Despite Goerdeler’s best efforts, the statue was not rebuilt. Given this failure, he resigned from office on 31st March 1937, declining to formally accept his re-election.

I must apologise for the quality of my handwriting, which the reader will no doubt observe has deteriorated significantly since my last entry. Unfortunately, I have endured an injury to my right arm, and it is painful to lift it up onto the desk. Each time I start a new line, a jolt of pain passes through my elbow, up into my shoulder, and crescendos in my neck. It serves as a reminder that the human body is an intricate mass of connected nerves, and I seem to have done enough damage to ensure that my pain is felt in a number of places. I am currently wearing a makeshift sling which Elle formed out of her scarf, and she helps me in and out of it several times per day. In addition, my face is currently the colour of the glühwein we drank to warm ourselves on winter’s nights.

I should explain that I am currently in a cabin aboard a rickety old ferry, transporting me and Elle to a new land which neither of us have ever seen. Despite all that has happened, I am excited by the promise of a fresh, green country. Alongside us on the ferry are Pip and Karine, to whom I think Elle and I probably owe our lives. Pip has selflessly agreed to allow Elle and me to join him and Karine at his family home in Norway. The two-day voyage is providing a welcome opportunity to write in my diary, and I will chronicle the events which led to our departure from Leipzig.

Over the past few months, we had remained vigilant – particularly Elle, who had kept a keen eye out for Kreeg’s reappearance in the Hitler Youth brigade. Despite the fact there was no sign of Eszu, both Elle and I had felt that, come May, it was time to go. We had agreed to wait until the end of term, so that we might take our second-year exams, and then pack up for good. Now Goerdeler had gone, the National Socialists were free to decree any sanctions they liked against the Jewish population. It was simply too dangerous to remain. Elle had eventually convinced Karine to leave Germany with or without Pip, but he had accepted the severity of the situation, and invited Karine to return with him to Norway at the end of term.

Elle and I thought that the United States would be a sensible location for us to explore. We had just enough funds to make the crossing, and I had formulated a vague strategy to seek out the Blumenthal family to thank them for saving my life and to find work.

With plans made for all of us, it felt fitting that the concluding act of my time in Leipzig was to perform in the orchestra for Pip’s assessed piece. It was a light summer’s evening, and hundreds of students gathered outside the Gewandhaus in anticipation of hearing the orchestrations of the third-year composers. The square outside the conservatory really did look idyllic, despite the obvious absence of Herr Mendelssohn. Students milled about (many dressed in tails for the performance), sipping wine, discussing music and laughing with one another. Festooned lights provided a serene yellow glow, and if someone had parachuted down with no knowledge of the tension that plagued the city, they would surely have found this to be one of the most delightful atmospheres on earth.

I think it is how I will choose to remember the conservatory until the end of my days: a halcyon beacon of creative expression, which encouraged immense growth in me, both musical and personal.

‘You look very handsome, Bo. Tails really do suit you,’ Elle said, slinking her arm into mine.

‘Thank you, my love. But tails suit any man. We have it very easy. You and your female peers on the other hand are analysed and judged for whatever fashion choices you make. It’s silly, really . . .’

‘Is there a compliment forthcoming, or should I be worried?’ Elle joked.

‘Sorry, of course. You know that you always look radiant. But tonight, exceptionally so.’ It was no exaggeration. Elle wore a strapless navy-blue ballgown, which wrapped her torso snugly before splaying out into a ruffle below her hips.

‘Thank you, Bo. You’re right about women’s fashion. I imagine poor Karine will be receiving sly comments all night!’ Our friend had, naturally, decided against wearing a dress, and had opted instead for a black suit, with an oversized white bow tie completing the ensemble.

‘I think she looks perfect,’ I said.

‘So do I. She is so . . . herself. Something that you and I might never master.’

I chuckled. ‘You might be right there. Listen, you should take your seats. It’s not ticketed tonight, and you don’t want to miss out.’

She gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘Good luck. Try not to ruin Pip’s career . . .’ Elle walked off to grab Karine before making her way inside the Gewandhaus.

Pip was clearly nervous, and not without cause. There was a great deal of buzz around his piece, and this event was better attended than usual. As his audience moved in to take their seats, he paced anxiously around the foyer.

‘Do not worry, my friend,’ I reassured him. ‘We will ensure we do your fine piece justice this evening.’

‘Thank you, Bo. You make a valuable contribution on your cello.’

