The Girls from See Saw Lane by Sandy Taylor

pillow.’
    Don’t move? She had to be joking. I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I sprang out of the covers and hid behind Rita as best I could. It was hard to get a good look at the spider on account of the rollers she puts in her hair every night. I don’t know how she ever manages to sleep. 
    â€˜I think it’s dead,’ she said.
    I peered round her elbow.
    Judging by the squashed mess on my pillow that spider must have been crawling round arachnid heaven a good couple of swipes ago.
    â€˜I hate spiders,’ said Rita, shuddering inside her baby-doll nightie.
    â€˜So do I,’ I said. ‘But that’s my eyelash you just murdered.’
    Rita turned round to look at me with exasperation. She dropped the shoe onto the floor. It was one of her best stilettos, she must have been pretty scared of the spider to use that.
    â€˜You’re such an idiot,’ she said.
    â€˜Why am I an idiot?’
    â€˜Because you’re supposed to take them off before you go to bed.’
    â€˜I couldn’t take them off could I?’ I said. ‘They were stuck to my eyelashes.’
    â€˜And stop winking at me!’
    â€˜I’m not! I can’t seem to open my left eye.’
    â€˜Oh you stupid girl! What have you done?’
    She turned away from me and drew back our bedroom curtains. Daylight came flooding in, highlighting my tidy half of the room and Rita’s messy one.
    She came and looked at my eye again. ‘I think it’s infected or something. It looks awful.’
    Rita picked up the clothes she’d dropped on the floor the previous evening and shook them out.
    â€˜Go and show Mum what you’ve done to your eye,’ she said. ‘You probably need ointment or something,’ and she flounced out of the door and slammed it behind her. I heard her arrive at the bathroom door at exactly the same time as Dad and there was a bit of a scuffle before he gave in and left Rita to it. It was usually the best tactic when she was in one of her moods. Heaven help poor Nigel, I thought, but at least she wouldn’t be my problem for much longer.
    I sat down at the dressing table and leaned forward to peer at myself in the mirror. I looked like Dracula’s sister; my left eye was all red and swollen with half a squashed eyelash hanging precariously onto the bottom lid; by comparison, the other eye seemed pale and bald, like a little naked kitten. I tried opening the shut eye with my fingers, but it was too sore. The only good thing about the scenario was that it was Sunday and I didn’t have to see anyone or be anywhere.
    I picked at the remaining lash for ages, until I heard Mum calling from downstairs, and from the tone of her voice it was obvious that Rita had come out of the bathroom and gone down to share the news with her.
    â€˜Dottie,’ she shouted, ‘come down here and show me what you’ve done.’
    I sighed and put on my dressing gown and went downstairs. Clark was sitting at the kitchen table eating cornflakes; he winked at me.
    â€˜Very funny,’ I said, but it’s hard to be withering with one eye swollen up like a golf ball.
    â€˜Look at the state of you!’ said Mum. ‘You’d better sit down.’
    She dipped some cotton wool into a saucer of warm water and started dabbing at my eye.
    â€˜Is that better?’ she asked.
    I tried opening it again but it still wouldn’t budge.
    â€˜Not really,’ I said. By now I was beginning to feel a bit panicky.
    Just then, Aunty Brenda came through the back door without knocking, which was typical. Once she saw my predicament it would be all over the estate. I’d never get to live it down.
    â€˜Just thought I’d pop in with some dress patterns,’ she breezed, plonking her bag on the table, causing some of the water to slop out of the saucer. She lifted the tea cosy and felt the pot with the back of her hand and had poured herself a cup