The Fall and Rise of the Amir Sisters

Farah paused. ‘You know, your life in London as an artist has made you…’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Is Jay behaving himself here?’

Bubblee shrugged. ‘Mae’s the one to ask about that. I haven’t even seen him yet. Mum and Dad say he’s working hard and Mae hasn’t contradicted them, so maybe he is.’

‘That boy used to tell me everything,’ said Farah, staring into space.

‘But now you don’t want to know. I mean, he never did deserve being your favourite, and now he definitely doesn’t.’

‘No,’ replied Farah.

‘It’s really quite amazing that Mum and Dad never seem to mention how he messed up this family. Especially when Mum still hasn’t let go of the fact that I decided to move to London for uni and never came back. That was ten years ago.’

Farah gave a vague answer in response and went to leave the kitchen with the sandwiches laid out on plates when Bubblee asked: ‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’ said Farah, turning round.

‘What’s important to you?’

Bubblee’s look seemed to be challenging Farah to something, though she wasn’t sure what. The chatter from inside got louder as she heard Mae laugh.

‘Family, of course.’

Bubblee raised her eyebrows and for a moment Farah wanted to slam the kitchen door in Bubblee’s face. Because she didn’t want to admit that her words seemed hollow. That even though her answer was honest, there was something gaping in it. Instead, she tried to look resolute before turning around and walking out of the door.

The truth was that Bubblee had just wanted a reaction. She knew she gave everyone a hard time and that it somehow distanced herself from the family – shaped her as the black sheep – and yet she couldn’t help herself. She was, as one would say, her own worst enemy. Perhaps it wouldn’t have annoyed her as much if she didn’t want to be a part of what seemed to be everyone’s camaraderie. She listened to Mae’s cheer as Farah must’ve entered the living room and thought about the question her sister had asked her. What’s important to you? She used to think it was her art. She would spend every day trying to create something innovative and brilliant, and after so many years in London, after so many tried and failed starts, she realized the stark truth of it all: she was a hack. She put her hands to her eyes because the last thing she needed was to fall apart in her parents’ kitchen. Bubblee was no longer sure whether she was ashamed because she’d failed herself, or because she didn’t want to hear I told you so from her family. The two had somehow become inseparable and she wasn’t able to untangle them, or herself, it seemed. She thought of Fatti, the one who’d probably gone through the most in the past few years, only to come out on top, really. She shone. The one who used to cast shadows now cast light. Bubblee laughed at the ironies of life. The sheer inconsistencies that could make a person stumble from the shock of change.

‘Yo! Bubs. You gonna stay in here all day? Thought you feminist types hated the kitchen.’

Mae was chomping on a celery stick.

‘Just eat a samosa, you brat.’

Mae laughed. ‘No, thanks. I’d rather let my arteries breathe.’

‘Arteries don’t breathe,’ replied Bubblee.

‘Whatevs.’

Bubblee regarded her little sister. So slight and pretty, pixie-like – full of energy and life. She envied the way the future was laid out in front of Mae. There was no doubt she’d thrive. Things would fall into place for her because nothing seemed to bother her – there were no insecurities, no second-guessing. God, how depressing. Bubblee wanted to be Mae. She shook her head.

‘Are you, like, having a spasm?’ said Mae, scrunching up her face.

‘Shut up and take these samosas in.’

‘Sure thing.’

They were leaving the kitchen as Bubblee asked: ‘What’s wrong with our mum, by the way? She’s acting a bit weird.’

‘God knows.’ Mae gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘Ugh. Needs. What was that?’

It was odd, but then people were always going on about men’s needs. No one else’s seemed to matter. Bubblee scoffed. It was just typical. Bubblee noticed the colour had risen in Mae’s cheeks.

‘I hope university opens up your mind a little to feminism and sexuality.’

Mae looked at her, hesitating. ‘Bubs, can I ask… Have you…?’

‘What?’

‘Have you… had sex?’ whispered Mae.

‘That’s none of your business,’ said Bubblee, raising her head.

Mae stopped. ‘But you’re not married.’

Mae seemed to consider it, looking by turn amazed and bewildered. Living in a small village with her traditional parents had done nothing for Mae, but Bubblee couldn’t help her own heart from beating faster.

‘We’re not talking about what is, essentially, a person’s private matter,’ replied Bubblee. She walked past Mae, into the living room, adamant that she’d not let her flushed face prevent her from acting normally.

