“Smith.”

I lifted my head from the Maths problem I had been struggling with and stifled a sigh. “Yes, Miss?” She never called me Schmidt, another individual still fighting the Second World War.

She had a note in her hand. “Please go to the headmaster’s office.”

My stomach flipped: such a call always presaged trouble. I glanced at Lili, who raised an eyebrow in query. I gave her a minimal shrug and weaved my way through the desks and out into the corridor. Every eye followed me, imagining what I had done and with some Schadenfreude, what punishment I would receive.

The headmaster’s secretary pointed me to a chair and I sat in fidgeting discomfort due to my period and the worry; I couldn’t recall doing anything that required the headmaster’s involvement.

The worry and my period bloat became intolerable. “Please Miss, may I go to the toilet?”

I received a lingering, disapproving look.

“Please, Miss.” My voice reflected my increasing urgency.

She pursed her lips, glancing at the headmaster’s closed office door before waving me out. “Be quick.”

I slipped into a cubicle, muttering a curse at the continuing need to masquerade as a boy. I wanted to change my tampon, but I’d put them in the bottom of my bag in class. I did my business and folded some sheets of toilet paper inside my panties as insurance against leaks, washed my hands and returned to the office.

The headmaster was talking to his secretary but turned into his office when he saw me. “Come with me please Schmidt.” He sat behind his desk, pointing me to a chair. “I’ve had a message that your mother has been taken ill.”

I leant forward, anxiety adding to my physical discomfort. “What’s happened, sir?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, but a taxi’s coming to pick you up.” His patronising tone failed to prevent rising panic.

“Is she in hospital?”

“I’m sorry Schmidt, that’s all I know.” He stood, guiding me out of his office, his hand pushing on my shoulder. “Come along. The taxi will be here soon.” He wanted this interruption to his day gone.

Mutti ... what’s happened to you? Are you hurt? Is this about father?

Terrible thoughts battered around inside my skull, each wave reflecting and reinforcing the others.

“Miss Price, please take Schmidt to the front entrance and see him safely into the taxi when it arrives.”

“Yes, sir.” She gave me a sympathetic look. “I’ve got your bag here.”

I blinked at her – she must have sent for my bag. “Thank you.”

“Come with me. I’ll see you into the taxi.” I’d been mistaken about her disapproval; she was showing only sympathy for me now.

When the taxi arrived, Miss Price handed in my bag. “Thank you.”

She smiled and gave me a wave.

I sat, lost in a world of worry. Mutti had been healthy this morning when I left home. What had happened? An accident? Father? I roused as the taxi turned off the main road.

“Where are we going?”

“I have to drop you off up here.”

We’d all had the warnings about getting into strange cars ... but this was a taxi. We passed fields and orchards. Why would the taxi drop me off here?

The car swung into a grassy area near the foot of a water tower. Two people got out of a large black car parked there.

Mutti.

I gasped with combined confusion and relief, racing into my mother’s arms. “Mutti. Mutti. Are you all right?”

“Shh, Col. Yes, I am perfectly fine.”

But I heard anxiety in her voice.

“Please get in the car and I will explain everything to you.”

She shooed me towards the car. I scrambled in and Mutti went round to the other side.

“Don’t forget this.” The taxi driver dropped my abandoned school bag on my lap and closed the door.

The front seat passenger slammed his door and the car accelerated away, pushed hard on the narrow country lanes. Mutti and I grabbed the armrests to steady ourselves against the sways and bounces.

“What’s going on, Mutti?”

“Your father is close on our tracks. Something or someone has betrayed us.”

My stomach lurched: my English friend Willi had met him ten days ago in Leipzig.

Not Willi? Surely, not Willi...

The swaying of the car made conversation difficult as we hurtled through the lanes of rural Kent. I started to feel nauseous from the car’s motion, augmented by my anxiety and period. After an uncomfortable ten minutes, we turned on to a main road. At the intersection were signs for London. We were headed away from Herne Bay. At least the swaying had stopped and my stomach settled.

