Free The Spider King's Daughter by Chibundu Onuzo

and there was no clutter.
    * * *
    Sitting on a chair in his living room was a woman in a pale pink dressing gown. Her eyes wandered to us and then wandered away, alighting on the all-purpose wooden table, the dwarf stove in the corner, the damp patches on the ceiling that looked like piss on white linen, before coming to rest on my face again.
       
     
    ‘Mummy, good afternoon. This is my friend Abikẹ.’
    She sat engrossed in the wall as if there were images running across it. It reminded me of my mother in the Den.
    ‘Good afternoon.’
    ‘Good afternoon.’
    She looked like she wanted to say more but he pulled me away.
    ‘Let’s go and get the jeans.’
    He led me to a door. When he opened it, his body blocked the entrance.
       
     
    ‘What is this?’
    The voice that answered his question was female. What was a girl doing in his room at this time?
    ‘Why are you wearing—?’
    I leant to the side and tried to see into the room.
    ‘Stop!’
    ‘I said stop!’
    Pushing past him, I walked into the room. At once, everything became clear.
    ‘Hi, my name is Abikẹ. What’s yours?’
    ‘Jọkẹ.’
    From her face, that was a softer version of my hawker’s, it was obvious she was his sister.
    ‘And you?’
    ‘Funmi.’
    Under the thick powder, she might have been pretty.
    ‘Pick the jeans so we can go. Jọkẹ, wipe that stuff off your face. I’ll talk to you when I get back.’
    He put a stack of trousers on the bed and left.
       
     
    ‘I don’t care what he says. I’m old enough.’
    ‘He’s your older brother,’ the friend said.
    ‘Funmi, please just continue. I don’t want the eyeliner too thick.’
    They spoke in low voices as if afraid I would run and tattle. I looked around the room. It was as bare as a temporary residence. There were no pictures, two lonely canisters of deodorant stood on the dressing table and a mirror reflected the blank walls. The only things of note were three checked bags shoved against a wall. I wondered what I would find if I opened one.
    ‘You have to obey him,’ the friend said, speaking louder when she saw I was ignoring them.
    ‘Is he my father?’
    ‘You still have to respect him.’
    ‘I don’t have to do anything!’
    Her friend burst into a cackle. ‘You rich people’s children. Always so spoilt.’
    I kept holding up a faded pair of blue jeans but I was listening now.
    ‘Whatever. I’ve told you to stop talking about that.’
    Like brother like sister.
       
     
    ‘So how old are you guys?’
    They turned, surprised to hear that I could speak.
    ‘Fifteen.’
    ‘Fourteen,’ his sister said.
    ‘That’s old enough.’
    ‘Exactly!’
       
     
    When I poured the contents of my make-up bag on the bed, they moved closer but they didn’t touch.
    ‘Which eyeliner do you want? This one?’
    I reached for an old pencil that I rarely used.
    ‘Please can I have the Chanel?’
    She pointed at a black and gold tube whose logo was facing down.
    ‘How does a fourteen-year-old know about Chanel liquid eyeliner?’
    I dabbed some on her upper eyelid.
    ‘My mum used to wear it before.’
    ‘Why only before?’
    I dabbed some at the corners.
    ‘Because she doesn’t wear make-up any more.’
    ‘How come?’
    ‘She just doesn’t.’
    Like brother like sister.
    * * *
    ‘Which lip gloss?’
    She pointed.
    ‘Which eye shadow?’
    She pointed.
    ‘Which mascara?’
       
     
    When I was done, my most expensive make-up was on her face. There was little one could add to her. She was almost a Cynthia.
    ‘Thank you so much.’
    Her smile was identical to my hawker’s.
    ‘Please borrow me your eye pencil. It’s better than my own.’
    I looked at the friend.
    ‘What you’re wearing is fine.’
    ‘I know but my boyfriend likes it much than this and I’m going to his house now.’
       
     
    As she dragged my pencil over the edges of her yellowing eyes, I wondered how I could use it again.
    ‘You can keep it,’ I said, once she was