The Fall and Rise of the Amir Sisters
‘So what are you going to do?’ said their mum.
‘Jay’s amma,’ her dad interrupted, putting out his hand as if to tell her to wait a moment.
‘You ask her then,’ she replied.
He cleared his throat, his voice much softer. ‘Bubblee – what are you going to do?’
There was a pause as Bubblee looked at her parents in pure hopelessness. What was she going to do?
‘Why don’t we have some dinner?’ said Farah. ‘Abba, Amma, let’s talk about this later, okay?’
In that moment Bubblee’s heart swelled with a gratitude for Farah that she couldn’t remember having felt for a while.
As Farah and her mum went into the kitchen she heard their muffled conversation, while her dad just kept giving her encouraging smiles.
‘I’m okay, Abba,’ said Bubblee.
‘Don’t worry, don’t worry.’
Her dad was very good at vague affirmations, at least.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Her mum made some allusions to weddings and decided to cite as many women as possible from their community who’d got married recently to ‘very good men’.
‘Jay’s abba, shall we go to bed?’ asked their mum after they’d cleaned up, had tea and settled in the living room again.
Their dad was watching the news, eyes glued to the television.
‘Hmm? Yes, I’m coming.’
‘Fancy watching a film, or are you going home?’ Bubblee asked Farah.
Farah hesitated. ‘Actually, I’ve just messaged Mus to say I might stay over here tonight.’
‘Farah, you shouldn’t leave your husband alone like this,’ said their mum.
‘No,’ added Bubblee. ‘Grown men never know how to look after themselves.’
‘Bubblee, when you are married you will see,’ said their mum.
Bubblee simply sighed and pretended to read something on her phone. It was actually the job vacancy at her gallery that she was looking at. At first it was a tab she opened every day. Now it remained open and she refreshed it every time she picked her phone up.
‘He’s fine,’ replied Farah. ‘He’s already in bed, anyway. I suppose he’s tired.’
‘Jay’s abba, do you hear that? Bed.’
He looked up for a second. ‘I will be up.’
Their mum paused, giving him not quite so pleasant a look, before leaving the room and walking up the stairs.
It was half an hour later when their mum’s voice came booming from upstairs, calling for their dad. He sighed, switched off the television and looked at Farah and Bubblee.
‘Goodnight, my girls.’
Before leaving the room, he turned around and said: ‘Farah, one night here is enough, yes?’
With a smile, he turned back and walked towards his waiting wife. Bubblee raised her eyebrows at Farah.
‘It just never stops annoying me,’ said Bubblee. ‘The backwardness of this place.’
Farah shrugged. ‘You can’t change people’s views when they get to that age.’
Bubblee paused. ‘But you were in the kitchen with Mum, trying to change her views on my getting married anyway, weren’t you?’
Farah stood up and adjusted the cushion from the sofa their dad had just vacated. She looked around the room for other things to fix.
‘Mum’s Mum,’ she replied before her eyes settled on Bubblee. ‘That’s a big decision you made. Leaving work.’
‘It made itself.’
Farah turned the sofa her dad had been sitting on away from the television and opposite Bubblee. ‘You didn’t tell me, any of us.’
‘In the grand scheme of things it’s not important, is it, Farah?’ Bubblee knew this could lead into another silent argument, leaving things unsaid while feelings brimmed.
‘You’re still angry about what I said that day, aren’t you?’
‘What do you think?’
Farah crossed her legs at the ankle, looking so composed Bubblee thought that no matter what happened, Farah would never fall apart.
‘Bubs, I didn’t have enough sympathy in me for both of us. I’m sorry.’
She looked earnest.
‘Yet I managed to have some for you,’ replied Bubblee.
Bubblee felt like a miser; an emotional Scrooge. Never had she really considered her lack of compassion, not until this moment when she was recounting how she had managed to give some to her sister who was unable to conceive a baby. Perhaps she was always too engrossed in her work and becoming an artist. The two shouldn’t be mutually exclusive but compassion also required the time to listen and she had very little of that when she was in London.
‘You know that feeling that you were made to do something?’ said Farah.
