Anger flares inside me. White-hot fury.

I take his face in my hands and look deep into his eyes. ‘I know you,’ I tell him, fiercely. ‘I know you are good and kind, the most wonderful of humans. You will go to England and carry on being that person. You will do good in the world, I know it. Because, you can’t let them beat you. You mustn’t let them!’

I’m not sure he believes me. But I’m certain that, deep inside, he is still there, my Walter. Injured, frightened, traumatised – but still there. I need no more convincing of who is right in our debate. Something is going deeply, crazily wrong in our country. I saw it that night on the ninth of November. I see the result of it now, in Walter. Ordinary men and women, carried along by something huge and ugly, overwhelming hatred or fear that makes them do unthinkable, unspeakable things.

‘I’m so scared,’ he says, ‘of what will happen to my family. My poor mother, my little cousins, my grandmother. I don’t even know if my father and uncle are alive. There were deaths in there, you know.’ He stares at me with wild eyes. ‘In the camp. Two dead men in my shed, just left there, right next to the living, beginning to rot.’

‘Oh, Walter…’

‘You have to help them,’ he says, becoming agitated. ‘You have to do anything you can to get them out of there, out of that camp, and you must help all of them leave. You have to, Hetty.’

‘Yes, yes, Walter, I’ll help.’ The words spill from me with ease. I can’t bear to see him suffer, to know of the suffering without doing anything. ‘I’ll find a way to get them out. Shh, shh, don’t upset yourself. It’ll be okay. I promise you. This will calm down, sense will prevail and it’ll be okay.’ I try to reassure him, but I know that I’m utterly, sickeningly, powerless in the face of something so vast.

‘It won’t, Hetty,’ he says, shaking his head violently. ‘It won’t be okay. It’ll never be okay. You didn’t see it. You didn’t see what I saw.’

‘No, no I didn’t. But I’ve seen enough. I will do whatever I can to help your people. You have to believe me. I promise you, Walter, I promise.’

My words seem to calm him and he drains the rest of his brandy. He falls silent and his hand, still shaking, grasps his tumbler tightly. I watch him, still not believing that this gaunt creature is all that’s left of my Walter.

‘Thank you,’ he says, turning to me again. ‘I believe you will. I leave for England tomorrow. I’ve booked a train ticket. It will kill me to leave them here, but at least once I’m there I can try to help them. It’s their only chance.’

Will it kill you to leave me too? How I wish I could go with you. Away from this place. Away from Vati and his mistress and his scheming. Away from my disintegrating life. I only want to be with you. To heal you, darling Walter.