I turned to Mutti. “What’s happened?”

Mutti shook her head. “All I know is Mr Watling left a message at the shop to meet this car off the High Street at ten o’clock. We drove to where we met you and ... well ... that’s all I know.”

Mr Watling is her MI6 contact. He must know what’s happening.

Mutti’s eyes held mine, full of worry. “I think your father found us and we need to move.”

I slid across to hug her. We stayed huddled in mutual comfort until I sensed something different in the road: signs for the new motorway to London flashed past. But after a while we branched off that to the north and entered the Dartford tunnel under the Thames.

Mutti leant forward, holding the passenger seat in front of her. “Where are we going?”

The man half-turned. “Somewhere safe. It’s best you don’t know.”

We kept on driving as the afternoon passed and I dozed. When I woke up, I was feeling both hungry and uncomfortable, though the nausea had passed. Outside, afternoon shadows were lengthening.

“Mutti, I need to go to the loo.”

“Mmm ... I do as well.” She leant forward. “How long before we get to wherever we are going?”

The man in the passenger seat nudged the driver, who replied, “Several hours.”

“Well, we need to find a toilet and get something to eat.”

There was no reply.

Mutti’s voice rose. “We need a toilet. Now, please.”

The driver glanced at the man in the passenger seat, who shrugged.

“OK – at the next petrol station.”

About five minutes later, we stopped. I scrabbled a tampon out of my schoolbag and headed for the toilet. I came out feeling physically better. But as I sat on the toilet, the situation became clear. Our life in Herne Bay was over – and with that realisation came the crashing need to get a message to Willi.

How would he take our sudden and unexplained disappearance?

What he might do terrified me; it might be enough to tip him over the edge.

Mutti and the front seat passenger were waiting for me when I reappeared. I grabbed Mutti’s hand. “We must get a message to Willi. He will be frantic at our disappearance and might do something...”

The passenger interrupted me. “In the car. Now.”

I tried to hush him. Talking to Mutti about Willi was important.

“Now.” He grabbed my hand and firmly moved me towards the car. “We’re not safe here. Get in the car.” His voice was low, but I could hear the tension. He opened the door and half-gestured, half-pushed me in. I saw Mutti opening her door to join me. As soon as the passenger closed his door, the car moved off at speed, but not spinning its wheels, as that would draw attention.

On the road, the passenger passed us two paper bags containing cheese and tomato sandwiches and packets of potato crisps.

Mutti took them, giving one to me.

“Thank you ... we don’t know your names ...”

The passenger grunted without turning round. “No names.”

Mutti shrugged and pursed her lips.

“Mutti...” I started, but she shook her head and started eating her sandwich. After a while, she turned to me and asked me, in Polish, what I thought of the sandwiches.

Why would she decide to continue our language lessons at this moment?

I gave her a puzzled look.

She frowned at me, repeating herself in Polish. “Is your sandwich tasty?” Her eyes flicked towards the front of the car, lifting an eyebrow in question.

Oh – of the languages we shared, Polish was the least likely to be understood by our driver and passenger. They might speak German; they’d been sent to pick up two Germans and I supposed they might speak Russian, but Mutti knew my Russian was rusty from lack of recent practice.

We talked about the sandwiches and crisps. Our descriptions become ever more bizarre, testing the understanding of the people in the front seats ... for no reaction. Mutti smiled a wicked smile and in the same conversational tone, called the driver and passenger rude names. They remained oblivious.

She continued in Polish. “They may not understand us. But we must still be careful not to place our friends in difficult situations with the security services.” She gave me a serious look. “Now, what did you want to say about ... your friend?” she asked, the pause deliberate.

Ah – no names, no mention of my father ... or Willi.

“We need to get a message to him that my ... that he ... has not found us. Remember how he was when he told us about meeting ... him?”

Mutti pulled me into a cuddle.

“I’m worried if he thinks ... he ... has kidnapped us, he will blame himself.”

