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Silvana was soaked through in moments. She looked around for the woman carrying Aurek, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Over the sound of the whistling wind and the rain came another sound. It grew louder until it became a deafening drone. Silvana turned her face towards it. A low-flying formation of planes cut through the sky, their undercarriages gleaming.

Silvana swung round in panic, calling for her son. How could she have given him to another woman? How could she have been so stupid? People were dragging children down from the carts they were travelling on. Men and women ran through the rain. Horses were driven off the road into the fields, heading for the trees.

Then she saw her. The woman with Aurek. She was crossing the road, towards the fields. The hum of the planes grew louder. The air changed and a gust rushed over her. Silvana began to run towards the woman. She heard the sound of screaming and the crash of thunder, smelt something burning. Looking up, she saw one of the planes spiralling in a high-pitched dive. Then there was only a great heat like a furnace door being opened and she fell.

She opened her eyes and felt a shooting pain in her leg. Her hands were cut and bloody, and her ankle had a deep wound in it. The storm had passed over and the water lying in puddles all around gleamed darkly. Silvana stumbled over the bodies of women and children and fallen horses. She was barefoot, and slipped and fell in a pool of blood slicked like oil across the road. On hands and knees she crawled. She pulled herself to her feet and searched for Aurek, offering up her life to any number of saints if she could just find the woman who had her boy.

Her mother’s words were in her head. Just don’t love the baby too much. You don’t know what it’s like to love someone and lose them. For the first time she understood. And she grieved for her. She grieved for her mother terribly.

She saw the coat first, the orange fur up ahead of her, like a wounded animal in the mud. The woman lay beside it, her legs twisted, as though she had jumped from a height and landed badly. Silvana touched the coat. It was sticky with blood. Her heart leapt, thudded and slowed as she opened the coat.

‘My baby,’ she whispered. He was lying in the coat’s silk lining, his face quite calm.

Janusz

‘Come with us,’ said Bruno, and Janusz shook his head.

They were sitting at the kitchen table in the cottage.

‘You can’t stay here. The Russians will pick you up. The government wants all Polish troops to resist. We can make our way to France. I’ve got money. If we can get to Budapest without being picked up, the Polish consul there will arrange a passage to Marseilles and we can join the French and the British. Come with us.’

Earlier, Bruno had picked up the basket of potatoes under the windowsill and proclaimed himself the cook. Franek had plucked the chickens and Janusz had got water from the well. Now they had eaten and were sharing the remains of a bottle of vodka Bruno had produced from his rucksack.

The two men had been curious about what Janusz was doing in the cottage on his own. They’d asked so many questions he found himself telling them the truth just to get them to be quiet.

‘Dog!’ said Franek. He coughed and laughed and slapped his knees and spat on the floor. ‘You said you were burying a dog! I knew you were lying. I knew it. You’re a deserter.’

Janusz glared at him. ‘You weren’t there.’

‘You did the right thing,’ said Bruno. ‘You’d only be in a prison camp by now if you had stayed on the train. You can still fight. That’s what we have to do. We Poles have always fought for our freedom.’

‘Fight or run away. You’ll end up dead either way,’ said Franek. ‘That’s the way things are now. You might have the angel of death riding on your shoulder. You look like you have. You’re going to be called soon enough.’

Janusz ignored him. They were sitting back after their meal, the heat of the fire on their faces, an oil lamp burning on the table.

‘I don’t care,’ said Franek,