Something Walter left behind.

I’m frozen, hand on stomach, a buzz in my ears. Hundreds, or is it thousands, of kilometres away, Walter is about to get married, and I am carrying his baby in my belly.

I can’t deny my swelling breasts and the soft rounding of my body anymore. I must be four-and-a-half months gone.

With trembling fingers, I take Walter’s letter from where it is folded and hidden inside the pages of my journal. The paper has softened and thinned with so much handling. I stare again at the post office address at the bottom of the letter. He says to write in an emergency.

I doubt if this is the type of emergency he envisioned.

I picture him on this day. Twenty years old, at the start of everything. Excited? Nervous? Sad his family aren’t there? Will he spare a thought for me? And then there is Anna. This faceless girl I know nothing about, who will begin a future with this most perfect of humans. She will be wearing a beautiful dress, her hair curled and styled, radiant and happy beyond words, her belly flat and empty. But for how long? And when she feels this fluttering of new life, she will be excited – and he will be there for her.

I pulse with hate. And fear.

I haul myself out of bed and dress slowly. I have no enthusiasm. I’m bone-achingly weary. I dress carefully, the skirt a little looser in style than one I’d have chosen before, the pleats cover my thickening belly.

What on earth am I going to do?

*

‘Why didn’t you come to school today?’

Erna is at the front door. Her cheeks are pinched, her lips pressed closed, her usual smile absent.

‘I’m not feeling great, that’s all.’

‘You didn’t tell anyone, but it’s okay, I covered for you.’

‘They don’t care whether I’m there or not.’

‘Probably not. But anyway, can I come in, Hett, or do we have to talk on the doorstep?’

I pull the door open wide and we climb the stairs to my room.

As soon as the door shuts, I burst into tears. Floods and floods of self-pity.

‘What is it? Hetty, whatever is wrong?’

Erna’s arms are around me and she hugs me tight. I’m crying so hard, I can’t say anything, I just shake my head.

‘Please, whatever is the matter?’ Erna pleads.

‘It’s—’

But how can I possibly tell her? The shame, the horror, of the Jewish foetus in my belly – the absolute proof that I have committed a crime worse than murder, that I’ve sullied the purity of my blood.

‘Shh, shh. Come on, whatever it is, it can’t be this bad.’ She tries to laugh, guides me to the window seat, strokes my hair.

Slowly, my body stops heaving and the tears dry. I’m so exhausted I can hardly form words.

‘He got married today,’ I tell her.

‘Oh, Hett…’

‘And I need to get rid of Tomas. He’s supposed to be coming again on Sunday and I can’t face him. But I’m scared, Erna, scared if I reject him, he’ll tell people he once saw me kissing Walter. I never told you, but he has this hold over me.’