I watch Walter take hold of Freda’s hand and give it a squeeze. He doesn’t let go. They stand there, the two of them, hand in hand, until Herr Metzger, with his callipers, sweeps them apart.

‘Now look at her frail, undersized body. The Jew is unsuited to, and incompetent at, sport. She is lazy by nature.’ He spits out his words and saliva sprays in front of him. Freda flinches as it hits her face.

He takes a step back and points at her feet. ‘Inside that girl’s shoes you will find big, flat, ugly feet. These make her clumsy and unable to run well.’

Freda’s face is stricken and I can’t bear to watch any more. I look down at my hands folded in my lap.

‘Why doesn’t he stop now?’ I hear Erna say quietly, as if to herself. ‘He’s said enough…’

A flash of movement and I look again. Herr Metzger whips around and grabs Walter’s shoulder, jerking his head up. With a face twisted in disgust, he pokes at him like a side of beef hanging in a butcher’s shop. ‘This Jew,’ he growls, ‘has thousands of years of trickery and treachery bred into him. His only care is that of self-advancement. He will stamp others into the ground to get his own way. He is rotten from the inside out. He will cheat and—’

The room lurches. A thousand needles prick the back of my neck. It cannot be true.

‘No!’ I shout, half choking on the word as it escapes me. Several heads turn and stare, then just as quickly swivel back to the stage.

I want to yell at them. You’re wrong! But I can’t. There’s an urge to run. Far, far away. But the wooden bench remains hard beneath me and I’m frozen and useless as I watch.

With his attention focused on Walter, it takes Herr Metzger a few moments to notice what’s happened. The smell of urine is strong and unmistakable. It trickles down the inside of Freda’s legs, soaking her stockings and pooling around her shoes. A tremor of sniggers and stifled laughter breaks out behind me.

‘Dear God!’ Erna exclaims out loud.

Realising the bottom of his trousers and shoes have been splattered with Freda’s piss, Herr Metzger drops Walter’s shoulder like a hot coal.

‘Get out!’ he says, his voice low and tremulous. ‘Neither of you need bother coming back.’

Walter winds his arm around Freda’s heaving shoulders. She waddles towards the exit, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her. The door swings and they are gone…

A moment of stillness, then Herr Hofmann leaps to his feet.

‘My dear Herr Metzger…’ He says something we can’t hear, and Herr Metzger swiftly leaves after Freda and Walter. ‘You two,’ the Headmaster points to two girls at the other end of the front row, ‘fetch a mop and bucket and clear this mess up. The rest of you, back to class. The entertainment is over.’

Filing out of the hall, I’m numb. My mind is refusing to accept what I just witnessed. How can it even be possible that Walter is a Jew? Wonderful Walter, the boy who saved my life, a dirty, stinking Jew? It cannot be possible. They’ve made a mistake. He looks nothing like one. But then I remember Vati’s words: Not that boy again, and his look of displeasure whenever he used to find Walter in our house.