Romy sat at the window as the light faded, sifting through the rice she’d poured into her tin pot. She picked two squirming weevils out of the rice between her thumb and forefinger and flicked them out the window with disgust. Papa joked they should eat the weevils, as they were probably quite nutritious, but surely it hadn’t come to that in just four months?

She could hear the three Lam children downstairs wrestling like puppies in the communal courtyard while their doting grandparents darned socks to earn an extra few cents. Just below her window, Mrs Lam was chopping an onion and chives, preparing a thin soup from leftover fish bones at the makeshift wooden bench.

Romy surveyed the tiny room that had become home for herself, Mutti and Papa these past months. Two narrow mattresses were pushed up against the walls, and in the centre of the room was a rickety table and chairs. If not for personal touches like the faded silk tablecloth and a handful of red roses in a jar, she’d swear she had been admitted to prison. She’d never had such a small bedroom in her life, and now, at seventeen, she had to share it with her parents. There was a limited number of houses in the ghetto, an area of about one square mile, and most were already full to the brim with poor Chinese families—over a hundred thousand people. Delma said they expected over twenty thousand Jews to be living here by the month’s end. Sharing was the only option.

‘Well, it’s not the Cathay, but it will have to do,’ joked Papa on the day they moved in. ‘Which side do you want?’ He walked over to his bags. ‘I brought a blanket to divide our sleeping quarters. Don’t want you keeping us up all night with your study!’

Romy swallowed and glanced around the room. The uneven floorboards were worn, but spotless. The sheets were clean. And there were two little windows looking out over the alley.

‘Remember, Romy,’ Mutti had said as they walked away from the Garden Bridge on that first day, Ghoya’s beady eyes boring into their backs. ‘We’re the lucky ones. You heard what Ghoya said: you can still study.’

Romy finished sifting the rice and placed a brick on the lid so the rats couldn’t get at it while she went to the hospital with her parents to continue her unofficial surgical training.

The aroma of the soup downstairs was making her mouth water, but she couldn’t face another bowl of rice or mouldy millet. She took a coin from her carefully hoarded pocket money—there had been none since they arrived in the ghetto—and decided to splurge on some warm rolls for her parents, who had been on their feet at the hospital all day.

She left the laneway and walked past a cluster of Chinese and European children playing hopscotch in the street before entering the new bakery across the road.

A bell jingled as Romy opened the door and was greeted with the heady scent of baking bread. A few golden Kaisersemmel bread rolls sat on the counter—just big enough to cover her palm—with the five cuts curled like a pinwheel at the top. Below, in a clean window display, was a row of biscuits and cakes. Her mouth watered as she tried to select a treat.

‘Can I help you?’ She jumped, surprised by the deep voice. A young man with curly sandy-coloured hair and dancing brown eyes was leaning on the counter.

‘I haven’t met you before,’ he said. ‘What do you make of our little ghetto?’

Romy pursed her lips as she thought of the full pot with the red lid she’d had to carry down the stairs this morning and tip into the square nightsoil cart. Her lips started to quiver and the man’s demeanour changed as his eyes softened.

He stepped out from behind the counter and Romy saw he was wearing a smart white shirt and beige pants held up with braces. His shoes, however, looked ancient.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ushering her to a seat. ‘I’ve been a complete Dummkopf. Let me try again. I don’t get many pretty girls wandering in here alone.’

A shiver went down Romy’s spine when he smiled at her a second time. Romy looked at her own shoes, noticed a tiny hole in her stockings and blushed. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

‘I’m Wilhelm.’ The young man wiped his floury hands on his apron and extended one for her to shake.

‘Romy.’ She smiled.

‘Will you take coffee?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I was just about to have my afternoon break. Please, join me.’

He ushered her to a small table in the corner then went back behind the counter, returning minutes later with a silver plunger and two gold-lipped coffee cups. He placed them on the table with a clatter and went to the counter again, this time returning with a cake loaded with caramelised apricot halves. The scent of butter and honey wafted around them.

Romy rested her hands on the handle of the silver coffee pot, feeling the grooves. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, too shy to look up. The back of her neck was hot.

‘It…it belonged to my parents.’ He sighed. On his face was a familiar haunted look. ‘I lost them in Vienna. My sister too.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She shook her head and resisted the urge to reach out and touch his arm as he poured the coffee. Instead she said, ‘I’m from Vienna…Wipplingerstrasse,’ she said sadly as she pictured Benjamin, twisted and bloody on the cobblestones.