They’d all eaten, cleared the table and were sitting around, drinking tea and eating jalebis. After so much gabbing and noise that was brought about by too many people trying to fill their bellies, a quiet calm had descended upon them. Farah felt content as she watched Mustafa talk to Fatti. It wasn’t as if they had a new-found bond since discovering they were actually brother and sister, but there was a respect that they showed each other, which Farah felt comforted by. Their dad stood up, unexpectedly.

‘Okay, okay. Listen now.’

Everyone turned their heads towards him. He brushed down his brown trousers before patting his dyed jet-black hair.

‘Mae is leaving us.’

Farah noticed Mae look at Fatti.

‘I’m not dying, Abba,’ said Mae.

‘Tst tst, such things you say,’ said her mum. ‘You will give yourself the evil eye.’

‘Mae is leaving us,’ repeated their dad.

‘Yeah, rather unfairly since none of us were allowed to leave home for university,’ said Farah.

She’d have liked the chance to be alone and independent. Fatti never seemed to have the desire, but if Farah had known it was within the realms of possibility there’s no way she’d have passed up the opportunity. As for Bubblee, she didn’t care about whether the opportunity was there or not – she created it for herself, no matter how much their parents, especially their mum, had told her she couldn’t.

‘Can you let Dad speak?’ said Mae. ‘Finally it’s something about me rather than you lot. Go on, Abba.’

Mae settled into the sofa, curling her feet under her and holding on to her mug of hibiscus tea.

‘Mae, we hope you will be a good girl and come home every weekend.’

There was a pause.

‘Is that it?’ Mae asked.

Farah had to suppress a laugh. Their dad cleared his throat, seeming to struggle for words.

‘Uff, Jay’s abba. Hurry up,’ said their mum.

‘Study the media well,’ he added. ‘It is very bad and maybe you will fix it.’

‘God help us if Mae’s about to help to fix the world,’ retorted Bubblee.

Mae leapt off the sofa and gave her dad a hug. ‘Thanks, Abba.’

He held on to her and kissed the top of her head. Farah noticed Mae looking at Fatti again. Farah glanced at Fatti who was shaking her head.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Farah, her eyes darting between both of them.

‘What? Nothing,’ said Fatti.

Only now Ash was looking at her too. Fatti seemed to be suppressing a smile as her hand went to her stomach.

‘Well, the thing is…’

‘She’s only preggers, isn’t she?’ interjected Mae, beaming.

Their mum and dad seemed confused.

‘With a baby, Amma and Abba,’ explained Mae. ‘Up the duff – having a baby.’

Mae gestured a large curve around her stomach with her hands. Their parents looked at Fatti as Farah saw her mum’s eyes fill with tears.

‘Allah, you are great,’ exclaimed her mum.

Before Farah knew it everyone was standing up, hugging each other. Mustafa gripped Ash’s hand, a constrained smile on his face as Bubblee kissed Fatti on both cheeks.

‘How come she got to know before the rest of us?’ said Bubblee, pointing at Mae.

Mae put her arm around Bubblee and said: ‘A, I am a very approachable person, thank you very much, and B, I’m her favourite sister.’

Mae went and took her place back on the sofa.

‘I’m only three weeks,’ said Fatti. ‘I don’t even have any symptoms yet.’

‘We mustn’t tell anyone,’ their mum said. ‘Not until after three months or you might get the evil eye.’

Farah realized she hadn’t moved from her spot when Fatti looked at her. She got up as quickly as she could to hug her sister.

‘Congratulations, Fatti.’

Farah felt a lump in her throat. Something pushed up through her chest and caused tears to surface; she wanted to run out of the room and cry in the bathroom, on her own. She blinked them back before anyone could see but caught Mustafa’s eye.

‘It’s such good news,’ she added, releasing herself from Fatti’s grip and grabbing on to her arms.

‘Thanks, Faru.’

Fatti stared at her for too long. Farah saw the pity in her eyes so starkly that it didn’t matter how much she blinked back her tears, they still fell down her cheeks – no amount of smiling could hide them.

‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Fatti.

Farah just shook her head and tried to laugh. ‘What for? This is great news.’

