My classmates push past me, chattering in excited voices as they turn left towards our classroom. To the right, the heavy front doors are ajar. Walter and Freda must have walked through them only a few moments ago. A thin strip of light pierces the darkness of the corridor.

‘Hetty?’ Erna’s voice, far away. ‘Hetty!’ Her face is a frown and she says, ‘Don’t. Think of the trouble you’ll be in!’

But she fades as I feel Walter’s strong hands pulling me from the mouths of the monsters in the lake. His kindly blue eyes and warmest of smiles hover in my mind, and suddenly I’m bolting, hurtling along the corridor, punching through the doors and into the bright, blinding daylight.

I tear across the grassy slope of Nordplatz. Around the far corner of the church, I see them.

‘Walter!’ I call. He’s holding Freda’s hand, half turned towards her, saying something. I catch the sound of her strangled sobs. ‘WALTER!’

They both turn, open-mouthed at the sight of me.

I stop in front of them, panting hard.

What am I doing here?

‘I just want you to know…’

Freda’s eyes are puffy and red. Her skirt and stockings have dark wet patches on them. Up close, she stinks.

I look at Walter’s face. Tears well in my eyes. How can he be a Jew? How could I have been so stupid not to have known? I finally understand why Karl doesn’t invite him home anymore.

‘Go back to school, Hetty,’ Walter tells me in a flat voice. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘I don’t care,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t care that you are a Jew. I will always be your friend. Always and forever.’

I turn before he can reply and run fast, back across Nordplatz, towards school.

Hitler is trying to speak with me, but I close my mind to him.

There. I’ve said it. My words are free, floating through the fresh air of Nordplatz.

Even if I wanted to, I can’t take them back now.

Part II

31 May 1937

I prise open my eyes, slowly, one at a time. Rolling onto my back, I stretch each limb out fully. My foot hits a hard, warm lump at the bottom of the bed.

‘Kuschi.’ I smile at the curled, black shape. ‘What are you doing in here? If Mutti catches you…’

The dog raises his head, looks at me and thumps his tail on the bed cover. He yawns and goes back to sleep.

‘Cheeky,’ I laugh, reaching down to stroke his soft shaggy coat. He must have escaped from the kitchen when Ingrid went down in the early morning. ‘You love me, don’t you, Kuschi Muschi?’ His breathing is soft and even. No hint of the trauma he suffered last year.

‘Flocke,’ I call softly. What might he remember of his old life? He opens his eyes and I sigh. ‘Well, this won’t do, will it? Let’s go and have some breakfast.’

I wash and dress. Karl’s door remains firmly shut as I pass by.