“At the petrol station, you said that he might do ... something.” Mutti’s tone was caring but requiring answers. “What did you mean?” Her eyes searched my face.

I took a deep breath.

When did keeping Willi’s suicide attempts secret become dangerous to him? Should I ... could I break my promise about this?

Mutti watched me run this through my head and gave me a comforting squeeze. “He has always had an undercurrent of instability, which is understandable given the abuse he suffered.” She stroked my hair. “Has he tried to ... harm himself?” Her voice shone with the love she had for both Willi and me.

I swallowed, my mouth dry. Mutti’s eyes held mine ... and I managed a fearful nod.

Mutti drew in a deep breath and gave me another squeeze. “We must let him know we have not been kidnapped by ... him.” She paused again, thinking. “You will need to phrase the message with care. He must know it is truly from you and not forced from you under duress by ... someone.”

I hadn’t thought of that complication – and I need to get that message to Willi – and Lili – without delay. I started thinking.

Mutti told me to stretch out and I went to sleep, my head in her lap. At some point we stopped again and I half-roused, drifting back into an uneasy sleep once the car started moving again.

I woke in confusion as the car slammed to a stop. I hit the seat in front of me and ended on the floor with Mutti on top of me. As we struggled to sort ourselves out, I heard loud pairs of bangs.

Gunshots?

Mutti pressed me down as low as possible. “Stay down, Col.”

For what felt like a minute but was only seconds, we lay motionless. I heard moaning from the front seat and muffled voices outside. The rear doors both opened. In the glare from the headlights of a vehicle behind us, I saw a man pointing a pistol at us.

“They’re here,” he called out, in English.

A hand reached in and dragged Mutti out, handing her on to someone else. The hand returned, reaching for me. I decided my father wouldn’t win without a fight. I grabbed the hand and bit hard.

The man jerked in surprise and pain. “Shit. The kid bit me!”

I used the distraction to slide across the seat and scramble out the other side. As I turned to run, a set of arms grabbed me, gripping me from behind despite my struggles.

“Settle down, kid. If you bite me, I’ll give you a thrashing,” a gravelly voice warned. The man gave me a strong squeeze that threatened to crack my ribs and pushed the breath from my body.

“Bring them over here and get them in the car.” A woman’s voice called out, commanding and cold.

My captor dragged me, gasping, round our car, half-blinded by the glare of headlights from the car behind us. Our driver was slumped forward, unmoving over the steering wheel and another person lay on the road beside the car, a man holding a pistol to his head. I struggled again and my captor lifted me off my feet. I kicked back hard into his shins, the heels of my school shoes making solid contact.

The bearhug tightened. “Bloody hell, kid. I’m warning you ...”

“Get her in the car.” That cold, commanding voice again – and she knew I was a girl.

My captor threw me into the back of the car in front of ours, slamming the door as I sprawled across the seat. As I sorted myself out, they pushed in Mutti with my school bag. I tried the handle of my door – it didn’t work.

A figure wearing a fedora slipped into the front passenger seat. “Drive.”

The car started up with a jerk, throwing us into our seats. Once we were underway, the woman in the passenger seat reached up and switched on the dome light. She turned and gave Mutti a hard look for several seconds.

“You know me as Mrs Henderson and you know I work for British Intelligence.”

Mutti stared back. After a moment, she leant forward. “What’s going on?”

“Your husband, your father,” You-know-me-as-Mrs-Henderson turned to each of us. “... he’s lost two agents in England so far. The Eastern Bloc network here and elsewhere is undergoing severe pruning.” Her voice glowed with satisfaction.

I switched to Polish before I spat out. “Does she work for British Intelligence?”

You-know-me-as-Mrs-Henderson gave a dry laugh and spoke in Polish. “I heard you were learning Polish.” She paused, her eyes lingering on me. “That’s quick thinking,” she added, in English, but her face was devoid of approval.

Mutti engaged in a staring match with the woman before answering me without turning away. “I met Mrs Henderson when I was being ... interrogated.” From Mutti’s voice and stare, she did not like the woman.

