‘You remember me, don’t you?’ Mr Grunberg was saying.

Just then, his father turned back to Max. ‘Max! Come!’ he bellowed before continuing to march ahead.

Without thinking about it, Max did something that came so instinctively he didn’t even have time to be ashamed of himself. Just like he had done that other time when his best friend was humiliated in assembly.

He moved away from the scruffy, dirty man. ‘I don’t know you,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You’ve got the wrong person.’

And then he ran as fast as he could to follow his father to the warmth and comfort of the officers’ dining room and join him for a hearty three-course lunch. As he ate, he banished any thoughts of Leo, his father, his old school – his old life – from his mind. Those thoughts had no place in his world. He shut them out with an imaginary gate as big, as hard and as cold as the ones at the entrance to Dachau.

ELSA

I’m in bed, fast asleep, when I hear noises downstairs.

I sit up and rub my eyes. Doors slamming. Raised voices. Something that sounds like furniture being thrown around.

Are Mutti and Vati having an argument?

The idea is ridiculous. I have never in my life heard my parents argue. At the absolute most, they have maybe disagreed over minor decisions in quiet voices. They would never argue like this.

Otto appears at my door. His face is white.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask him as I push the covers off and get out of bed.

‘Soldiers,’ he says simply.

‘In our home?’

He nods, then puts a finger over his lips and together we creep out of my bedroom and across the landing to the top of the stairs where we can listen without being seen.

‘You can’t just go around trashing my home like this!’ Vati is shouting at someone.

A voice I don’t recognize – I guess one of the soldiers – replies, ‘That’s what I am telling you. This is no longer your home.’

I look at Otto. ‘Not our home?’ I whisper. What does that mean? Of course it’s our home.

‘I’m going downstairs. I need to know what’s going on. Come on,’ Otto says.

But I’m nowhere near as brave as Otto and the last thing I want to do is talk to the soldiers who have said this is not our home any more. Or maybe that’s the second to last thing I want to do. The last thing I want is to be left on my own. So I meekly follow Otto down the stairs, doing my best to hide behind him as he strides into the kitchen.

‘Mutti, Vati, what’s going on?’ Otto asks.

Mutti rushes towards us. ‘Go back upstairs, darling,’ she urges. ‘Nothing’s going on.’