Bubblee raised her eyebrows.
‘Sorry, yes, you do. I feel as though my life’s somehow incomplete, that there’s this gaping hole that can only be filled with a baby.’
‘Are you sure it’s just the baby?’ said Bubblee. ‘I know you said you felt like this before the accident, but since then it just seems… like you’ve become obsessed in a way.’
Bubblee could see Farah retreat; an invisible barrier appeared. But she couldn’t stop now – she had to say it or what was the point?
‘In a way that feels… not wholly present.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Just that you’d never have let Mustafa go home alone like that before, or stay the night here.’
‘So? Why is everyone making such a big deal of this?’
Bubblee quietly sighed. ‘Okay, it doesn’t matter.’
Her own refrain surprised her.
‘I guess you think you also failed at creating something,’ said Farah.
‘Created plenty – just nothing worth anyone actually seeing,’ said Bubblee wryly.
‘You might find something else?’
‘Will you do the same if you can’t have a baby?’
They both fell silent and heard muffled voices come from their parents’ bedroom. Farah looked at Bubblee.
‘I always had this idea that I could give this baby a life that was different to ours.’
‘It was… is a bit challenging sometimes. They’re on another planet,’ replied Bubblee.
‘I know, bless them. I never really felt like I had much choice when I was growing up – and I’m not blaming you or anything at all, I wish I could’ve been as daring as you, but… it sort of felt like I couldn’t really think about what I wanted because I was always trying to be the good one, lessen the upset that…’
‘That I caused?’
Farah gave her an apologetic look. ‘I suppose there’s no other way to say it, but I promise there’s no resentment there. But maybe I want a baby for that reason too: to fulfil a part of life that never quite… you know.’
Bubblee did know. A baby could be like a second chance. She’d never thought about it that way – a baby always seemed to her an obstacle in the face of her own chances.
‘Hmm,’ she simply replied. ‘A second chance.’
The two sisters sat like that for a while, with Bubblee wondering about second chances and where, if anywhere, she was to find hers.
Mae: Im here losers! V weird nt hvin mum & dad to eavsdrop on bt its time 2 party!!!!
Fatti: Don’t go crazy, please. I already have one child making me ill xoxoxoxoxo
Farah: Are you sure you packed enough jumpers? What did you have for dinner? We miss you Xx
Bubblee: Actually we’re enjoying the quiet. Be good. But not too good Xxx
Chapter Five
Farah had already had the scan and it was time for the results. She walked into the doctor’s surgery, heart practically in her throat as she was called into his room. He swivelled in his chair and as soon as she saw his face she knew.
‘I’m afraid there’s been no improvement, and actually it’s got worse.’
There was a way to deliver the news. Farah hadn’t realized how much hope she had of the result being different until that hope was crushed. Not only that, but the situation had got worse.
‘Now, are you very stressed?’
What a question! Of course she was stressed. She couldn’t have a baby.
‘No more than usual,’ she mumbled.
What was she going to do? How was life ever going to work out? It all felt too helpless, too hopeless.
‘And have you and your husband had sex since our last appointment?’
She felt her face flush. ‘We’ve been busy.’
He tapped his pen on the table. ‘Well, the chances of conceiving are very slim, but they’re nil if you don’t have sex.’
Farah wanted to cry. It was ridiculous. She knew this, Mustafa knew this, even her mum had told her this, and yet he just didn’t ever seem to be in the mood.
‘Have you given counselling some thought?’
‘Sorry? No. Maybe.’
‘Now surrogacy is still an option. It can be very successful if done through the right channels. Here are a few websites you should look at to help get your head around how it works and what it’d involve.’
‘I’ve already said we can’t afford it.’
‘I understand, and that’s something you’d need to work on, but the chances of actually getting a baby at the end of it are higher than with IVF.’
Farah drank in the word chance. Had she been too quick to dismiss the idea? She could always get two jobs to help save money, and her parents might be able to help them. It was just the idea of not actually carrying the baby that made her stop short.
‘It would be your baby, with your genes,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘I know the concept isn’t very easy to grasp, but it’s a scientific feat and worth exploring, in my opinion.