Mrs Henderson sniffed. “You think your interrogation was hard? How did you expect us to treat someone who could well be a foreign agent trying to slip into our society?”

Their eyes locked before Mrs Henderson turned to me. “What’s going on is that we have rescued you from ending up in an East German gaol at the mercy of the Stasi.”

A shiver ran through me, prickling my skin. “They were working for my father?”

“Not directly, but they were east German agents.” She was cold and impersonal.

Mutti leant forward. “Now what?”

Mrs Henderson’s face remained expressionless. “Now we take you somewhere safe.” I had the distinct impression that our presence was a nuisance to her.

“Go to sleep. We have a long way to go.” Mrs Henderson turned off the dome light, dismissing both Mutti and me.

I awoke in the grey light of dawn, cold, cramped and needing to pee. I sat up, trying not to wake Mutti, but she stirred and gave me a grim smile. We were entering a town. Whatever our destination, I would need a toilet soon. After a minute I saw a signpost for “Lancaster city centre”.

Mrs Henderson heard us moving and glanced over her shoulder.

I leant forward. “I need a toilet.”

She turned to the driver. “How long?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

The car turned off the main road and we entered suburban streets. Some minutes later, we pulled into the driveway of a large house surrounded by tall trees looming against the dawn sky. I tried to open my door, but the handle still wouldn’t move.

Mrs Henderson leant across to the driver. “Ring the bell.”

The driver stretched as he got out and climbed the steps to the front door. He was about to press the bell when the door opened and a middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway. They exchanged some indistinct words and the woman looked over at Mrs Henderson, who got out and opened my door.

The woman came down the steps and opened Mutti’s door. “Come along. I expect you need to freshen up after your journey.”

My need for a pee returned with urgency.

“Yes, please.” I trotted up the steps, my school bag bumping my legs, with Mutti following.

The woman sensed my problem. “Down the corridor, third door on the left.”

I passed an impressive polished wooden staircase and counted doors down the half-lit corridor: number three revealed the haven of a toilet. Despite the sleep in the car, I fell into a doze as I sat there. Giving myself a shake, I finished my business and washed my hands, looking in the mirror. My hands flew to my throat.

Willi’s necklace.

As I couldn’t wear it to school, I’d left it in its box on my bedside table. I sank down on the toilet seat, tears blurring my vision.

How was I going to find it?

A gusting breath later, I stood and washed my face again.

Not now, Col ...

I heard voices deeper in the house. Following the sound, I ended up in a large kitchen. The talking stopped as I entered. Mutti was sitting at the scrubbed pine table with Mrs Henderson and the woman who had greeted us. I sat in the vacant upright chair opposite Mutti, silenced by their silence.

A kettle started singing on the kitchen range. The woman rose and poured boiling water into a large teapot, warming on the side of the range. She gathered on a tray, cups, saucers, teaspoons, a sugar bowl from a cupboard and milk from a walk-in pantry and brought it to the table. She added the teapot to the table, sitting down. “Would you like milk?”

“Thank you.” Mutti answered.

“And you?” She gave me a look laced with curiosity.

“Yes, please.”

She poured a black tea and handed it across to Mrs Henderson, who was no stranger here, before adding milk to three cups. She poured the tea, handing cups to Mutti and me. Once that was done, she made a point of looking across at Mrs Henderson, whose face remained impassive.

The woman shrugged and turned to us. “I’m Peg ... that is, Mrs Gittings.” She turned to Mutti. “You are Frida Schmidt and...” She frowned. “I was told you were her ... daughter?”

I raised my eyebrows at Mutti. She, too, was confused, and turned to Mrs Henderson. “Would you like to explain what’s going on?”

Mrs Henderson’s face showed a flicker of exasperation, then she spoke in an uninterested tone. “You have a daughter.”

Mutti’s eyes narrowed. “And you have decided, without discussing this with me, that my daughter should stop the masquerade that helped us escape and stay safe?”

