I place my hand on her arm. ‘I won’t say a word.’

‘He doesn’t really mean it…’

‘Your vati’s secret views are safe with me. I promise,’ I add, giving her arm a squeeze.

Her face relaxes and she flashes me a quick smile.

We say no more about it, walking in silence until we arrive at the tram stop where a man and woman wait. I sense there’s been a powershift between us. She isn’t so perfect after all. She’s been holding things from me. Her father’s allegiances are clearly not with Hitler, and she’s kept quiet about it. She isn’t as pure of heart as I’d thought. Does that make us equal? I wonder how many other clandestine secrets we each hold inside, insidious truths hidden from each other like festering wounds, blackening our hearts and keeping us from the honest purity every good German girl should strive for.

Perhaps this is the reason she remains my friend. She’s not too good for me, after all.

Forgive me, Führer. I know what I should do, but this is Erna and she is my best friend. I can’t hurt her.

I picture the Führer’s vivid blue eyes staring into my own, searching my soul and seeing that my intentions are good.

Do not worry, he announces, this man is not of importance. I have bigger enemies to fight. Together, we shall beat them all.

*

We meet Tomas and three of his HJ friends at a table outside Coffe Baum on Kleine Fleischergasse. The weather is still balmy as we sit and watch the people of Leipzig stroll along the narrow, cobbled street. A waitress brings a tray of water, hot coffee in silver pots, warm milk and sugar.

Erna sits next to me. She is quiet and withdrawn. I feel her neediness. Her reliance on me to keep quiet. Wissen ist macht – knowledge is power. It’s a new sensation, a reversal. I’m the witty one this morning, filling the air with chat and laughter. The boys are revelling in my company.

‘I’ve started my apprenticeship at the machine tool factory,’ Tomas tells us in a lazy drawl.

‘Only two weeks in and I’m bored as pig shit already. Pardon my language,’ he says, looking at me. ‘I’ve barely set eyes on a tool, just swept the floor for fourteen days straight. Only three years of this before I get released to do my two years with the Wehrmacht. Can’t wait for that. Just hope the war hasn’t been and gone before I get there. Knowing my pig-sucking luck, it will have.’

Every boy’s dream is to fight for Germany.

‘Surely it can’t be that bad. I mean, you won’t have to sweep floors for three whole years, will you? That wouldn’t be much of an apprenticeship,’ I say, generously ignoring the second swear word. Inevitable, I suppose, mixing with foul-mouthed factory workers.

‘They like to start you at the bottom so you feel like you’re working your way up. You know, from the toilet pit, to the rim, so to speak. I’m not staying there forever, though. I’ve got ambition. I’ll do better in the Wehrmacht.’