Before Fatti could say anything else she was swept away by her mum who began to give instructions on how to be pregnant. There was something not quite right about their mum’s excitement in telling Fatti what to eat and what to do when she had never actually carried Fatti. Surely Farah’s parents’ first grandchild should’ve been hers – the daughter their mum held in her womb. Farah instantly regretted the thought. Fatti was their sister! Even if it was their mother’s sister who had given birth to her. It was amazing what an unfulfilled desire could do to a person; how the tendrils of jealousy and resentment could so easily dig into a person’s mind. Farah thought she was better than that. She was meant to be the contented and sensible one, after all: the glue that kept them all together. But somehow, with time, the role had been co-opted by Fatti and neither of them had even realized it.

‘I’d have bet good money that Fatti, of all people, would have been the first one of us to have a baby,’ laughed Farah.

It was meant to be a joke but everyone’s voices quietened as they looked at Farah. She realized the joke wasn’t actually funny, but had to maintain her smile. Fatti was staring at her, but with the same pity she’d shown earlier, and it made Farah want to shake her and say: You weren’t always this good and happy. Have you forgotten who you are?

‘We never thought she’d even find anyone to marry her,’ added Farah.

The words were right but the order was coming out all jumbled, or the intonation was wrong. Ash’s face was no longer open and kind – it seemed hard, daring Farah to continue.

‘Not like that. I mean, then she found you, Ash. And you took her off our hands.’

‘Far…’ Bubblee was looking at Farah. Her sister’s exhausted face seemed fully alert now.

‘What? I mean he did, didn’t he?’ Farah laughed again. ‘Remember Fats and her stuffing Primula cheese down her face? The mashed prawns and secret stashes of food in her bedside drawers? You know prawns aren’t allowed when you’re pregnant?’ She paused, the silence oppressing her. ‘Maybe Amma’s already told you that?’

‘I think you should stop.’ Ash was staring at Farah, his eyes intense, hands gripped together.

‘No,’ said Farah, trying to make them understand she wasn’t saying anything wrong – just pointing out the irony of it all. ‘We’re all happy she’s pregnant. A few years ago the only thing she had in her life was her hand modelling and now look… a husband with his own driving-school business – working with him like they’re a power couple, a whole new look as well.’ Farah’s smile was faltering; she could feel it strain under the pressure of appearances. ‘You all remember how Fatti was, don’t you? It’s against all the odds.’

‘Farah…’ began Mustafa.

‘I’m just –’

‘Stop,’ exclaimed Ash.

‘All right,’ said Mustafa, shooting a look at Ash. ‘There’s no need to use that tone.’

His voice rang out as clear as Ash’s. It was the most emphatic Farah had heard him.

‘Then she should stop.’ Ash was looking at Mustafa now too.

Before anyone could say anything else their mum clapped her hands together as if giving a round of applause. When she didn’t speak their dad said: ‘Who wants more tea?’

‘Jeez,’ muttered Mae.

‘I’ll have one,’ said Bubblee, still looking at Farah. ‘Ash?’

He was rubbing his palms, eyebrows knit together. ‘No, thank you. Perhaps it’s time for us to go.’

Farah’s stomach had turned into knots of anxiety as she looked at Fatti. Please don’t leave. I didn’t mean it like that. But the words – the ones she should actually be saying – failed to come out. She hoped her look said it all. Farah waited for Fatti to speak. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours.

‘No, we’ll stay,’ replied Fatti. ‘I’ll have one too. Peppermint.’

Fatti walked into the kitchen with Bubblee, leaving Farah behind in a room filled with silence.

Bubblee turned around and faced Fatti. ‘You know it’s because –’

‘I know,’ replied Fatti.

Fatti had been aware that it wasn’t going to be easy, not with Farah having wanted a child so badly, but she’d thought that perhaps Farah had now accepted it and let go of that want. Of course, you can’t let go of it because it’s not in your control. It holds on to you, not the other way around.

‘And she didn’t mean –’

‘Yes, she did,’ said Fatti.

