I look at the images of smiling war veterans proudly raising gold medals for the photographs. The headline proclaims:

5,000 German Soldiers Return from Spain Triumphant!

Göring Awards Medals for Valour.

‘One day,’ Tomas says, ‘I plan to make you proud by winning a medal of my own.’ Mutti has her back turned, helping herself to coffee from the sideboard. Her shoulders hunch, and I frown at his thoughtless words. ‘But for now,’ he sighs, as he gets up, ‘I’ll have to make do with dreaming about it.’ He kisses my forehead as he leaves.

At last, I have Mutti alone. I wait until she has drunk her first cup of coffee, smoked her first cigarette and is relaxed in her chair with the newspaper.

‘Mutti,’ I say, before she becomes engrossed, ‘I need to talk to you about something.’

She looks at me expectantly. My mind goes blank. I need the right words. Exactly the right words.

‘Well?’

‘The plan,’ I begin, ‘for me to travel to Berlin on Saturday…’

‘We’ve been over this, Hetty, lots of times.’

‘I know. But – but Mutti, please let me say something. Hear me out before you reply—’

‘Nothing is going to change, whatever you say. I thought this might happen, the closer it got to the end.’ Mutti’s body is upright and stiff. Unyielding.

‘Please. Just… listen.’

She shrugs her shoulders and lights another cigarette. I gag slightly; the smell of smoke still induces nausea.

‘I know you all see me as a problem to solve. And I know how you feel about – about the baby. But I’m speaking to you now as a mother. A mother who gave birth to two babies. Who must know how it feels to carry a new life around inside her for nine months. To grow attached to that life, more than you ever thought possible, even though you’ve never met that person…’ Mutti has her lips pursed and is shaking her head.

My mouth is dry, and I take a gulp of fruit juice.

‘I’m not suggesting a change to the ultimate outcome. I know I can’t keep this baby, because of who its father is. But I can’t let it go to that orphanage. Through a friend I’ve found an alternative: to send the baby to its father, in England, where it will be safe. I just want it to be loved and have a chance—’

‘No! Absolutely not, Herta. I’ve spent a lot of time making these arrangements. You cannot expect me to change them!’

‘Mutti, please—’