The chestnut trees went first, tired, dusty green leaves turning to gold and bronze as the first frosts curled and severed them from the branches. And then the trees were felled for heating, fed into the boiler in the house on Eisenacher Strasse that still smelled of coal by a man who came to help them. The children came, and the children went. The house was always temporary, a transit station, Bette learned, to other children’s centres, where the lucky ones were plucked by family or sent to America or even Palestine. The little boy with the nervous tic, the girl who wanted a sister, and all the time Bette thought it should be her who was going and every time the UNRRA nurse shook her head, not now. Bette wondered if Fräulein Schneider wasn’t keeping her here on purpose as a helpmate. Still, Bette thought, at least it would be easier for Lieselotte to find her, or Oma and Großvater. Perhaps even her father, should he ever come back. If she was sent goodness knows where, like Bavaria, who would know?

At the end of October Fräulein Schneider gave her a pair of lisle stockings and a cloth coat shrunken and misshapen from washing. At the end of November she gave her a comb to tie her hair back, and summoned Bette to her office. Even with her stockings and her coat, the office was cold. The heating could only come on for a few hours in the evening. An army man sat there in khaki uniform, and the UNRRA nurse who had delivered her earlier.

‘This is Major Buchanan,’ the Fräulein said. ‘From the British army.’

The nurse leaned forward, said in faltering German, ‘We need to ask you a few questions.’

Bette looked at her, at the major, at the Fräulein, who shrugged her shoulders. I don’t know. Bette swallowed. Perhaps they’d found Lieselotte. She said she preferred the British, they didn’t haggle and the Tiergarten was in the British zone.

‘Please confirm your full name,’ the UNRRA nurse said.

‘Bette Ingeborg Fischer.’

‘Address?’

Bette paused. They weren’t going to trick her. She’d told them she didn’t know where she lived. ‘In Mitte,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember the street.’

The nurse translated and the major raised an eyebrow.

‘Your father’s name?’ the nurse said. ‘Date of birth? Place of birth?’ Question after question. Mutti, Lieselotte, Oma, Großvater, aunts, uncles, godparents, intimate details about her family, where they went on holiday, what they did, Father’s interests, Mother’s, on and on and on. Bette sat on her chair, tucking her skirt tight under her thighs, wrapping her coat around her, crossing her feet, uncrossing, cradling her hands, uncradling. She fiddled with the ring on her middle finger.

‘Where did you get the ring?’ the major said.