‘My family were from the southern end of Stadtpark,’ he said. ‘I used to play football there with my sister, Louisa. She was brutal.’ He winced and blinked away tears.

The words were and was hung heavy in the air, along with the smell of damp yeast. The ghetto was filled with fractured families, dragged across borders and splintered. Whittled away. What would be left when this war was over?

He picked up a piece of cake and took a bite, blushing as crumbs spilled onto his chest. He brushed them onto the floor with a cheeky shrug.

Romy took a bite. ‘It’s delicious. Tastes just like…home.’

‘It’s getting harder to find the ingredients. Too expensive. I like to make the cakes to give away with the bread. I take it to the Heime every Wednesday. There’s a woman called Delma—’

‘I know Delma,’ Romy said quickly.

He laughed. ‘Of course.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Everyone around here knows Delma. Did you hear the news about Eva and Laura being sent back to the States? I mean, it’s great for the Americans, but poor Delma…’

Over soup last night Papa and Mutti had told Romy the news of Miss Schwartz’s sudden departure from the camp. The American government had agreed to a prisoner exchange with Japan, and several hundred American prisoners were escorted from China immediately. Romy should have been happy for Miss Schwartz, but right now she just felt even more rattled!

‘Did Delma get to say goodbye?’ Romy’s voice trembled.

Wilhelm shook his head sadly. He checked the door and leaned in close. ‘But I managed to get a message to Eva.’ He tilted his head towards the high-top loaves. ‘While Eva was in prison, I was able to access the kitchens. I befriended a guard who was willing to carry verbal messages between us for an extra couple of Kaiser rolls; I have a pass that allows me to leave the ghetto because I deliver bread all over Shanghai. The messages were Delma’s idea. Sometimes a door would be ‘accidentally’ left open and I could speak to Eva—’

This handsome man was also brave. ‘You’d be killed if they found out,’ Romy exclaimed. ‘Ghoya—’

Wilhelm held up his hand. As he turned his head, Romy noticed the tension creases at the corner of his eyes.

They sat in silence for a minute, sipping thick coffee.

‘I suppose it’s better to be home and free than in a Shanghai prison,’ Wilhelm commented. ‘I’m sure Laura Margolis will tell her JDC superiors about what’s really happening over here.’

Romy blinked away her tears. ‘I didn’t get to say goodbye. Miss Schwartz—’

‘I know. We all feel the same. They’ve done so much for all of us.’

Romy eyed the glossy apricot on her cake and wondered where this lovely man had managed to get such an expensive ingredient. She poked it with her fork, but her appetite had deserted her.

‘They’d want you to eat the cake. Eva and Delma, I mean.’ He pointed at the cake and gave a weary smile.

Romy felt her chest flutter.

‘It’s the best in the ghetto. Now, where were you off to when I sidetracked you?’

‘Ward Road Hospital.’

His eyes looked at her thin blue dress and nodded. ‘You’re a nurse?’

‘I’m actually studying medicine. My parents work at the hospital. Papa is a doctor, Mutti’s a nurse. I’m on my way to help with the night shift.’ She glanced over at the display of cakes. ‘I wanted to get them something nice.’

Wilhelm jumped up out of his chair so abruptly it nearly toppled over. ‘I know exactly who you are. You’re Romy Bernfeld. Delma has told me all about you and your medical pedigree. She’s very impressed by you.’

Romy stared at her shoes, waiting for the flush to pass.

Wilhelm stepped behind the counter and loaded the Kaiser rolls and a couple of baguettes into a bag and held them out. As she took it, she felt the warmth from the bag spread up her arms.

‘That’s too much, I only have this.’ She took the coin from her pocket and handed it to him.

‘Not at all. Share it with someone who needs it at the hospital.’ He reached out to shake her hand as she thanked him for his generosity.

‘The pleasure was all mine, Miss Bernfeld. And, please, come back tomorrow for another cup of coffee.’

As the bell jangled behind her, Romy had an idea. Perhaps Wilhelm’s bread delivery was the way to get a message to Li. She’d been trying to work out how she could contact her dear friend. Romy had already lost Nina and she didn’t plan on letting another friend slip away so easily.