I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I must take my seat. Good luck, Pip.’

After taking my place onstage, I watched as Pip was led in by Principal Walther Davisson, along with the other five composers who were sharing the showcase. They took a seat in the front row of the Großer Saal, each one looking paler than the last with nerves. Then Principal Davisson took to the stage, and received a warm round of applause. He, like Goerdeler, had become a stalwart figure of calm and reason in these turbulent times. All of us at the conservatory felt that he was our champion and protector.

‘Thank you all, thank you.’ He raised his hand, and the applause died down. ‘Welcome to the Gewandhaus, and to the end-of-term performances. I am sure you are all excited to hear the results of your contemporaries’ hard work and dedication, so I shall keep my wittering short. I wish to commend everyone gathered here tonight on an incredible year of resilience and determination. Most of you will be familiar with my advice to put on your imaginary horse blinkers, so that you might not be distracted by all that is going on in the world around you. Tonight is not just a celebration of the six young composers you will hear from, but all of your achievements throughout the last year. I am extraordinarily proud to be your principal. Please, give yourselves a round of applause.’ The Gewandhaus obliged, and the room was filled with whoops and cheers. ‘In the coming years, people are going to look to you for comfort, for happiness, and for escape. You are all well equipped to deliver. See that you do.’ There was a stillness in the hall as the congregation reflected on his words. ‘Now, I shall introduce our first composer of the evening – Petra Weber. Petra’s piece, “The Ascension of Hope . . .”’

As Davisson continued his speech, I looked at Pip. His eyes were darting around the Gewandhaus. Unfortunately, he was last on the bill, and would have to wait approximately ninety minutes before his piece was performed. The prospect must have been agonising for him.

Eventually, after five successful performances, it was his turn to take to the stage. When his moment came, I noted that his legs were trembling a little. He took a brief bow, then sat down at the piano. The conductor raised his baton, and we began.

Pip needn’t have worried. The lights dimmed and the audience were transported to a euphoric place. The delicate harmonies and swelling crescendos of Pip’s score didn’t fail to land. Somehow, the piece felt charged, pulsating with emotion and capturing the resilience of the entire conservatory. It was a pleasure to be a part of. As the final notes played – a lingering trickle on the harp – there was a brief silence, followed by rapturous applause. The audience stood for Pip, and this time his bow was full of confidence.

There were joyous celebrations in the Gewandhaus foyer afterwards. I felt a little emotional watching Pip being slapped on the back and congratulated by peers and professors alike. There was even a newspaper journalist who asked him for an interview. It was undeniable that he had worked furiously over the last few months, and deserved to reap the rewards. I saw Karine fighting through the crowds to embrace him. ‘My very own Grieg,’ she said. ‘Chéri, your glittering career has just begun.’ It was hard to disagree with her assessment.

Champagne was provided by the conservatory, and it seemed that this year the boat had been well and truly pushed out. The fizz flowed like water, and the majority were indulging heavily. One couldn’t blame them – they were merely seizing the day and celebrating the moment. I was offered flute after flute, but at each opportunity turned them down.

I have slowly let my guard down over many years, opening my mouth to speak and even tell others my story – something I never anticipated sharing. But alcohol loosens the lips and dulls the senses, so I have found it best to avoid what many consider to be the sweetest nectar. It became apparent early on in the evening that I was in a minority, and as such, made the decision to return to my lodgings – happy, but sober.

I went to inform Elle of my decision. ‘I think I’ll stay out a little longer with Karine,’ she said.

‘As you wish, my love. Shall we meet for coffee in the morning?’

‘Perfect,’ she replied, and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

I turned to Elle’s roommate. ‘Goodnight, Karine. Please tell Pip once again what a pleasure it was to play his music tonight.’

‘I will, Bo, thank you! Goodnight.’

When I left the Gewandhaus it was nearing midnight and there were no trams running, so I began the twenty-minute stroll home. In the daytime, it was a very pleasant walk, but now the sun had gone down, the night air was chilly. I pulled my coat collar up around my neck. The road from the Gewandhaus back to Johannisgasse was long and empty, lined by enormous fir trees, and dimly lit by gas lamps at intervals of fifty feet or so. To either side of the road lay enormous open fields, used primarily by the citizens of Leipzig for exercise or walking dogs. At night, it produced an eerie effect, making me feel as though I was walking on a floating bridge over a deep abyss. Owing to the lateness of the hour, there wasn’t another soul in sight.

