Max even saw one man get punched in the stomach so hard he fell to the ground. He let out a small gasp before he could stop himself, and glanced up instinctively to check his father hadn’t heard him. He didn’t need to worry. His father was staring intently at the group, his eyes popping like they were on fire, his neck taut, a line of sweat dotting his forehead.

The roll call seemed to go on for ever. Eventually, his father nodded at one of the soldiers. ‘Take over,’ he said. ‘Lunch. But not too much. We don’t want them getting fat now, do we?’ He laughed as he said that, and the soldier did too. Max didn’t really get the joke but laughed along to show that he knew his father was funny and clever.

‘Come,’ his father said. ‘We’ll get our lunch too.’ He started to walk towards the main building.

Max saw that his bootlace had come loose and quickly bent down to tie it before his father noticed. The prisoners had started to disperse, each coming past him to collect a small tin bowl of something that looked like cold porridge.

As Max stood up, one of the prisoners caught his eye.

‘Max?’ he said.

Max’s insides turned cold. Why was this filthy, scruffy prisoner saying his name? He looked at the man more closely. His face was gaunt and grey, covered in scabs and scratches and grime. His outfit was a misshapen grey suit – it looked more like pyjamas than a uniform. His dirty hands held an equally dirty bowl. Max thought he had never looked at anyone so disgusting.

And yet, there was something familiar about him.

Then the man did something Max hadn’t seen anyone do since he’d entered Dachau. He smiled. His teeth were black and rotten. Those he had, anyway. At least half of them were missing.

‘Max, it’s me,’ the man said. ‘Mr Grunberg.’

Mr Grunberg? The name rolled towards Max like a rock gathering pace as it hurtled down a hill. Leo’s father!

No. It couldn’t be. There was a mistake. Leo’s father was always the best-dressed man in town. He was twice as wide as this man – and had twice as many teeth. He always looked immaculate. He wouldn’t be seen dead walking around like this in an ill-fitting uniform with buttons missing and covered in mud. He wasn’t even wearing shoes!

And why would he be here? With these prisoners? The man who used to make everyone laugh? It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t.

But the smile. Even with half his teeth missing and the other half rotting, it was definitely familiar. His eyes. Amongst the greyness of everything about him – and everything about Dachau, come to think of it – they still twinkled in a way that danced like light on a speck of dust.