Mrs Henderson’s supercilious gaze held us. “I suppose I could find some other Eastern Bloc agents and hand you over to them, since you felt safe in their care.” Mrs Henderson’s emotionless tone denied the sarcasm of her words.

Mutti’s fatigue and anxiety must have been getting to her. She slapped her hand on the table in frustration, rattling cups and teaspoons in their saucers. “Don’t be obtuse. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Mrs Henderson’s expression did not change: the same drawn-out, impassive look. “You will cooperate with what happens if you contribute to the decisions?” The question sounded reluctant.

Mutti gave her a lengthy, probing look. “I’ll listen.”

Mutti was showing a strength I had not seen in her since our escape from East Germany. The two stared across the table.

Mrs Henderson’s “Hmm,” sounded equally non-committal.

Mutti turned to me. “Do you want to stay a boy?”

I had not been expecting this, absorbed in the bladed wordplay between Mutti and Mrs Henderson. I blinked, trying to think with a weary brain.

Mutti watched for a moment. “Maybe becoming a girl again would be best. He will be looking for you as a boy now.” Mutti gave me an encouraging smile. “Would you like to become a girl again?”

“Yes, please.” I burst into tears as emotion engulfed me.

Mutti rushed to my side, hugging me. After a minute, I calmed and Mutti pulled a chair round beside me. “What is it, Col?”

The paradoxical sadness of this situation overwhelmed me. “Willi ...” I gulped a breath. “I longed to be a girl with Willi ... and Lili.” Tears rolled down my cheeks. “And now I can be a girl ... but not with them.”

Mutti hugged me, knowing there were no words of comfort. After a while, I gave her a tremulous smile. Mrs Henderson’s contemptuous gaze swept across me and I winced at her judgement.

Not letting go of my hand, Mutti turned to Mrs Henderson. “Could you please explain what happened to us?”

Mrs Henderson weighed up what she should reveal. “Somehow, your location and your contact’s name ... leaked ... and they used it to get you to walk into their arms.”

I saw a hint of ... something ... in her face. What was it?

“We were watching you following William’s trip behind the Iron Curtain. We had concerns. Once we knew they’d picked you up, we got someone on their tail and set up the ambush.”

Mutti frowned. “If you were watching me, why didn’t you stop me from getting in their car?”

My attention bounced between them, trying to understand.

Mrs Henderson’s eyes remained expressionless. “We would not have flushed out a significant part of their organisation here – and beyond.”

Mutti gasped. “You gambled our safety to capture eastern Bloc agents?”

Mrs Henderson dismissed Mutti’s concerns with a wave. “You’re safe and we have two agents – with more about to fall into our laps.”

I sat there, astonished. For Mrs Henderson, people like us were pawns, disposable pieces on her board. I suppressed a shudder; I needed her to get a message to Willi and Lili.

“Please, can you get a message to my friend Willi? He will be worried sick that my father has kidnapped me.”

Mrs Henderson’s face remained impassive. I could almost hear the wheels turning as Mrs Henderson evaluated that request. Her blank stare fed my insecurity and insignificance.

“Give me the message for your boyfriend.”

How did she know about Willi and me?

Mrs Henderson scared me, but my concern for Willi pushed me harder than my fear. “No.” I surprised myself with how firm my voice sounded. “I need you to promise me you will deliver it.”

Mrs Henderson eyed me, unblinking. “In my world, of which you are now a temporary part, there are no promises, there is no certainty.” Her tone offered no compromise. “Give me your message and I will see what I can do.”

Mrs Henderson scared me – but I needed her. “I have to work out what to say.”

“Be quick. I am leaving soon.” She picked up her tea and sipped.

I grabbed my school bag off the floor, retrieving an exercise book and a pen. Telling Willi I was safe in such a way that he knew I was not under duress required thought. I sought sideways references to things we alone shared, trying to clear the fatigue, to concentrate. I had a vague idea from thinking about this in the car: the funny discussion about the unintended consequences of my masquerade as a boy. Will had quoted a line from a Scottish poem about spiders and deceit. I experimented a bit before I had something that I thought might work.

