The plaits are wound round my head to make a little crown. Greet sometimes did it this way on special days or when we went to the place where they put all the flowers on the ground. ‘Somebody did a good job. Not your father, surely?’ ‘Johanna.’ I move out of the way so big fat Ursel can push the carpet sweeper under the table to look for crumbs. ‘Oh. And when did she do it?’ ‘Before breakfast. I don’t like my hair like this. The hairgrips stick in me. It’s too heavy. My neck aches.’ ‘One must suffer for beauty,’ says the witch, tapping me with her wand. ‘Tell me, did Johanna have breakfast with you?’ ‘She only has coffee in the morning.’ The witch and Ursel exchange glances. ‘I see. And –’ The witch starts to ask something else, but seems to change her mind and tells Ursel what she wants for lunch instead. When we’re by ourselves, she says: ‘Well, Krysta, you look like a little princess today so mind you behave like one.’ ‘My great-grandmamma was a real princess.’ ‘Yes, yes.’ ‘She was.
