‘Ah.’ Petr helped Maria wriggle into the pyjamas which Laure had painstakingly ironed. ‘You must tell me everything about it when you return.’ His expression was benign but, for some reason, it bothered Laure. ‘Be careful, won’t you. People will look and listen to someone like you.’

Laure frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

He cupped his daughter’s damp head in his head. ‘In Czechoslovakia there’s a contract between the authorities and the people which trusts the latter to behave well and peacefully.’

‘That’s the same at home,’ she interjected impatiently.

‘Is it? Here, if you, or anyone in your family, is considered “unreliable”, you might find your telephone line goes dead, or your driving licence is revoked. It can become difficult. The State is prepared to take measures.’

She was aghast. ‘Do you approve?’

He smiled at her puzzled expression. ‘It doesn’t matter what I think.’ He set a dried Maria down on the floor

Walking over the Charles Bridge towards the Staré Mĕsto, she told herself, yes, it didn’t matter what Petr Kobes thought. All the same, she was intrigued to know if he approved of the ‘State taking measures’.

Dusk was gathering. Once over the bridge, she followed the street eastwards and was plunged into the warm air trapped between the close-knit buildings.

She forced her way closer to the square, only to find herself subsumed into a crowd also heading in that direction. In danger of losing her bearings, she went with the flow, which came to a choking halt at the entrance to the square. This gave her time to take in the faces of the Astronomical Clock and the peeling oxblood façade of the house opposite, which would provide her with a useful navigation point.

In a moment of magic and drama, and dramatically outlined against a pink and opal sky, the church’s fantasy towers came into full view. Laure caught her breath. It was as if she had been pushed across a boundary between what she knew and a new world, as yet insubstantial and unknown but there.

Such was the press, she came to a complete halt as she tried to make her way across to the Jan Hus monument. A stage had been constructed directly in front of it and electrical equipment stashed on the steps. Technicians swarmed over it and a sound system was being tested. A banner strung across the monument read ‘Anatomie’.

Had she remembered the geography correctly? The marionette theatre was in the end of the terrace behind the Hus monument – in the house with a tiny turret. Having finally struggled there, it was to find the entrance blocked by a stack of musical instruments. A girl with fair hair, pulled savagely back by an elastic band, was checking each piece off a list.