I am caught in the web of Scottish spiders in a cedar tree.

We used to spend hours sitting in a cedar tree, reading, while Lili sketched. Willi would understand that it came from me and the deceit mentioned in the poetry was that I was free, not captured. I passed it over to Mutti, who read it and frowned, gazing off into the distance, trying to pierce the message’s shroud.

After a few seconds, she smiled. “Ah yes.”

I indicated she should give it to Mrs Henderson, who read the note.

“Playing at spies?” Her voice held something beneath the condescension.

“The message needs to be from me and tell him it was not forced by my father and his Stasi friends.” There was an edge to my voice.

Mutti looked at me. “Col, Mrs Henderson is doing you a favour. Please mind your manners.”

I took a deep breath and looked at Mrs Henderson. “I’m sorry, my tiredness is making me cross.”

Mrs Henderson remained silent, her gaze lingering on me. Her eyes trapped me as she assessed my worth, her stare sapping all value from me.

“How about a nice hot bath to get the kinks out from sleeping in the car?” Mrs Gittings asked, standing up and ending what had been an awkward silence.

Her voice broke Mrs Henderson’s spell and I turned towards her. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“I’ll show you your room and get you organised.”

Mrs Gittings led me up the wide, polished staircase, along a corridor and into a bedroom larger than mine in Herne Bay – or our Leipzig apartment. She pointed at a door across the room. “You’ll share that bathroom with your mother. There’re towels in there.”

She looked me up and down. “Hmm, I think I can find something to wear that will fit you from amongst my daughter’s old stuff. That will have to do for now if you’re to be a girl again.”

I walked into the bathroom and started the bath. Half an hour later, I’d topped up the hot water twice, but I forced myself to get out of its relaxing depths as I was wrinkling. With a towel wrapped round me, I peeked round the door into my bedroom: no-one there, but a pile of clothes sat on the double bed. I picked over the options and dressed in a skirt and light jumper. I’d washed out my undies and they were drying in the bathroom. No bra – I had only been wearing an elasticised bandage to flatten my almost non-existent breasts. There were knickers I could wear, but no bra. I shrugged – my minimal breasts didn’t need a bra. There were no socks or shoes; for the moment I would go barefoot as my boys’ school shoes didn’t fit this look. Right then, I decided never to wear them again.

The skirt swirled a strange touch round my legs as Iwalked over to the full-length mirror. I hadn’t worn a skirt for about two years apart from those two occasions in Lili’s altered dress. I gave myself a head-to-toe inspection in the mirror. Now I was to be a girl again, I’d have to grow out my hair and find a hairstyle. My fingers lingered at my neck.

How was I going to recover Willi’s necklace?

I studied my reflection. Scrawny and flabby, I decided. Not overweight, but I hadn’t done any sport for a couple of years. My arms and legs had lost the tone they’d had from the regular swimming I’d done at school in east Germany. I would have to do something about that. I had enjoyed swimming and it had been hard sitting on the beach watching Willi and Lili swimming in the sea.

Was there a pool here in Lancaster?

I sighed and headed out to rejoin everyone downstairs. My bare feet were soundless as I padded along the landing carpet to the staircase and started down. I stopped hearing Mrs Henderson’s voice. She was on the phone.

“... send the clothes and personal effects here and box up the rest for storage.” She paused, listening.

“We can talk about him when I’m in London, but maintain the watch for now; there could be repercussions and we should take advantage of them.”

She listened for a second. “I don’t know. They can stay here for a while, but we need a long-term solution. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

She hung up the phone and footsteps headed deeper into the house. I returned to my bedroom, not wanting Mrs Henderson to realise I had overheard her.

Staring out of the window at my dressing table, I thought about what I’d heard.

Were they watching Willi? It sounded like it.

I should have included a warning in my message to Willi.

