‘Okay, okay.’ Erna holds her hands up. ‘We’re doing our best.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Please don’t cry, Hetty. Not today. Look, I’ll come and visit you soon. Trust me, we’ll find a way.’

‘Herta,’ Mutti calls, ‘it’s time.’ She hurries over to me, fiddles with my dress, tidies my hair.

The small wedding party take their seats. Tomas guides me to the front where the official waits for us, solemn-faced. The chattering dies and silence descends over the room.

The ceremony begins.

23 May 1939

Mutti and I are in the garden room a few days later when Erna pays a visit in the early afternoon. Mutti is knitting booties; me, a little hat. Rather odd, considering I’m to give this baby away, but we don’t speak of this.

‘Erna, how good of you to come by,’ Mutti says when Vera shows her in.

She has news, I can tell. But I don’t know if it’s good or bad. I desperately want Mutti to leave, but she carries on knitting, asking Erna about school exams and her parents and her future plans.

Suddenly, I can’t bear it any longer.

‘Mutti, would you mind if Erna and I take Kuschi for a stroll?’

It stops her mid-flow.

‘We’ve agreed,’ she says, ‘that Vera will take the dog out from now on. And until you get back from your… break.’

‘Yes, but it can’t do any harm can it, Mutti? Just a short walk, with Erna.’

She sighs. ‘I suppose not. Don’t go too far, and stay on the quiet roads, yes?’

What she means is, don’t go places people we know might see me. The fewer who know, the less explaining we will have to do later.

‘Don’t worry, I know the rules.’

*

Out of the house, I can breathe again. Just to feel fresh air on my cheeks and escape the oppressive walls of home is uplifting. With Tomas living in the house too, the claustrophobia grows. He’s moved into Karl’s old room. It was Vati’s idea. Mutti had visibly stiffened when he suggested it – there are plenty of other spare rooms he could inhabit, so why Karl’s? It’s right next door to mine, which seemed appropriate, Vati had said. Nobody suggested he should share with me.

In the end, Mutti accepted it, but she doesn’t like it, and nor do I. The rank factory smell follows Tomas into the house when he returns at the end of a shift, sometimes beer and cigarettes. It’s not for long, he assures me. A few more weeks and he’ll be done there forever. Then I shall have to get used to being the wife of an army recruit.