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with blue stripes.
    ‘If I was allowed to, I could cut up my yellow star and Uncle Ernst could make ribbons out of it,’ I said.
    ‘Don’t even joke about it,’ Miri answered. ‘You must wear the star like the rest of us.’
    ‘I remember when you went out with Erich. You didn’t wear your star then.’ I pulled a face at Miri.
    ‘You did that?’ asked Agnes, her eyes like saucers.
    ‘Quiet,’ said Miri, glaring at us.
    Mama and Papa had gone out with Aunty Gitta and Uncle Ernst and Erich to try to buy food. Our ration coupons had been changed again. Less for ordinary Germans; still less for Jews. Sometimes they were gone for hours.
    That night, our stomachs growled as we ate vegetablesthat tasted awful. There was only enough food to remind us of how hungry we were.
    I lay in the middle of my parents’ bed. There was a dent in the mattress. I thought of my old bed, the bright quilt, the soft mattress. Who was using it now? Nazis? I shivered and held Annie tightly.
    Miri came in to say goodnight. ‘Please,’ I asked her, ‘can you just put a tiny bit of scent behind my ears? I can’t sleep.’
    Miri somehow always had her scent bottle on her, in one pocket or another. ‘Just a little, Rachel. This has to last for the rest of the war.’
    She dabbed a spot behind both my ears. Ah, now this was good. This was heaven.
    Papa came in and sniffed the air. ‘Oh no, it’s not enough that Miri stinks, now you stink too, Rachel. I don’t have daughters, I have stinkies!’
    In the half-light, Papa stood, bearded, thick eyebrows almost meeting.
    ‘Your eyebrows need trimming, Papa,’ I reminded him.
    ‘They are good friends and are reaching out to shake hands with each other,’ Papa replied, then shook with laughter. ‘Oh, I am such a funny man.’
    He leaned across the bed and kissed me goodnight. He kissed Miri and even the one-eyed doll. Then, chuckling to himself, Papa left the room.
    I looked up at my sister. ‘Miri, I am hungry all the time. My stomach rumbles. I get tired when I try to run up the stairs. Mama says it’s because I don’t get enough food to eat. But I want to try to keep running all the same. I feel if I stop running then I’ll show how scared I am.’
    ‘Rachel, we are on rations. We shall starve if this goes on.’
    ‘But not on Friday nights. We will never starve at our long table at Friday night dinner, because that’s the Sabbath.’
    Miri twirled my hair with her fingers. My eyelids became heavy. I forgot about soldiers and guns, Hitler too. ‘No, while there is our long table and our Friday Sabbath, we will not starve,’ Miri whispered in my ear. The next day, after I had begged Miri to do so, she read to me from her journal.
    ‘It’s about me,’ she said seriously.
The anger I feel inside me
    Is a mute fire .
    I sit quietly at the table
    Writing
    And no-one knows
    Who Miri is
    Anymore .
    I did not harm anyone
    I did not steal or kill
    I did nothing to hurt the German people
    I am innocent .
    But I am Jewish
    And they say that is enough .
    So where is Miri now ?
    ‘Well, it’s better than the other writing you read to me. I don’t understand it, though. Why are you asking where you are? You’re right here, in front of me,’ I said.
    ‘Am I?’

Chapter Six
    D URING THE COLD winter we wore layers of clothing as there was no heating. Then spring came and the grey of winter left. Trees across the road blossomed. We peeled off extra clothing and opened windows but the change in seasons was all that had changed for us. We were still prisoners only able to shop at certain times with our ration cards, still crammed together in the Judenhaus , and without any chance of escape.
    At Pesach, Papa talked to us about the meaning of freedom and escape from slavery. ‘But we aren’t free now,’ Miri muttered to Erich who sat beside her.
    ‘Shh,’ Mama said.
    Papa read from our Passover book, the Haggadah , but we did not have a proper religious service because there was no