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Vera hissed. “The vicar is speaking.”
    Marianne tried to stifle nervous laughter, but couldn’t quite manage it. How could she have thought this man was a spy!
    Aunt Vera gripped Marianne’s arm and said,
“Sh.”
She bent her pink face over her book.
    Marianne imagined what she’d write to her mother about her first visit to church. It was beautiful and seemed like a nice quiet place to be, even if it wasn’t a synagogue. She was sure God wouldn’t mind her being here!
    On the way out her “spy” shook hands with everyone. “I am glad to welcome you to our church, my dear,” he said to Marianne in his accented German.
    Marianne nearly giggled again. She bit her lip and looked down.
    On the way home Aunt Vera said, “You disgraced me, Mary Anne. Everyone was looking at us. You are old enough to know better. Well? Say something.”
    Marianne was lost in the jumble of words.
    Uncle Geoffrey looked at Marianne. “Tell Aunt Vera you’re sorry,” he said sternly. “Say sorry.” He raised his voice.
    “I’m wery sorry, Aunt Wera.”
    “Ver, Vera – speak properly, Mary Anne. You’re not trying! Thank goodness you start school tomorrow.”
    They walked back in silence.
    Gladys had set Marianne a place in the dining room, but reset Marianne’s place in the kitchen after Aunt Vera spoke to her.

• 7 •
School
    T hat Sunday night Marianne was too excited and nervous to sleep. She’d been in England only three days, and tomorrow was the first day of school.
    She got out of bed and checked her clothes again. The linoleum felt as cold to her bare feet as if she were outdoors. Marianne set herself a test to ensure a smooth day at school. She opened the window, ignoring the sharp December wind that blew in. Slowly, she counted backwards from one hundred. She had to do it without shivering, or start again. She did it the first time.
Everything will be alright now.
She closed the window gratefully.
    When Marianne finally went to sleep, she dreamed of her math teacher in Berlin. He was dressed all in black; his high boots shone. There was menace in each threatening step that marched towards her. His mouth was twisted in hatred, and opened and closed angrily, but she could not hear his words. His hand reached outfor her teddy bear, and raised it to show the class before hurling the bear through the window with a force that shattered the glass pane.
    “No!”
    Marianne woke up.
Did I scream?
The house was still. “Only a bad dream.” She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, imagine her forehead being stroked.
    Next morning Marianne walked beside Aunt Vera, who had been giving her instructions ever since they left the house. She couldn’t get the nightmare out of her mind.
    “Mary Anne, are you listening? Answer me, please.”
    “Pardon, Aunt Wera?” Marianne said.
    “I said, oh, never mind. Here we are. I’ll come to the office with you.”
    They crossed the playground, which was full of laughing, skipping girls. Some boys kicked a football; one almost ran into Mrs. Abercrombie Jones. She gave him her iciest look.
    Aunt Vera handed Marianne over to the secretary along with a note, said good-bye, and left.
    Marianne spelt out her name, and managed to remember her new address.
    “Did you bring your records?” the secretary asked.
    Marianne looked at her.
Records?
Thank goodness she’d brought her dictionary. She looked up the word. Marianne shook her head.
    The secretary said, “Please ask your mother to send them.”
    A door opened and an imposing-looking lady, with white hair, entered briskly. She read Aunt Vera’s note. “You must be Mary Anne Kohn.” She shook hands firmly with Marianne. “I am Miss Barton, the headmistress. I am going to take you to your new class. Come along,” she said matter-of-factly.
    The morning was strange, not a bit like school in Berlin. The teacher gave her a desk in the second row and a curly-haired girl called Bridget was assigned to stay with her for the day