Fatti turned her back to Bubblee, filling the kettle with water. The truth was that Fatti knew she’d never escape who she used to be, but at the same time she didn’t want to. It was fine with her that she used to be nervous and shy and never felt as though she belonged. It made the place she was in now all the more miraculous. What she didn’t like was the idea that her sister thought the old Fatti was still inside her somewhere. As if Fatti’s happiness, her whole persona, was a phase. Because she didn’t feel that different. It was more like being stripped of the negative stuff rather than it being buried. Fatti had peeled back the unwanted layers of who she was. And though she felt bad for Farah, surely Fatti deserved some sympathy for finding out her parents weren’t her biological ones, for going to meet them in Bangladesh, only to find out they didn’t regret giving her up one bit. But Fatti let go of that because she no longer wanted to be unhappy. Having Ash helped. It helped a great, great deal.

‘Okay,’ said Bubblee. ‘That wasn’t –’

‘Forget it.’ Fatti turned around and gave Bubblee a smile. ‘Let’s just forget the whole thing.’

Bubblee began warming some milk in a pan. ‘So, you and Ash are helping to overpopulate the earth then.’

Fatti saw Bubblee was smiling.

‘Yes. I’m sure you disagree.’

‘How does your stepson feel about it?’

‘You know, I think he’s actually excited,’ replied Fatti.

Bubblee looked incredulous. ‘Excited? Sounds a bit farfetched.’

‘Well, he didn’t stomp off to his room or tell Ash how much he hates him, so I’m going to take it as a positive sign.’

‘Gosh. I guess so,’ said Bubblee.

‘You’re going to be an aunt,’ said Fatti.

Bubblee’s smile met her eyes. She really was so beautiful, even if she wasn’t looking her freshest.

‘Will I have to babysit every time I come to visit?’

Fatti shook her head. ‘But I am going to make sure my child likes you the least.’

Bubblee looked so genuinely hurt that Fatti laughed and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

‘We weren’t made to be alone, Bubs,’ said Fatti. ‘Don’t try so hard to be different that you end up not getting what you actually need.’

Bubblee put teabags into the mugs. ‘Oh, right, what do I need then?’

Fatti considered her younger sister. There was so much there, if only she’d stop being so… well, Bubblee. As much as Fatti hated to admit it, who would put up with someone so difficult? Bubblee was lucky she was beautiful because Fatti supposed it’d make it easier for her to find a husband. Probably not Bengali, though. No, Bubblee would have to marry a non-brown person. Fatti would help her when it came to Mum and Dad. It would be good if she managed to find a nice Bengali boy, though. Someone who loved Bubblee for who she was. She’d never have said all this stuff out loud, of course – it made her sound positively backward – but she couldn’t help feeling it. Happiness comes from the people who love you, and who you manage to love back. It’s just the way it is.

‘Well, you’ll know when you find it.’

Just then, they heard Jay’s voice break the silence in the room as Mae told him that Fatti was pregnant. He appeared at the kitchen door, tall and slim, wearing a sweatshirt and trainers, hair flopping over his eyes.

‘Congratulations, Uncle Jay,’ said Fatti.

He smiled and hit Fatti on the arm before hugging her. ‘Better steal some of those kids’ toys I deliver then.’

‘This is the man Mum wants to subject some poor woman to?’ said Bubblee.

‘How’s…’ He cleared his throat. ‘How’s Farah taken it?’

Fatti just gave a simple smile.

‘Always asking the right questions, Jay,’ said Bubblee with barely hidden sarcasm.

‘And how long are you planning to stay?’ he asked her.

She looked away, turning the heat down on the hob. Fatti just about made out Bubblee shrugging before they were called into the living room by their mum. The three entered the room, puncturing the silence, as Bubblee wondered how long she could stay without her family asking her questions about where her life was going.

That night, as Farah got into bed she thought over the evening’s events. Why had she said those things? She turned over and looked at Mustafa, his back to her. He’d hardly said a word when they got into the car and she drove them home in silence. Since the accident Mustafa was no longer allowed to drive, in case he had a seizure – just another one of the many changes their life had undergone. She looked on the other side of her bed, at the empty space where a baby’s cot would easily fit. The light on her phone disturbed her as she checked it and saw the messages.

Fatti: Goodnight. Xxx

Mae: Nyt losers xxx

Bubblee: Goodnight. Mae, I can hear you on your laptop from here. Mum and Dad probably can’t get to sleep because of you.

Mae: Whatevs. Usin da old folks as an xcuse cos u hv ears lyk a bat.

Farah: Goodnight. I am happy for you, Fats. Xx

Fatti: I know xxxx

Farah is typing…

I’m dying a little inside. I want to be happy for you. But I’m too sad for me right now. I can’t find the light at the end of this tunnel.

