She tugged at the nail with her fingers, but it was too tight to pull out. She tried to slide a butterknife under the nail’s head, but the blade was too thick, so she tried a paring knife that Kurt had recently sharpened. This was slightly more successful—she could at least insert the tip under the nail. Taking care not to damage the paint, she worked her way around the rim of the nail, prising it up a little. Then she returned to the butterknife and tried to lever the nail up. The nail-head was well embedded in the window frame, and at first she was discouraged. But she had all day. If she was patient, she would get there, a fraction at a time.

It was mid-morning before she had loosened the nail, and by then she was sweating with the stress of it, worried Kurt might notice the damage. If you looked closely, the nail-head was now slightly deformed and there were several small chips in the windowsill. Another twenty minutes of wriggling the nail and she was able to slide it out.

Then there was the window lock, which was fixed solidly and wouldn’t budge. A pair of pliers would have been handy, but Kurt kept his tools under the house. For a moment, she was crestfallen—had all her work come to nothing? Mustering strength, she tried again to open it, but it was seized up from lack of use.

She pulled open the pantry and perused the contents, wondering what she could use. Olive oil as lubricant? She poured a small amount into a saucer and dipped her finger in, then applied the oil carefully around the lock, not wanting to make it look slimy. Taking a tea towel, she laid it over the lock, cocked her fingers and jiggled until the mechanism twisted and freed.

The window itself was jammed, of course, glued in by paint. She would have to knock it upwards, but how to do that without breaking the window and without tools? She inspected the contents of the utensil drawer, but nothing seemed useful. Then she thought of the meat mallet in the shop, which they used to flatten the minute steaks and chicken schnitzels. Retrieving it from the tub by the grill, she wrapped its metal head in a tea towel and knocked gently at the lip of the window. Slowly it loosened and inched up.

Fresh air rushed in. Miki inhaled it.

Leaning out over the sink through the open window, she peered down to the ground. It was quite a long way, but not a dangerous distance—she could slip down there easily. What about coming back in? The steps were too far to one side for her to swing across to the window from there, so she would have to find another way.