None of it makes sense. My brain feels foggy and slow. Operations against their synagogues? That’s no order against a threat. I wonder again about the concentration camps. These shadowy places which shape-shift in my mind as misery-filled, medieval-style prisons, or a Roman model, with gangs of slaves tied together with ropes and whipped if they don’t work hard enough. Such tales of atrocious conditions in these places are denied as vicious propaganda. Radio coverage, just the other day, said that Germany is merely following this camp invention of the British who maltreated women and children in the Boer war by incarcerating them. At least in our version of the camps, we only hold men. Which is true?

I must go straight to Erna, then find Walter. I am reaching out to slip the paper back into the tray when the study door swings wide open.

‘Franz?’ Mutti’s voice is slurred with sleep. ‘Oh! Herta?’

‘Mutti!’ I quickly replace the letter and jump to my feet.

‘What are you doing in here? I saw the light beneath the door…’

My mind races. ‘I was looking for – for Oma’s address. I thought I would write to her. I’ve been very lax.’

‘You can’t expect me to believe that,’ she replies, sounding more awake. ‘You could have asked me for Oma’s address. Why are you snooping around Vati’s study?’

‘Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was just trying to find out what was going to happen. You said something big was going to take place. I just wanted to know. I shouldn’t have. Please don’t tell Vati.’

Mutti takes a few steps into the room.

‘You’re right. You shouldn’t be in here, Vati would be very angry. There are important confidential papers in here. I would never dream of looking through them. It’s very wrong of you, Hetty. How could you?’

‘I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.’ I snap off the light and move away from the desk towards her. ‘Please forgive me for being foolish and nosy.’

‘I can’t ignore this.’ She stands stiff and straight, unyielding.

‘I just want to know what’s going on. Please, Mutti—’

‘Go to your room. Stay there until your father gets home.’

She ushers me out.

‘Mutti, please. I’m sixteen! I’m not a child anymore. And I’m supposed to be at Erna’s this evening, for supper.’

‘Don’t answer back! You’re going nowhere. Your father will deal with you when he gets home. And don’t for one second consider defying me on this.’ She is quivering with rage, with sucked-in cheeks and a thin, hard line to her mouth.

My cheeks burn hot as I thunder up the stairs and slam my bedroom door behind me. How dare she treat me like a child! How dare she keep me a prisoner in my own home.

Breathing hard, I stare out of my window over the top of the bare limbs of the cherry tree, towards the corner of Fritzschestrasse. A ghost of Walter walks down the pavement towards our house, hands in his short-trouser pockets, satchel slung over his shoulder, on his way to walk to school with Karl. Preparations for arrest… Jews from all districts… How did it come to this? I can’t just sit here and let this happen. I must go to him.