‘I’ll fix you up in here,’ she said to Papa as she followed us into the darkness.

As she tended to Papa’s wounds, I sat in the pitch black, praying for the night to be over and pretending I couldn’t hear my father’s sobs over the sound of breaking glass.

At some point, we must have fallen asleep.

When I woke, my head was in Mama’s lap and she was resting against Papa’s shoulder.

We dragged ourselves out of the cupboard and stretched to straighten our bodies out.

‘Come on, let’s eat.’ Mama went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

I looked at Papa. ‘How can we think of eating?’ I asked.

He put his hand on my shoulder and replied, ‘How can we not? We must stay strong, Leo. We must do everything we can to hold on to our dignity. All right?’

I bit my lip and silently dared the tears to show themselves. They didn’t. Then I nodded.

‘Come here,’ Papa said. He pulled me close and I flung my arms around him. I breathed in the comfort of him: his worn jumper and the scratchiness of his unshaved chin.

We had only just sat down to eat when there was a knock at the door.

My instinct was to run back to the cupboard under the stairs. Papa stood up.

‘No. Please.’ Mama reached out to grab his arm.

‘What do you want us to do, darling? Hide in a cupboard for ever?’

She let go and Papa went to answer the door.

I heard familiar voices in the hall. It was Papa’s friends. Maybe they had come to check we were okay.

The relief didn’t last long.

Papa’s face was grey when he came back into the kitchen, flanked by two of the men, the third one behind him. The last time I’d seen all three men was in the square, laughing and pointing at Papa.

‘I have to go,’ Papa said to us.

‘Go?’ Mama asked, getting up and crossing the kitchen to join him. ‘Go where?’

‘You shouldn’t ask, Mrs Grunberg,’ Mr Weber said. He’d been friends with my father as long as I could remember. He’d sat with us at this very table. Eaten Mama’s cakes, drunk Papa’s wine. He’d worn a kippah on his head while my father said prayers over our bread.

‘I shouldn’t ask where you are taking my husband?’ Mama replied, her voice as sharp as her best kitchen knives.

Mr Ferdinand was on Papa’s other side. ‘He needs to come to the police station,’ he said.

Mama clapped a hand to her face. ‘You are arresting him?’

The third man standing behind Papa stepped forward. It was Mr Muller. ‘If he comes with us, they will leave you and Leo alone,’ Mr Weber said.