Luxembourg. We drove in — this was the next day, of course — and we drove out, and as we approached the German border at Trier we found the traffic queueing.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

‘Don’t know,’ Mrs Rundle replied, but Tony had the answer.

‘They’re checking passports! Trust the Germans to be so bureaucratic.’

‘Oh, they are that!’ I said, as we slowed to a halt.

They were being quite efficient, as it happens, and it didn’t take long before we reached the barrier. Tony handed the passports over, and the officer gave them a cursory glance. And then he stopped.

‘Who is this?’ he asked, waving Sam’s passport at us.

‘Er, me,’ said Sam, looking rather worried.

‘Come!’

Sam went, looking even more worried, and we had to park out of the way of the traffic.

‘Where are they taking him?’ asked Abby.

‘Into the office,’ Tony replied.

‘Why are they taking so long?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Can’t we go as well? Sam doesn’t know much German. It might help.’

‘They told us to wait,’ said Tony, ’so it’s probably better if we don’t cause a fuss.’

‘Why Sam?’ Liz asked.

‘Serbian passport,’ Karen told her. ‘All the rest of us have British passports, and they’re used to those, but Sam’s is different. I suppose they have to check it out.’

‘It will be all right, won’t it?’ queried Abby. ‘What will we do if they don’t let him in?’