Could I try giving Mrs Henderson a re-worded message? She might realise that I had overheard her.

I was certain she wouldn’t like that and might decide not to send my message at all. The rest of the conversation had to be about Mutti and me. Our personal effects being delivered would mean Willi’s necklace would be safe. It seemed we were staying here for ‘a while’, however long that was, but Mrs Henderson intended for us to be set up somewhere else.

Would that allow me to get in touch with Willi – and would it be safe for all of us if I did that?

I had many questions, but sitting there staring into space would not give me any answers. I headed downstairs, and following the voices, ended up in the kitchen. Over cups of tea and coffee, Mutti, our driver, another man and Mrs Gittings were talking about the fruit trees in the extensive garden. I stopped in the doorway, surprised at the banality after all that had happened.

Where was Mrs Henderson? Had she already left?

Mutti smiled and patted the empty chair beside her. “It warms my heart to see you as a girl again, Liebling.” She turned to Mrs Gittings. “Thank you for the loan of the clothes. Colette and I must go shopping to fit her out properly.”

Mrs Gittings looked across at the men. “What do you think, Jack?”

Jack pondered that, looking at Mutti and me. “We need to be careful.”

How embarrassing. This voice belonged to the man I had kicked hard in the shins. Should I apologise?

“With the chaos we have caused in their network, Mrs Henderson is certain they don’t know you’re here and we need to keep it that way.” Jack paused again. “It’s probably best if Mrs Gittings takes the girl shopping. If anyone asks, she can be ... her niece staying with her.” His eyes flicked across to me. “Hmm ... she’s recovering from a serious illness, which would explain why she’s not in school.”

Mrs Gittings gave me a smile. “OK. We’ll go shopping after lunch, but we’ll need to find you some shoes.”

I could see Mutti’s disappointment at not being included in the shopping expedition.

Mrs Henderson had left, so I had lost my chance to revise my message to Willi. I hoped Willi would remember the warning Mr Watling gave us a month or two ago. We had been convinced the risk to Willi was over once he returned from the east Germany.

“I want a bath, too.” Mutti headed upstairs.

“Please, may I go for a wander in the garden?” I asked Mrs Gittings.

She looked across at Jack, who seemed in charge now that Mrs Henderson had left.

He looked at me. “Stay in the garden. The neighbouring houses can’t see through the trees.”

Here in northern England, spring was later than down south in Kent. On the far side of the lawn, I spotted a few fruit trees, with the last petals of blossom and fresh leaves emerging from buds.

As I walked past a rhododendron bush, a large ginger cat wandered out and rubbed against my legs. My experience with cats was limited to Lili’s Rupert, but this one was friendly: meowing, staring at me with his wide, welcoming eyes and waving his tail. I crouched down and stroked along his back; he responded by butting his head against my hand, his purrs vibrating from nose to tail. I wandered round the garden with the cat always close by. Sometimes he disappeared into the shrubs, but he wove around my legs most of the time, threatening to trip me. After one near upset, I picked him up. He relaxed in my arms, purring his approval.

“I wonder what you name is?”

His green eyes gazed up at me and gave a long blink. He kept purring, rubbing his head against my arm.

I found a kitchen garden set between it and a thick hedge of hazelnut trees marking the rear of the property. By now, the cat was getting heavy and I put him down as we strolled along the rear boundary and the side fence.

As I arrived at the lawn, Mutti appeared waving me in for lunch. The cat accompanied us inside, his tail waving in greeting.

“I see you’ve met Hawkins,” Mrs Gittings remarked as we walked into the kitchen, with the cat following in front, as Rupert did with Lili.

“Yes. He showed me all round the garden.”

“That’s Hawkins.” She glanced down at the cat. “He’s gregarious, but he gets under my feet here in the kitchen and I shut him out when I’m cooking.” She stooped and gave Hawkins a stroke before smiling at us. “Come along. Lunch is ready.”

Mrs Gittings and Mutti carried the chat around the table, with Jack and Charles remaining silent. They both seemed alert to anything beyond the kitchen.

