He grabs my hand and squeezes it, but I can’t breathe as my throat twists and shuts.

The ground somersaults and darkness closes in.

‘Hetty?’

The lake swirls back into focus.

‘Are you okay?’ Tomas’s thin face and smeared glasses are in front of me, his eyes full of concern. ‘Ssh,’ he says. ‘Don’t try to speak. Take deep breaths.’

I do as he says.

Breathing becomes easier and my heartbeat slows.

‘And what exactly would you have me do with it?’ I say at last, restraining the hysteria, keeping my voice even. ‘I mean, how am I to dispose of it when it’s born? This is a baby we are talking about. Would you have me tie it in a sack and drown it in the river like a litter of kittens?’

You are no saviour. You’re a sick bastard, like the rest of them.

‘No, of course not,’ he laughs. ‘But seriously, I don’t know or care, it has to go. I mean, there are orphanages, aren’t there? For unwanted brats.’

‘But what would we tell people? They will know I’m expecting. How will we explain the disappearance of a baby?’

‘I don’t care.’ His voice is harsh suddenly. ‘Tell them it died. Babies do. With any luck it will, then that will solve the problem, won’t it?’

‘How can you say that?’ I splutter. ‘How can you say that about an innocent baby? Besides, it wasn’t like that. Walter is a good person. We loved each other, and what we did – I wanted to do it.’ My throat has closed. I can no longer speak. I stare at him in horror, will him to say something more, to turn to me and say it was just some awful, cruel joke. Surely even Tomas cannot be this cold-blooded?

But he says nothing, refusing to look at me, his mouth turned down, his glasses sliding down his nose. I can no longer stand the sight of him.

Everything has a price.

This baby is the price of loving Walter.

Losing it is the price Tomas demands.

What choice do I have? I’m doomed if I pay it, and doomed if I don’t.

But the thought of being married to Tomas, sharing his life and his bed, fills me with utter dread.

I stare out over the lake and remember how Walter pulled me from its depths.

How I wish he had let me go…

19 April 1939

‘Why are you avoiding me?’ The hurt in Erna’s voice echoes down the telephone wire. ‘I don’t understand, Hett. Please tell me what I’ve done. If I said something to upset you—’

‘You haven’t upset me.’

‘That makes it worse, pretending it’s nothing!’

‘It’s the truth. You haven’t done anything, Erna.’

‘Then why have you avoided me for the last three weeks, Hetty? You’ve not been at school. I’ve called at the house, I’ve phoned. It’s as if you’ve got the plague or something.’

‘It’s the spring holidays, Erna!’

‘I know, but we always see each other in the holidays.’