I’d been walking for ten minutes when I heard the snap of a twig behind me. I turned around, expecting to see a fox, or perhaps a deer making its way across the road, passing from one field to another. But to my surprise, there was nothing in sight. I paused, silently scanning the area for signs of movement. Seeing none, I continued on my way. After walking for another twenty feet, I could have sworn I heard footsteps coming from the other side of the trees. I spun around once again.

‘Hello?’ I cried. ‘Is someone there?’ Silence greeted me once more.

Feeling uneasy now, I quickened my pace. Sure enough, the footsteps I’d heard before became louder, the individual now unable to move with any subtlety. Formulating a plan, and knowing that attack is the best form of defence, I wheeled around on my heels, and sprinted towards the trees, and the footsteps.

‘Why are you following me? Why won’t you show yourself? Don’t be a coward, if you have something to say to me, I want to hear it!’ I ran in and out of the trees, expecting to catch someone lurking. Finding nothing, I continued onto the field, where I was surrounded by darkness. I stood deathly still, and listened for the footsteps again. After a moment, I heard them again, the squelchy earth of the field betraying the mysterious individual. The footsteps were receding deeper into the darkness, and away from me. Satisfied that whoever had been following me was warded off by the confrontation, I returned to the road and broke into a jog for the remainder of my journey.

I was out of breath when I approached my front door, and a little shaken, too. I put my hand in my pocket and fumbled with my keys, eventually dropping them on the floor behind me. As I turned to pick them up, I saw a shadowy figure dart behind a building on the corner of the street.

Had he returned to Leipzig? Did he know who I was?

I assessed my options, which were limited. If the mysterious figure was Kreeg, then running up to confront him again would be foolish. In all probability he was carrying his gun, and would just shoot me dead. My immediate thought was to protect Elle, but if I were to travel back down the long road to the Gewandhaus, I would lead Eszu right to her, putting my love, and our friends, in danger. It was clear to me that I had to take the only option available, and continue into my lodgings. I put the key in the door and made my way swiftly up to my room. I locked the bedroom door behind me, and didn’t turn the light on. Then I made my way to the window to observe the street below, looking for signs of the shadowy figure. All seemed quiet.

Nonetheless, I thought it sensible to take precautions. From my bedside drawer, I grabbed my pocket knife. Then I returned to my vantage point at the window and closed the curtains this time, save for a single sliver of glass for me to look through. From my position I could just about make out the corner of Elle’s lodgings. At least I would be able to see that she and Karine returned home safely.

This would be a long night.

I pulled up a chair, and placed a pillow behind my head. At least the next few hours would give me an opportunity to come up with a plan to escape Kreeg, if indeed it was him. I sat vigilantly watching the empty street below. Time passed, and there was no sign of the figure that I was sure had been following me. Or . . . was I so sure? Perhaps my mind had been playing tricks. I had been under a great deal of stress lately, and it was possible my imagination was running away with me.

The room, by virtue of being at the top of the lodgings, was warm, and the hiss and click of the iron radiators was soothing. I felt my eyes becoming heavy. In an attempt to revive myself, I opened the bedroom window a crack, and the cold night air rushed in. My plan worked for a brief period, but eventually my body conceded to the inevitability of slumber.

I woke up choking. My eyes opened, but I couldn’t see anything in front of me. Instinctively I stood up and blindly took several steps forwards. My foot made contact with a table leg, and I was sent tumbling to the floor. Despite the pain of the fall, my vision was instantly clearer. As I rolled onto my back, I realised with horror that my room was filled with black, acrid smoke.

Panic surged through me. I scrambled to my feet, but took a lungful of the smoke and began to choke again. I dropped back to the floor, my heart thumping. I crawled along the floor, using the corners of the room to guide me to the bedroom door. When I reached it, to my horror, I realised that the smoke was pouring in from the corridor. Clearly I would have a battle on my hands to get downstairs. But what choice did I have? Grabbing the door’s handle, I pulled myself up, holding my breath as I did so. My hand searched for the bolt lock, and when I found it, it was scorching to the touch. I gritted my teeth and ripped the bolt with as much force as I could muster, and to my relief, it came free.

I positioned myself behind the door to shield myself and wrenched it open. Large orange flames flicked into the room like the giant tongue of an angry serpent. With a sinking heart, I realised that escape was an impossibility.