Were they guards?

Once we’d cleaned up, Mrs Gittings hung up her apron and lead me upstairs to try on some shoes. We found a pair that fitted well enough.

Mutti pulled open her purse. “I have enough for a cheap outfit.” She held a bunch of notes out towards Mrs Gittings, who pushed the hand away with a smile.

“Mrs Henderson gave me money to cover your expenses. This is on the Firm.”

Mutti looked confused. “The firm?”

“Sorry – that’s how we refer to MI6. We don’t want to bandy that name around in public.”

Mutti looked embarrassed.

“You’re thinking this is charity?” Mrs Gittings asked.

Mutti frowned.

Mrs Gittings laughed, cutting her off. “The damage we’ve done to the Eastern Bloc intelligence network has already been huge. We’re not finished yet if I’ve read Mrs Henderson correctly – and it’s all down to you. You’ve both earned this.”

Mutti pursed her lips. “Okay.” She turned to me, a serious look on her face. “Be careful out there – you’re used to being a boy in public. Think about what you are doing.” Her face lit up with a smile. “But enjoy the shopping.” She looked over at Mrs Gittings. “Don’t let her go wild in the shops.”

Mrs Gittings smiled. “I’m sure we’ll manage.” She turned to me with a smile. “Come on. This is going to be fun. I loved shopping with my daughter.”

Jack drove us into the town centre and I spent an afternoon trying on and choosing outfits from the skin out under Mrs Gittings’ watchful but encouraging eye. The sales assistant became ever more attentive as the pile of clothing on the counter grew. Finally, Mrs Gittings insisted that I have one ‘posh’ outfit for special occasions. We wandered through the rows of hanging dresses and found a modern design in jagged white and red. Mrs Gittings insisted it looked marvellous, with my dark eyes and hair. We bought shoes for the various outfits. The ones to go with the white and red dress were white with a low heel. They felt awkward when I tried walking in them, but Mrs Gittings assured me I would soon get used to them.

As we were gathering everything up, I realised I didn’t have a swimming costume. “Is there somewhere in town I can go swimming?”

Mrs Gittings laughed. “Well, there’s the Kingsway baths – but Morecambe beach is an easy day trip by bus or car. We’ll have to go there for a picnic when the weather warms up. Come on, let’s find you a costume.”

I finally selected a dark blue one-piece suit. I wondered what I would look like in a bikini – and what Willi would think of it. That thought bringing a quick flash of goose bumps.

By the time we returned to the house, I was quite tired, but Mutti insisted on going through everything we’d bought before we had tea. I felt strange – almost fraudulent – looking over these female clothes. I had schooled myself to be a boy and now I was a girl again.

Mutti must have sensed something. “What is it, Col?”

I paused, a pair of knickers in my hands. “I don’t think I know how to be a girl anymore.”

Mutti took the knickers from my hands and put them in my undies draw. “What do you mean?”

“I was a still a child when we fled Leipzig and I became a boy.” I looked up at Mutti. “For two years, I was a teenager with Will, but that’s all ...” I stopped as I saw Mutti’s face cloud slightly and felt mine flush.

“Oh, Mutti, you know we didn’t break our promise.”

Mutti’s face morphed into a smile. “Did you have to prove you were a girl to Willi, like you did with Lili?”

I felt the heat in my face intensify. “Our promise came after that...”

Mutti’s smile widened. She now knew I had proved my sex to Willi. I didn’t think my blush could deepen, but it did and I turned away in embarrassment.

“Col, Liebling.” A gentle hand turned me round. Mutti guided me down to sit beside her on the bed, moving a jumper aside to make room. Her arm pulled me closer and we sat in silence for a minute of two.

“My experience of being a girl will not help you. All I knew at your age was surviving Ravensbrück ...” Mutti’s voice drifted to a stop. “But I can help you not make the mistake I made.”

That was a preview of Through different Eyes. To read the rest purchase the book.

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