In the dining room, Vati, unusually, is at home having breakfast. More and more he is away, his SS duties taking his nights as well as eating into his days. He looks deep in thought, holding Mutti’s hand where it rests on the polished walnut table, his thumb drawing soft circles on her skin. He says something quietly to her and she throws her head back and laughs, her hair rippling down her back. The floor creaks as I hesitate in the doorway.

Vati looks up and drops Mutti’s hand like a guilty secret.

‘Ah, good morning, young lady.’ He pours himself coffee from the tall pot, it’s giraffe-like neck long and elegant.

‘First day of the holidays, eh?’ He gives me a wink. ‘I hope you have some worthy plans.’

‘Yes, Vati. I have lots of Bund Deutscher Mädel commitments – and the summer camp, of course. Plus I shall see my friends, help Mutti, you know.’

He grunts and watches me spread frischkäse, creamy white, on a slice of dark rye bread.

‘You could spend the summer working on a farm, like the Käfer girl up the road,’ he suggests.

‘Franz!’ Mutti exclaims. ‘What are you suggesting? You know half those girls come back impregnated by the Hitlerjugend boys they send to the same farms. What a dreadful idea!’

‘Don’t worry, Mutti. There’s no way I’m spending my summer working on a farm. Virtuous and valuable though it is, I know. Summer camp is quite enough for me. I’d rather stay here with you and help at the soldiers’ home.’

Vati chuckles and nods.

‘Well, they do adore you, Hetty,’ Mutti says, then turns to Vati. ‘But you should take a holiday too, Franz. You work so hard.’

He reaches for her hand again and gives it a squeeze. ‘I know, Hélène, and I would love nothing better than to take you, Karl and Hetty away, but it’s impossible at present. Tensions are running high, and I can’t leave the paper at the moment.’

‘What do you mean?’ Mutti asks, lighting a cigarette, then leaning back in her chair, head cocked to the side.

‘We have too many foreigners in Leipzig,’ Vati says bluntly. ‘We must do something. They take jobs, houses, food away from Germans. They bring bad manners,’ he waves a hand, ‘habits. They smell. And,’ he shoots a look at me, ‘… worse.’ He shifts in his seat. ‘And this looming possibility of war. Look at the trouble in Spain! Only this morning we’ve been carrying out reprisals for attacks on our boats. I fear where it may lead.’

‘You really think we are heading for war. Again?’ Mutti shakes her head, cheeks pinched.

‘England has a new Prime Minister. But I think it would be foolish to assume he, or any other leader, will be sympathetic to German interests. Word is he’s weak, malleable. Time will tell.’

Mutti blows smoke from the side of her mouth. I wave it away with my hand.

War. Such a small word for something so unimaginably big. I think of Karl’s plans to join the new flying force and the room chills.