I closed the door again. It was only a matter of time before the fire incinerated it, and I wondered whether I would be a victim of the flames or the smoke. I slumped back down to the floor, and placed myself on my belly.

‘I’m sorry,’ I cried, although I wasn’t entirely sure who I was speaking to. Perhaps Elle, for leaving her alone in Leipzig in the face of enormous danger. Perhaps my father, whom I had failed to find, despite promising myself that I would. Perhaps to the Landowskis, Evelyn, Monsieur Ivan, and all those who had believed in me when I had nothing. Maybe even to Kreeg Eszu, for the simple misunderstanding that had led to so much suffering and heartbreak.

He was making me pay for it now.

I had crossed continents, surviving cold and starvation. Despite everything, I had found someone who had made my life worth living . . . and this was how it was all going to end. Unceremoniously, in a plume of smoke.

I turned onto my back, and closed my eyes. When I was a young boy, my father used to use a relaxation technique invented by the theatre practitioner, Konstantin Stanislavski, to send me to sleep. I recalled his voice: The muscle controller is in your little toe at the moment. He has to start at the smallest point in the body, you see . . . and he switches it off. Then he travels to the next toe, and the next . . . and now he is in the sole of your foot. Gosh, how tense it is there, carrying the weight of your body all day long. But it is not a problem for the muscle controller. He switches it off as easily as turning out a light. Now he moves up to your ankle . . .

My father, imaginary or not in that moment, talked me to sleep. More likely, it was the smoke I had inhaled. As for what happened next, my assumption is that I dreamt it.

I saw the stars above me.

I remember being happy that they were here for me at the end. The constellation of the Seven Sisters glistened and twinkled before my eyes – my guiding lights, my constants. Then, the stars began to rearrange themselves into seven female faces that I did not recognise. Each seemed to radiate so much warmth and love. In that moment, I felt peaceful . . . I was ready.

Then, I heard a voice.

‘Not now, Atlas. There is more to do.’

The seven faces disappeared from view, and the stars once more rearranged themselves into a single figure. She had long hair, and a flowing dress which seemed to spread out behind her into eternity. Then the stars themselves faded, and the figure was revealed to me in technicolour. Her dress was a rich red, and she was adorned in garlands of white and blue flowers. Her hair – a shimmering blonde mane – was arranged elegantly around her heart-shaped face. Her huge, blue opalescent eyes appeared to glimmer and sparkle, and I found myself transfixed. She spoke to me again.

‘The boy with the world on his shoulders. You must carry it for a little longer. Others depend on you.’ I noted a European accent, though she spoke to me in my own mother tongue.

‘What do you mean?’ I replied breathlessly. ‘Who are you?’

‘Your destiny is not yet fulfilled. You need not pass through this door yet.’

‘What door? What are you talking about?’

The woman smiled. ‘You are looking at me through a window, Atlas. I find that they are much preferable to doors, for one may see the path ahead before leaving.’

I understood her message. ‘The window . . . But I’m three storeys up, I will never survive the fall!’

‘You will not survive in here either. Take a leap of faith.’

The woman began to disappear from view, consumed by the black smoke that billowed and pulsated above me.

Now fully awake, I rolled over onto my stomach and crawled towards the window. As I made my way across the floor, my hand brushed a long, thin item. I looked down to see my cello bow. I grabbed it. I could just make out the light behind the window through the smoke, which was being drawn out through the open crack. That was what was encouraging the smoke to flow so forcefully.

Using the curtain, I managed to stand, and heaved up the heavy window sash. There was brief respite from the blanket of smoke that surrounded me, before it enveloped me once more, more furiously than ever. I looked down at the ground, where I could just make out Frau Schneider along with the others who had escaped the blaze. They spotted me at the window.

‘He’s alive! My God!’ Frau Schneider wailed. ‘Wait there, young man! The fire service has been contacted, we will save you!’

There was a terrifying bang from behind me. I turned around to see that the door, and along with it the frame, had given way to the flames. My decision to open the window so widely had served to anger the blaze, and the scorching orange flames encroached into the room like an octopus entering a cave. The fire was hungry. It wanted me. Now, there really was no choice. The last thing I grabbed from the room was my diary, which I could just make out on the desk nearby. Then I climbed out onto the windowsill.

‘Don’t you dare! You stay there!’ Frau Schneider screamed up at me.

