Well, now it’s clear.

‘And don’t go thinking I only became friends with you because my father wanted me to.’ She seems to be able to read my mind. ‘That simply isn’t true. I was friends with you long before I understood any of these things. That’s the truth.’

Is it? I glance up at the tall tower of the church, climbing up into a thin spire, dark against the low, slate-grey sky. Once, I believed in God. I felt blessed by him and could see my place in his universe. But I was guided away from church and God because Mutti and Vati frown on religion. So I grew an unwavering faith in Hitler and the absolute, indisputable righteousness of our glorious new Reich. But first Walter, and now Erna, have shaken the ground beneath my feet. Karl is gone and there is no perfect German. Where is my faith now? I’m stripped bare. Rootless.

‘We’ll be late for school,’ I say at last. Unable to process my jumbled feelings, I don’t know what else to say.

‘Hett,’ Erna grabs my hand and squeezes it, ‘I’m telling you this to show you that your secret is safe with me. I’d do anything to help you. I don’t judge you, and I hope you won’t judge me either. Karl and I never did “It”. He said he would wait, that I wasn’t “that” sort of girl and he hoped one day we could even be married. He said there were plenty of those sorts around, and he would rather spend time with me, just enjoying my company. So I did nothing to hurt him, and he never knew I felt differently to him. He didn’t suffer. Not one little bit.’

Perhaps that’s true.

Perhaps Karl was getting his kicks with Ingrid instead.

I bite my lip and we both hurry into school.

*

Oh, Erna, I hope I have not made a terrible mistake opening my heart to you. Can it really be true that you’ve always hated the Nazis? I can picture you at every BDM meeting, at school, with Karl and me. You always sang the loudest, saluted with the most vigour. You led the younger girls in the way only a perfect German could. How could you be so convincing if you didn’t believe in it? Or are you the best actor in the world? If it’s the former, then how can I trust that you will not inform on Walter and me? And if the latter, I’m relieved, but can I truly trust that you are my friend? Either way, you’ve lied all along. Time alone will prove which of these is the truth.

8 November 1938

There’s a wild storm raging. Driving rain splashes against the windows and rivulets track their way down the panes. The bare branches of the cherry tree bend at an alarming angle and thrash against the iron railings in violent gusts. Doors rattle and slam in the wind. The house groans and creaks.