’

‘No!’ Walter’s father shouts. ‘It’s all we have! Check the papers – look. It’s all in there, please!’ I imagine him pointing at the little glass office.

‘How dare you!’ the Gestapo man’s voice trembles. Just listening, I can pick up every nuance, every emotion in the words they are saying. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ the Gestapo man continues, his voice loaded with threat.

‘I didn’t—’

Thwack! A crack, like gunfire, but not. The sound of something solid, metal perhaps, connecting with flesh. A cry and Josef yells, ‘You bastards! You didn’t need—’

‘Shut up, pig!’ A thump, a yell.

Suddenly Walter lurches. ‘They’re killing him,’ he hisses. ‘I have to do something!’

‘No! Walter, stop. What good can you do?’ I whisper, desperately pulling his arm. ‘They’ll only kill us too!’

There is a groan.

‘He’s alive! Walter…’

Walter hesitates, tensed, ready. I hang onto his arm tightly, both hands. I can’t let him go.

‘Where is the boy?’ Another voice.

‘Probably at home. Where he should be.’ Josef’s voice, firm but trying to placate.

More groaning, low down. Walter’s father must be on the ground.

‘You have us. Why would you need him too?’

‘For questioning on another matter. There has been a serious accusation.’

Walter and I grip hands tighter. Ingrid must have tipped off the Gestapo. What else could they want Walter for?

‘Search the place,’ someone barks. ‘You, go to the home address.’

I feel Walter shudder, tense against me.

Oh dear God, I know I have sinned and been bad in so many ways, but please, please, if you are listening, I will change. I will go to church, I won’t forget you again. Just don’t let them find us. Please God. Don’t let them find us.

I have not prayed to God since I was small. But I do it now, over and over. What else is there to do? My legs are so weak and shaky that if I wasn’t propped between the wall and the bales, they wouldn’t hold me up.