Edith went into the bedroom to undress and stood in her camisole while Flora transformed her into a creature of unearthly beauty. The women stopped what they were doing and moved close to each other to look at Edith. She was slight, almost fragile. They watched, mesmerised, while Flora pinned and tucked the calico, altering the shape to fit.

‘Is this what grand ladies in town wear?’ asked Lena.

‘Yes,’ said Flora. ‘And even not so grand ones.’

‘Do they have curses on their heads?’ asked Vanda, looking at her sister.

‘Not that I’m aware of,’ said Flora.

A silence fell over the group and Edith could almost hear their thoughts.

If I lived in the town that’s what I would wear.

What would my daughter look like if she wore such dresses?

This will be the end of our world.

By late afternoon the parlour had been made ready and the candles lit. Edith went into her bedroom, closed the door and opened her hope box. Every girl in the village had one. When she was five, her father had made hers and her grandmother had painted it with figures from a circus. She remembered them arguing over it, her father insisting it should have been painted in a traditional pattern not decorated with a load of vagabonds.

‘Who are they?’ Edith had asked.

‘Clowns and acrobats from Zamfir’s Circus.’

‘What’s a circus?’

Her grandmother had told her about the summers before Edith was born when she would travel with the circus, telling her stories.

To Edith, the hope box was magical. She dreamed of this mythical world and was sad to find the box was only for her wedding trousseau.

Now she took out the petticoats, the hand-embroidered skirt, the blouse and the bodice that she would wear for the betrothal supper. Once, when there was hope in her stitches, she thought she would marry a man she loved. Now she dressed knowing it was for nothing. Only the painted circus figures held a memory of when the world was full of possibilities, a hopeful place.

Lena knocked on the bedroom door and asked if she could help.

Edith’s hair was tumbled down her back and Lena said, ‘You always had such beautiful hair. I remember, I was so envious – no, I still am envious – of how thick it is. Your grandmother would call it Rapunzel’s hair. I want to thank you for listening. I hope tonight that there might be a chance for me to talk to Misha.’ She wound the two plaits round Edith’s head and threaded evergreen and winter roses through them. ‘There. You look beautiful.’

‘Where’s my wife?’

Lena jumped when she heard her husband’s voice. ‘I have to go – the guests have started to arrive.’

Edith closed her eyes.

Be with me, my love. Stay close beside me for this should have been our betrothal supper.

Look for him to the right,