It was after one of my shifts at Mr Steiner’s studio. We had been working on a commission of Christ ascending, all halo and fat cherubs. It was for a Jewish bank in Hamburg, Steiner said, laughing: something to make their customers feel at ease. It was a straight-forward commission because the light was so refulgent and frankly ridiculous, and Ernst said I could go a little earlier than usual. Thank goodness he did.

Once I hit town I went directly to the station bakery. It wasn’t as good as the one nearest my lodgings, but by the time I cycled there, inflation meant I’d only be able to buy half a loaf. Like the others I wheeled my bicycle inside to offload Steiner’s marks, and I heard the shopkeeper make his regular joke about preferring the basket to the cash.

The baker poured me a coffee – made from turnip, or chicory, it was only about a quarter coffee, anyway – then sliced the black bread that would be my breakfast and dinner. He knew to keep all the painters sweet – we were his first customers of the day, and besides I think he liked our company so early in the morning.

It was as I was finishing my coffee that I saw Jenö walking past the bakery window. It was not yet four thirty and still dark, but the light of the baker’s captured his expression perfectly: he looked worried and full of remorse. Instinctively I wanted to ask him if he was all right, since I couldn’t work out what on earth he was doing at this hour, and on the wrong side of the railway tracks to boot, but his manner made me hesitate. He had such an air of melancholy that perhaps a conversation would be useless, and instead I watched as he walked away, around the corner, and into the city. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t seen me, on the other side of the glass, only a few feet away.

I went to bed thinking little more about Jenö’s appearance at the baker’s. It was so early, and I’d been so hungry, that I assumed I’d dreamt him up, a ghost in the fasted streets.

What with the late night, I spent most of Saturday asleep. Bed was also the easiest place not to think of food, so that’s where I stayed. Every time I woke I was surprised that Charlotte wasn’t standing above me, asking me whether I thought it a good idea that Steiner’s studio had made me miss a whole day of my life. We usually spent the weekends together, preparing work for school, or cycling the woods, or strolling the Ilm. I gave her hanging lantern a tap, hoping it might invoke her presence here.