‘You need to mark these with your name.’ She pointed to a worktable and a reel of tape. ‘I take it you can embroider?’ There was no mistaking the disapproval in her voice, dressed as a boy.

‘Now?’ Bette said.

‘Yes. Now,’ the Fräulein said. ‘And have you come on yet?’ It sounded strange, put like that. Mutti had called them monthlies. Bette shook her head. ‘Well, that’s one blessing.’

The dress had a pleated skirt and a Peter Pan collar in cream. It was baggy and long and old-fashioned. Her legs were naked without the thick flannel of trousers, and the swish and whirl of the skirt let in the draughts. Was it only yesterday that she’d tried on Mutti’s evening gowns, had longed to wear a dress? Now that she had to, it felt strange and wrong. She sat embroidering her name on pieces of tape, sewing the tags inside her new wardrobe, eyeing the dress with the tutu which, she now saw, had sequins on the straps.

The house in Eisenacher Strasse was full of old, heavy furniture. The woodwork was dark, the glass in the windows murky. Still, Bette thought, at least there was glass. The Fräulein allocated her to the girls’ dormitory, a large room at the top of the house with twenty beds. It smelled of stale clothes and pee.

‘You will sleep with the younger ones. Keep them in order.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Put your things away, and come down.’

Supper. Apart from the hard biscuits the Americans had given her, Bette hadn’t eaten all day. Hadn’t eaten properly for days. Weeks. She folded her clothes, made her way down the stairs. The noise of children grew louder the deeper she went. Below ground, in the basement. She opened a door. Approximately forty children sat at tables. The Fräulein directed her to one where some younger ones fidgeted on stools, as if they were unsure what to do with them. The boy she’d seen upstairs sat by himself on the floor, eyes cast down, twitching. There was a basket of rolls on the table, bowls of steaming soup, glasses of water. Bette reached over to grab one as the Fräulein rang a bell.

‘The eyes of all look to You, O Lord, and You give them their food. You—’ She stopped, rang the bell again, caught Bette’s eye and glared. Bette pulled back her arm. ‘Manners. Maketh. Man,’ she shouted, breathed in, added, ‘You open Your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing.’ She looked up. ‘Amen.’