School is hard because everyone talks a bit differently here. Some talk Czech; others speak in German. Mostly I can follow, but even when I do, my accent is different and that makes me want to keep quiet. So I don’t join in with the other children that much, but I can mostly understand, and I’m learning quickly.

Otto seems to be getting on okay at school, too. He’s got a new group of friends who talk about cars and engines so he’s quite happy.

So, apart from missing Leo and Max, I’m glad we moved here. I’m happy.

Or at least I have been till this evening. I should have known it wouldn’t last.

We’re having dinner when Vati drops the bombshell.

‘I’m going to join the army,’ he says. Just like that.

Mutti finishes her mouthful. Then slowly she puts down her knife and fork and turns to him. ‘Sorry?’

Vati won’t look at her. ‘I’m joining the army,’ he says again. ‘Hitler’s forces are coming and we need to fight them.’

‘But we came here for safety,’ Mutti replies. Her voice is still calm. So is Vati’s. I tell myself as long as they keep talking in a calm way, everything will be okay.

Vati puts down his cutlery and picks up his serviette. He wipes his mouth. ‘What is that safety worth if we don’t fight to keep it?’ he asks.

‘But—’

‘No buts.’ Vati cuts Mutti off. He never does that. ‘It’s decided.’

‘Without talking to your family? Without asking me?’ Mutti isn’t sounding so calm now. Her voice is growing squeaky and high-pitched and I can’t kid myself any longer. Nothing about this feels okay any more.

‘Vati, when will you go?’ Otto asks.

At last, Vati falters. He opens his mouth to reply. Then he turns to Mutti and closes his hand over hers. ‘I leave tomorrow,’ he says.

‘Tomorrow?’ I ask.

Vati nods.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I feel as if my insides are closing down. The room darkens around us as we sit there, stunned into silence.

And then Mutti pats Vati’s hand and nods briskly before getting up and indicating for me to help gather the empty plates. ‘Well, you will need some food, then,’ she says. ‘Elsa and I will prepare your favourite biscuits. Otto, you are to shine your father’s shoes, help him pack his case. Do whatever he asks. Yes?’

‘Yes, Mutti,’ we reply together.

Mutti is piling plates in the sink, pulling pans out of cupboards, fetching flour and sugar and milk. ‘You will be the best-fed, best-dressed man leaving this city,’ she says. ‘And when you have done your part, you will come back to us, and we will try again to start this new life here. You hear me, Ernst? You hear me?’