Time crawls when there is too much of it. Without school; with no BDM commitments. With few visitors; the minutes, the hours, the days, stretch longer and longer into one interminable wait. I hide away in my room and watch the world from my window, my shame unseen and unknown. Only four people in all the world know in advance that my baby will not survive its birth. Vati is no fool. He soon worked out who the real father is. But it suits him to keep it quiet and out of the news, so he, Mutti and Tomas plot its demise together.

*

‘I’m taking care of the arrangements,’ Mutti informs me briskly, one afternoon, ‘for the baby. Vati wants nothing to do with it, for understandable reasons. Besides, he cannot risk any connection.’

‘What arrangements?’

‘The orphanage. It’s my area of expertise, given my work with the children’s home.’

‘Will it go to your home?’ I could visit every day. Nobody need know. Hope soars in my chest.

‘Of course not!’ Mutti says, giving me a firm look. ‘My home is for racially pure children. Your child will be a… It will not qualify.’

‘Then – then where?’ The words stick as my throat closes.

‘There’s a Jewish orphanage in Berlin. I have been in touch, anonymously. They will take the child in return for a large donation.’ Her jaw contracts. ‘They will do anything for money,’ she says through pursed lips, ‘but in this case, that is useful for us. You will go into a mother’s home before the birth, in Berlin. I’ve organised this too. We cannot risk you being seen by too many people around here, and I don’t want any local mid-wives to attend the birth.’

‘But Mutti, please. You can’t make me do this. This is my baby.’

‘Jewish baby.’

‘There’s no difference! It’s a baby. Please—’

There is a knock at the sitting room door and Mutti, with a warning look, puts up her hand to silence me. I say no more as Vera pokes her head into the room.

‘Tomas is here to see Fräulein Herta,’ she announces.

I exhale pent-up tension. ‘Tell him I’ll be right down, Vera,’ I manage to say. ‘Thank you.’

Mutti is talking to Vera, but I don’t hear any of it. I think of my baby and the Jewish orphanage and try not to cry. I sit for a little longer, gathering the energy to hold myself together, before making my way downstairs.

Tomas’s face lights up when he sees me.

‘What would you like to do today, darling? A walk? You spend too much time inside, you need some sunshine on your skin. You’ll end up frail, like one of those pallid, floppy girls. I need you fit and strong, like you used to be.’