Bette sat cross-legged on the bed, watching her sister pulling on the faded skirt and blouse, her socks and shoes. She used to envy boys their shorts and shirts, but now she had to wear them all the time she’d give her eye teeth to dress in a skirt again. She was sick of pretending. Lieselotte sat at the dressing table, brushing her hair, pinning it back with tortoiseshell combs.

‘Those are Mutti’s,’ Bette said. ‘Did she give them to you?’

Lieselotte took a moment before she turned. ‘No, but Mutti wouldn’t want her things in a museum, would she? Be practical, Bette. We can’t be sentimental.’

She leaned forward, dusting her cheeks with powder.

‘That’s Mutti’s make-up. You aren’t allowed to use it.’

‘Bette,’ Lieselotte’s voice snapped. ‘Will you shut up?’ She stood up, frail and beautiful, silhouetted against the light through the window. She took a breath and Bette thought she sucked the air as though it were the last she would ever take. She opened her mouth as if to speak. Shut it. Bette saw her chest rise as she swallowed the air again. Let it out. Whoosh.

‘I’m pregnant, Bettelein,’ she said, just like that, adding, ‘I’ve heard of someone who’ll help. A doctor.’

‘How?’

‘There are lots of women like me,’ Lieselotte went on. ‘After the Russians…’ She paused. ‘She helps us get rid of them.’

So matter-of-fact, the way she said it. Bette opened her eyes wide. Greta had said something like that about Waltraud but Bette hadn’t paid her much notice, didn’t understand how you undo a baby.

‘But I need money,’ Lieselotte said. ‘She doesn’t charge much, only what I can afford. Do you understand now?’ She felt the comb with her hand, made sure it was secure. ‘I want to look respectable, Bette. So no one thinks I’m, you know…’

Bette nodded, not quite sure what Lieselotte meant.

‘And also.’ She pulled her skirt straight, stood on tiptoe to look in the dressing-table mirror. ‘The German lessons.’ She spun round. ‘Do I look like a professor?’ She laughed, came over, kissed Bette on the cheek. ‘I won’t be late,’ she said. ‘Finish the soup if you like.’

She placed the clock inside her bag, hung the front door key around her neck and tucked it into her blouse, and for a moment, before she slipped out through the door, she looked happy.