I estimated the drop was more than fifty feet. I placed my bow, and the diary, in the waistband of my trousers. Then, tentatively, I grabbed the sill and slowly lowered myself down, so that my legs dangled from the window. Each inch that I could reduce my fall by was crucial. I mentally prepared myself for what was to come.

‘The flower bed, the flower bed!’ Frau Schneider cried. ‘I watered it only this evening!’ I let go of the sill with my left arm and swung freely, so that I could look below. Even though it was dark, the white and blue flowers acted like landing lights. If I could just propel myself slightly and land in the soft mud, I predicted I had a chance. There was a loud creak from within my bedroom, and I accepted that it was now or never. Gripping back onto the sill with my arm, I used the momentum to swing my body to the right, then the left, and let go.

My landing, although imperfect, was pretty good, all things considered. My feet hit the flower bed as I hoped they would, and on impact I bent my knees and rolled. I only felt the true force of the fall as my right arm hit the stone pavement by the flowers, followed promptly by my face.

‘Argh!’ I cried out in pain.

‘My boy, my boy!’ Frau Schneider cried, appearing over me. ‘Where are you injured? Can you feel your legs? Can you wiggle your toes?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘It’s my arm that’s hurt.’ I rolled up my sleeve with my good arm, and was met by a pretty ugly sight. Clearly my elbow had been dislocated, and the effect was eye-watering.

‘We must move him away from the building. Help me!’ Frau Schneider was immediately joined by a couple of the other boys from the lodgings, who, in an attempt to pull me away from the house, grabbed my arms.

‘No!’ I cried, but it was too late. The boys heaved me, and my right arm produced a sickening crunch. This was followed by a wave of hot pain that started at my elbow but somehow managed to travel around my entire body. I screamed, but the boys were resolute in moving me away from the flames. When they let go, I huddled myself into a ball as the shockwaves of pain continued.

‘Breathe, young man. Courage,’ said Frau Schneider, who was by my side once again and stroking my hair. ‘You have survived.’

‘Did . . . everyone . . . get out?’ I eventually managed to ask.

‘All are accounted for. Thankfully there weren’t many in the lodgings, most are still out in the town centre after the performance tonight . . . though I cannot speak for the other houses.’

‘Other houses?’ I uttered.

‘I’m afraid so, young man. It really has begun. I’m so sorry. None of this would have happened without me. It was I who they were after.’

I furrowed my brow in confusion. ‘I don’t understand, Frau Schneider.’

‘I am Jewish. They torched the building to take my business from me and show that I am not welcome here. Regrettably, tonight, they have succeeded.’

Cogs began to whir in my head. ‘I’m sorry, Frau Schneider.’

‘There is certainly no need for an apology. You could have been killed tonight, and I would have been responsible.’ She bowed her head.

‘No, Frau Schneider,’ I replied. ‘You most certainly would not have been.’ A rock formed in the pit of my stomach. ‘You said “other houses”. So the SS have visited other premises housing Jews?’

‘I’m afraid so, yes.’ I staggered to my feet, renewed bolts of pain shooting down my arm. I winced and inhaled sharply. ‘Be careful! I will send for a doctor,’ Frau Schneider insisted.

I ran towards the coffee shop, and Elle’s intact lodgings came into view. The relief that washed over me was a more effective antidote to pain than morphine. ‘There is no need for a doctor, Frau Schneider. I will be fine, thank you. I just have to find Elle.’

Frau Schneider nodded. ‘I have not seen her. Perhaps if you ask around, then . . .’ She put her hand to her mouth and began to cry, suddenly overcome by the night’s events.

I raised my good arm, and placed it on her shoulder. ‘It is so very unfair, Frau Schneider. I am truly sorry for your loss.’

‘Thank you,’ she sniffed. ‘But I wonder why they decided to target me? My religion is hardly well advertised, unlike many others in the city.’

A pang of guilt ran through me. I knew that tonight, Frau Schneider was not the target. It had been me.

‘Bo!’ Over Frau Schneider’s shoulder, I saw Elle running towards me, accompanied by Karine. As I went to embrace her, another surge of pain rushed through my arm, and I couldn’t hold in my grimace. ‘My love . . . what on earth happened? Are you all right?’

‘Oh Bo,’ Karine added.

I gestured to the smouldering building. ‘I had to jump. They’re torching Jewish residences. But, Elle . . . it was him. He knows. We have to go, tonight if possible.’

‘What do you mean him?’ Karine asked.

