The Goldschmidts stop and stare at us approaching.

‘Say something,’ Tomas nudges me.

I open my mouth to speak but no words come. They both look so old and frail.

‘Go on,’ Tomas urges. ‘Show them who’s best.’ He turns towards them and spits, the white globule landing on the pavement between us and them. My stomach turns over.

He nudges me again.

This time I manage to push a few words out. ‘It’s the smell of swine,’ I say, but my voice is barely a whisper.

‘Louder,’ Tomas says. We’re just a few feet from them now. I remind myself that Frau Goldschmidt was unkind; she shouted at me and wouldn’t let me walk Flocke. She deserves this. I try not to look at Herr Goldschmidt.

‘Jewish swine,’ I say, my voice firmer than before. Frau Goldschmidt is trembling and Tomas laughs. It makes me braver. ‘Disgusting – who would want to live amongst pigs?’ I don’t look them in the eye and the words come easier. They start to flow like vomit, sour and choking. ‘Sheds. Pigs should live in sheds, not houses!’

I’m lightheaded and Tomas and I both double up with laughter as we run away from them and cross the road.

But the look on Herr Goldschmidt’s crumpled face and the trembling of his wife’s hand on his arm as we pass them leave a sickness swirling in my belly.

You can’t be a leader if you don’t believe in what you do. Hitler’s voice echoes in my ears. I pull myself taller and nod in agreement. He’s right. I mustn’t be weak; I have a job to do, and only I can do it.

*

We stand together, shoulder to shoulder, in Vati’s study. I squeeze Tomas’s hand to encourage him. He’s completely mute.

I look around the room and for the first time see it as Tomas must see it: the huge leather-covered desk, Vati’s imposing armchair and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with files and the paperwork of authority, Vati himself, with his slicked-back, blond hair; massive and commanding in his black uniform.

‘Well?’ He raises a pale eyebrow, peering at us over the top of his half-moon reading spectacles. The air is fusty with old cigarette smoke and the acerbic tang of whisky.

Tomas is still struck dumb and I’m scared he is going to change his mind or Vati will become impatient and throw us out.

Show no weakness. A youth before which the world will tremble.

‘Vati…’ My voice comes out louder than I expect. ‘You remember Tomas? He wants to report something, but he is afraid and doesn’t know who he should speak to, so I thought you might hear him.’

Vati puts his pen down and leans back in his chair.

‘Well, speak then, boy.’

Tomas clears his throat and at last finds his voice. ‘It’s… about my father. Well, about this Pole, really, Bajek. I think he might be a communist.’

Vati sits up straighter in his chair. Tomas glances at me. I nod encouragement.