I’ve given you the websites, so think about it and speak to your husband, of course.’
Farah’s mind buzzed. It would be their baby. But she wouldn’t carry it. Mae would call her crazy, but Farah couldn’t help but look at Fatti and envy her the sickness she was going through. Well, perhaps not to the same extent, but she wanted to know the feeling of growing something inside her and that connection that comes because of it. Farah picked up her phone and dialled Fatti’s number.
‘Hello?’ came her muffled voice.
‘Are you in bed?’
There was a pause. ‘That obvious? What’s going on?’
Farah wondered why she’d even called Fatti – to ask her what it feels like to have a baby inside her and whether that was reason enough to reject the idea of surrogacy? Then she heard sniffling.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.’ But Fatti’s voice sounded nasal and thick.
‘Do you have a cold?’
A few moments passed before she replied: ‘No.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine, I’m sorry, I’m just…’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Farah, getting ready to jump in her car and see her sister. She’d taken a late doctor’s appointment and had finished work for the day.
‘No, it’s fine, really.’ Fatti seemed to be gathering herself before she cried out: ‘I can’t say this to you.’
‘Say what to me?’
Farah thought she heard Fatti sob. She waited, confused and unsure of what to do or say.
‘It’s just so… so…’ Hiccup. ‘So awful.’
‘What is?’ exclaimed Farah.
The sobs began again.
‘The baby,’ Fatti cried. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this to you of all people. I know. I’m the one who’s awful.’
Fatti paused, perhaps waiting for Farah to say something, but she had no words. Certainly no sympathy.
‘It’s just that I’m always feeling sick. I wake up all through the night. The other day I didn’t even make it to the bathroom and threw up on Ash’s slippers.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I’m grateful, really. Honestly, I am. You don’t need to hear this.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ replied Farah. ‘Listen, I should go. I’m actually driving.’
Farah got into her car and started the engine.
‘Okay, of course. Hang on, why did you call?’ asked Fatti.
‘Oh, nothing. Just wanted to see what you were up to.’
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come out with all of that. Not when yo–’
‘I really should get off the phone,’ interrupted Farah.
‘Okay, I’ll speak to you later, then?’
‘Yeah, fine. Bye.’
Farah put the phone down and rested her head on the steering wheel of the car. A sense of panic rose in her chest – she had to wind down the window for some fresh air as she switched the engine off.
‘Pull yourself together,’ she said to herself. ‘Just pull your self together.’
It was so much easier said than done.
It would be your baby, with your genes.
The doctor was right, of course. Pregnancy was the beginning but it wasn’t the end. Holding a baby in your arms, tending to it, watching it grow, its features morphing in and out of recognition. The way it would reflect some of her, some of Mustafa and something new altogether was all still possible. This time when she switched the engine on again there was an urgency. She sped down the street all the way home to tell her husband. They would have a baby. It would be theirs. It’s just that someone else would carry it.
When she walked into the house Mustafa was fixing the light bulb in a lamp.
‘Oh,’ she said, watching him with his tools sprawled all around him. ‘You’re home.’
‘Finished the day early so I came home and started this. I’ve fixed the bathroom tap too,’ he said. ‘It was driving me crazy. Do you know where my screwdriver with the green handle is?’ He was looking around for it.
‘No,’ she replied.
‘Oh, here it is,’ he said, bringing it up and looking at it. ‘It was right there. I must be going blind.’
He laughed at his own observation. She wondered how the things that had needed fixing around the house for the past three months were only just occurring to Mustafa. He looked up at her with such child-like satisfaction she decided not to point this out to him. Plus, she needed him on side, and his mood hadn’t been this positive for a while. When she looked into the kitchen she saw that all the dishes and plates had been taken out of the cupboard.
‘What’s going on there?’ she asked.
‘Hmm?’ Mustafa glanced into the kitchen before returning to his light bulb. ‘Hinges on the cupboards were loose.’
Farah wondered whether there were any other hinges loose as she stared at her husband. But she must stop all this negativity and appreciate that today was the day he felt like being productive.
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