Crowns and Codebreakers Read Free Page A

was short and grey. Minnie noticed a thick black wig on a plastic head on the window sill. Gran noticed her looking and laughed. ‘I get to change my hair every day if I like!’
    ‘Mum’s got some pink wigs in the salon. You could have one of those.’
    ‘Or a Mohican, like a London punk!’ Gran laughed. ‘I think I would like that. Or maybe a head of hair beaded red and orange and bronze, like the crown of a king!’
    Minnie pulled back her duvet and settled against the crisp white pillowcase. ‘Are crowns made of beads?’ she asked. ‘I thought they were gold.’
    ‘Not always. The queen here might have gold and jewels, but Yoruba kings have mighty headdresses fashioned from intricate beadwork. They are beautiful, but a little scary too. They have eyes that watch you, the gaze of the ancestors.’
    ‘The kings of Ife?’
    ‘Exactly,’ Gran said firmly. She lifted her book again.
    ‘Good book?’ Minnie asked.
    ‘ The good book,’ Gran corrected. ‘The New Testament.’
    Oh.
    ‘It tells us to be strong when we face the world,’ Gran said. ‘Though I also like to remember the old story that we were made from dirt in a snail’s shell, so I don’t feel too bad if I don’t manage to be brave all the time.’
    Minnie snuggled under her own duvet. The sound of Gran turning the thin pages was like a gentle whisper, lulling her to sleep.

    Breakfast on Sunday morning was weirdly, horribly early. Minnie usually liked to lounge about in her pyjamas, watching cartoons for a bit, even though she was too old for that sort of thing really. But, at half past eight, cereal was on the table. When Minnie asked why, Mum hissed that they were going to church. She also hissed that if Minnie could manage not to mention to Gran that this wasn’t a regular event, then Mum would be very grateful.
    ‘Grateful enough to let me have my ears pierced?’ Minnie asked hopefully.
    ‘No. Go and get ready. Wear a dress.’
    ‘Can Andrew and Piotr come?’
    Mum sighed. ‘Fine. Ask them. But even if they say no, you’re coming anyway.’
    Thankfully, Piotr and Andrew did want to come along. They agreed to be at the salon below the flat in thirty minutes, wearing their best clothes.
    Back in her room, Minnie clawed a hand into her wardrobe and, like a bear hunting salmon, fished out a slippery pink affair. She glared at the satin dress with its lace collar and puffy sleeves, and sighed.
    She pulled off her pyjamas and jammed her arms into the sleeves. It was like being gripped by a frilly vice. ‘It doesn’t fit!’ she shouted.
    There was no reply from Mum in the kitchen.
    ‘I’m stuck!’ She wriggled and just managed to jam her head in the neck. She was pinned, forced into submission by pink froth. Her arms were stuck right up as though she were a bystander at a bank robbery.
    ‘I’m stuck!’ she yelled again.
    ‘Minnie!’ Mum’s voice was closer now, in the room.
    Minnie felt Mum’s hands on the material, tugging up, then down, then up again.
    ‘You might have to cut me out,’ Minnie said hope- fully.
    ‘No way. There are at least two good wears in this dress still. Breathe in.’
    Minnie took a deep lungful of air and tried to pretendshe didn’t have ribs. Mum yanked and tugged and hoicked, and finally the dress was on.
    ‘I won’t be able to sit down in church, you know,’ Minnie said.
    ‘Then you’ll just have to lean against the pew,’ Mum said. ‘Let’s go.’
    Gran had obviously been ready for ages. This time with a hat on her head instead of a wrap. She stood impatiently at the door, while everyone else got shoes and coats and bags.
    Piotr and Andrew were already outside the salon, Andrew in what looked a lot like his school uniform; Piotr had managed to find a dark shirt. They both stared at her dress in horror, as though she was wearing slices of meat instead of satin.
    ‘Yes, all right,’ she said. ‘I can wear a dress some- times.’
    They weren’t the only ones to stare.
    There was a bench