Farah then deleted her message and turned around in bed, hoping for sleep.

Chapter Three

Farah was happy for Fatti. At least she would be just as soon as her own life caught up with her sister’s. She put her phone away and reached over for Mustafa.

‘Are you awake?’ she whispered, putting her arm around him.

There was a pause. ‘Hmm.’

Farah stroked his chest. She knew he liked the way she curled his hairs around her fingers. Farah used to like it too, until it became a bit arduous; another hurdle in the obstacle of impregnation.

‘Want to try and make a baby?’

He turned his head. ‘What?’

She attempted to give him her most seductive look.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You look like you might cry.’

She paused, biting back her surge of anger.

‘Cry?’ she carried on whispering. ‘Only if you make me.’

Her hand slid down his torso when he turned around towards her fully. ‘I’m not in the mood, babe.’

He brushed the hair away from her forehead and planted a kiss on her brow.

‘What about me?’ she asked.

She was no longer whispering, but she tried to keep the accusation out of her voice. He looked at her for a moment and gave a tight smile.

‘It’s been a bit of a night,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you exhausted? Let’s sleep.’

How was her slim chance of getting pregnant ever going to happen if her husband didn’t sleep with her? Mustafa turned his back again but she pulled him towards her. All it took was one time. This night had to be it. It felt fortuitous with Fatti’s pregnancy. If she could get happily married and start a family, then Farah could surely get pregnant and happy too. If only her husband would let her.

‘All the night’s made me want to do is…’

She put her hand between his legs, but he moved it gently away.

‘Come on, babe. I’m serious.’

One time. Just the once and they’d be done. Her family would stop looking at her with such pity, and words that didn’t seem to belong to her would stop spilling out of her mouth, causing other people pain.

‘So am I.’

She pulled his face towards her and kissed him. His mouth tasted minty and his beard bristled on her face. She had a memory of the way they used to kiss and it stirred something up inside her.

‘Farah,’ he mumbled.

‘Mhmm.’

‘Farah, stop.’ He pulled away, looking at her. ‘What’s got into you?’

Why was he being so difficult? After the way the night had gone, how could he not want to make it better by giving her just one chance?

‘Me?’ she said, sitting up. ‘I’m your wife. How are we ever going to get pregnant if we don’t have sex?’

He took a deep breath and sat up with her. ‘I didn’t know we were trying again.’

‘We should always be trying.’

‘Listen, I know this thing with Fatti must be hard for you right now, but I told you, I’m not in the mood.’

‘Oh, of course, your mood.’

He rubbed his forehead. ‘If this was the other way around you know that I’d never force you.’

She scoffed. ‘I didn’t realize sleeping with me was such a task.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

Farah tried to relax – tension didn’t help getting pregnant, that’s what numerous articles and bloggers said. It’s all about de-stressing as well as things like ovulation and science.

‘Well then?’ She put her hand on his face, stroking his beard.

He patted her hand and went to move it away, but she kept it there, forcing it to his face.

‘For God’s sake, Farah,’ he shouted.

He pushed her away and leapt out of bed. She leaned back, pulling the covers over her. Mustafa’s shadow seemed to her foreboding and foreign in that moment, and her heart began to thud.

‘Mustafa…’

‘What the hell are you playing at? What’s wrong with you?’

He said it with such a look of disgust it brought unexpected tears to her eyes. Everything is wrong with me. I’m a woman who can’t even have a baby. She knew she shouldn’t think like this because that’s not all a woman is, but she couldn’t help feeling it. She’d wanted a family of her own since she could remember. So many years had been spent trying and dreaming of what it would be like that she didn’t know how to want anything else. It’d be like teaching herself not to breathe.

‘Don’t make me feel bad, because you can’t conceive,’ he added.

Before she could even take in the words he’d spouted, he’d left the room, slamming the door behind him.

‘Oh, God,’ she whispered, putting her hands to her face and letting the stream of tears come out.

That night she sobbed herself into a dreamless sleep.

When Farah woke up the following morning her eyes felt sore and her vision was blurred. She reached out to Mustafa’s side of the bed and when she realized he wasn’t there the preceding night came back to her. She closed her eyes again and put her head under the cover, trying to block out the all-in-one shame of rejection and accusation.