His mother put a hand on his arm. ‘Nothing. Come on. Let’s have lunch. You can do your hair afterwards.’

‘Can I do it later?’ he asked. ‘I’m going back out to play after lunch.’

‘Play?’ his father burst in. ‘Who with?’

‘Leo and Elsa,’ Max replied.

His father’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. ‘Do you not have any other friends?’ he asked. ‘Are they the only ones you can play with?’

What was Max to say? No. He didn’t have any other friends. But he didn’t want to admit that to his father and be a disappointment to him yet again. Besides, even if he had a hundred other friends, he’d still choose to play with Leo and Elsa. ‘What’s so wrong with them?’ he asked.

‘What’s so wrong with them? I’ll tell you what’s so wrong with them. They’re—’

‘NO!’

Max’s mother broke in so sternly it made Max jump.

‘No?’ his father replied. ‘You say “no” to me?’

His mother held her husband’s eyes as she lifted her chin. ‘The boy is eight years old.’

Nearly nine, Max wanted to say, but it didn’t feel like the right time to interrupt.

‘He can play with whoever he wants to play with,’ his mother continued.

Max swallowed as he felt the air fizz and crackle between his parents. Eventually, his father gave a short nod. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘For now, he can. For now.’

The three of them ate their lunch together in silence.

As Max chewed his food, his mind went over the same question, over and over. The question his mother had stopped his father from answering.

What was so wrong with Leo and Elsa?

1937

ELSA

Mutti and Vati tell me the news as soon as I get home from school.

I’ve only come home to change out of my school clothes before going back out to meet Leo and Max as usual. But my parents stop me the minute I come in, sit me down and tell me.

No ifs, no buts, no arguing. It’s happening.

I stumble to the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror, saying it out loud, trying to believe it. Trying to imagine saying it to the boys. I can’t.

‘Are you all right in there, Elsa?’ Mutti asks from the other side of the door.

I wipe a tear from my eye; they won’t stop falling. ‘Just a few more minutes, Mutti.’

She gives me a hug before I go out to play with the boys. She knows how I’m feeling without me having to tell her. Of course she does. She feels the same way.

‘It’s for the best, Elsa, sweetheart,’ she says as she strokes my hair. ‘You understand, don’t you?’