Elle turned to her friend. ‘He means this . . . particularly nasty SS officer we’ve seen around the city. Isn’t that right, Bo?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, grateful that Elle’s brain was functioning better than my own. ‘He just has a very aggressive aura. Frau Schneider, who runs my lodgings, is Jewish, so we were on the list for tonight’s torchings. Where is Pip?’

‘Still out on the town, enjoying his success,’ Karine said. ‘Was everyone able to make it out?’

‘Apparently so. But none of us are safe here now. We must make plans to leave immediately.’ I put my left arm around Elle and she buried her head in my chest. I looked back up at the building as the sound of sirens began to encroach, my cello bow against my leg. The pattern of my life had repeated itself, and I had lost everything. But this time, I had Elle by my side.

‘Where will you go?’ asked Karine.

‘As far away as possible. America, we hope.’

‘We will miss you, Karine,’ Elle sobbed. ‘You have been like a sister to me.’

‘And you to me, Elle.’ Karine bit her lip. ‘What if there was a way that we could all stay together? Would you be interested?’

Elle and I looked at one another. ‘Of course, Karine,’ she replied. ‘You are more than welcome to come with us. Perhaps you could join us on our voyage to America?’

‘Actually, I was thinking that you could accompany me. As you know, Pip has offered to take me to Norway. I’m sure, given what has happened tonight, that he would be more than willing to extend the offer to you. What do you think?’

‘Yes. Oh, yes!’ Elle replied, before I’d even had a chance to absorb the information. She turned to me. ‘Bo, it’s a perfect plan.’

Still in a daze, I nodded. ‘If Pip agrees, of course we would come. Thank you, Karine. You have no idea how much that offer means to us.’

‘It is settled. The end of term is only a few days away, and then we can take the passage to Bergen.’

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘When I said that Elle and I would be gone by tomorrow night, I meant it. It is of the utmost importance for our . . . for Elle’s safety that we leave Leipzig immediately.’ I glanced pointedly at my lodgings.

‘I understand,’ Karine accepted. ‘I will talk to Pip first thing. All he cared about was having his work performed, and he achieved his objective tonight. Hopefully we can all be out of Leipzig by the evening.’

‘In the meantime, Bo, you need somewhere to stay,’ Elle said. ‘I’m sure Frau Fischer wouldn’t object to you spending the night on our floor, given the circumstances. Is that all right with you, Karine?’

‘Of course.’

Thankfully, my presence was permitted. I took the wooden chair in Elle and Karine’s room and placed it by the window, determined to make amends for what had happened earlier. If only I had been more vigilant, this could all have been avoided. With the protection of Elle my responsibility, I was confident that I would not falter at this second opportunity. I waited until the sun rose at just before five a.m., before finally retreating to the floor to get some rest, certain that Kreeg wouldn’t try anything during daylight hours. At seven, I heard Karine leave to speak with Pip.

She returned a few hours later and assured us that the family would welcome us into their home, and that Pip was currently in the process of making a hurried phone call from Principal Davisson’s office to at least provide some warning to his kin in Bergen.

The rest of the day was a flurry of packing. I helped Elle to sort her possessions, oddly relieved that I didn’t have to do the same, given that mine were now a pile of ash. Only my cello had survived, left at the Gewandhaus last night – not that I would be able to collect it; the operation was simply too much of a risk. A lump formed in my throat as I bid a silent farewell to my instruments. At least the diamond was safe, secured as always around my neck. As I bent my arm to feel its familiar shape in the pouch, a bolt of pain surged through my elbow. I yelped.

‘Oh Bo. You must see a doctor,’ Elle said. ‘Here.’ She took one of her scarves and tied it around my neck as a makeshift sling. She gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek and stroked my bruised face. ‘My poor love. You’re going to be the colour of beetroot before too long.’

‘And then mustard after a week or so,’ I added.

‘I forgot to mention,’ Karine interjected. ‘Pip’s mother, Astrid, is a nurse. She’ll be able to see to your arm.’

‘There you go, Bo.’ Elle managed a smile. ‘Things are looking up already.’

Regardless of all that had occurred during the last six months, I was still a little heartbroken to be forced out of Leipzig. When Elle and I had arrived, I dared to dream that we might finally be free to live out our lives together – as musicians, no less – unburdened by the past. However, as I suppose it was always going to, it had caught up with me, conspiring with the present to not only harm me, but Elle too.

Selfishly, I pray that Norway is far enough from Kreeg.