‘It’s January, Tomas, what did you expect?’

He shrugs. ‘Just not very pleasant, that’s all.’

‘I don’t mind.’

He looks at me and his face brightens.

‘Did you like my letter? Thought writing might get your attention. I know you like that stuff.’

‘Yes, but Tomas, you don’t have to write.’

‘And you’ll come to the dance?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘See, Hetty, I was so nervous. Actually, writing was easier.’

‘You don’t need to be nervous, Tomas, we’ve known each other forever.’

‘But not in that way. And see, the person I used to be, you know, when I was a kid? Well, I’m not like that anymore but I’m worried that’s how you see me, still, like that useless little kid.’ He picks up his walking pace, in time with his speech, which gets faster and faster.

‘But I never thought you were a useless little kid!’

‘Oh, but I was. I was pathetic. I got beaten up all the time. But now I’m the one doing the beating. I’m strong, see, and when this stupid apprenticeship comes to an end I’m joining the Heer and then you’ll see, Hetty, you’ll see what I am. What I’m capable of. I’ve got ambition, and I can’t wait to join the fight.’

‘Tomas, stop, please. You’ve nothing to prove to me – especially after, well, you know, that awful business with Walter.’

He’s striding out in front now and I’m not sure he’s heard. I’d been carefully planning what to say, so he isn’t under any false hope, but he’s hardly even looking at me, let alone listening.

‘I know I’m not the right sort, not yet. But I promise you, I will be. I never dreamed… but you know, miracles can happen, right? I mean, there’s plenty of examples, aren’t there? And I know I’m better than the shit-brained idiots I have to put up with at the factory. I’m so much better than them all put together! Seriously, you’d be shocked, Hetty, at their conversations. The jokes – they tell the most dreadful jokes of poor taste and some are about the Führer. They don’t do it in front of me anymore, not since I shopped that pig, Bruno, to the authorities for his loose talk, but I know they do it. The dumb idiots.’

He stops to take a breath, his chest heaving.

‘Tomas, it’s okay, I know you aren’t like them. You’ve nothing to prove to me.’

He shakes his head.

‘You’re kind to say that, but you’re a sweet thing. I have to show you.’

‘You don’t need to prove anything because we’re friends, Tomas,’ I say quickly. ‘I mean, you don’t feel like that with Erna or other people, so you shouldn’t with me either.’

Finally, he stops and looks at me, properly, through those grubby glasses. His breathing calms and he nods, arms clamped to his sides, his body stiff.

‘Yes, Hetty. Yes, I see. Sent from above,’ he murmurs. ‘Not that I believe in that stuff, but… How’s your mother?’