Boris shouted at him in Russian, and Vasily shouted back. She couldn’t understand what he said, but she sensed the menace, watched as Boris wavered. Please God, she thought, no. She had no doubt what Vasily intended for her, was mapping in her head how to get away when Boris grabbed the bike and, hoisting it over his shoulder, walked into their building and up the main staircase. They usually came up the service stairs, barging through their back door as if they owned the place. Vasily took Lieselotte’s bucket and Bette followed behind, watched as Vasily climbed to the apartment, avoiding the broken bits, as if he knew each step and crack by heart, as if he had lived here all his life.

‘Where’s Mutti?’ Bette asked as they entered. She ran into the bedroom. Mutti was sleeping, her breath rumbling, echoing in her chest. Best not to wake her. She heard the door to Lieselotte’s bedroom click shut.

She didn’t want to be alone with Vasily. His spots made her queasy and she was uncomfortable with him, especially now, now he knew. He want good girl. Clean girl. You know? He’d have no qualms about taking her, she was sure, raping her in front of her mother’s nose. She slunk towards the front door and opened it without making a sound. Greta. She’d find Greta, sit with her, perhaps play a game of Ludo. Or they could tell stories. Greta knew what was going on. Mutti forbade her to go out alone, but she’d only be a minute. She sidled down the broken staircase, listening, holding her nose. The place smelled like a public lavatory. She stopped. Not a sound. She peered over the broken bannister. Not an Ivan in sight doing their business, or worse.

The back door had long since been removed, so she ran across the courtyard to the Webers’ apartment, knuckles poised to rap on their door. She paused. What if Frau Weber had poisoned everyone? What if they were lying there dead and she, Bette, found them? Mutti was asleep and Lieselotte busy, so who could she tell? She thought for a moment. She’d knock, and if there was no reply, tell Mutti. She’d know what to do, wouldn’t be cross with her for disobeying as this would be an emergency.

No, she told herself. Frau Weber would never dare kill them all. She might have fallen to pieces, like Mutti said, but she wasn’t mad. She knocked hard, and called out. There was a screech as Frau Weber dragged the heavy chest of drawers away from the door and opened it a crack.

‘It’s you,’ she said. ‘Come in, come in.’

Greta was standing behind her.

‘Guess where I’ve been,’ Bette said. ‘Just guess.’