The Hopes and Triumphs of the Amir Sisters

She came and sat down on the sofa opposite Bubblee, put her head back and closed her eyes. Bubblee was on her phone and swiped right. It was a match. Bubblee had heard plenty of dating disaster stories – she’d even seen some of the romcoms that Farah liked to watch in the evenings when Bubblee was in and out, working. The idea of dating, and men in general, had always filled Bubblee with a powerful sense of contempt. Watching her twin sister get married and set up a house with a man who was – she was sorry to speak ill of the dead – not Farah’s equal, even made her marginally disdainful of her own sex. It had all seemed so mundane to her when she was at university, then later, when she was honing her artistic craft, it didn’t get any less dull. The idea of someone being a part of her daily life, watching her, interfering with their unsought opinions, made her angry enough to not want to even give it a chance. Men, in her experience, hampered things. And women, she witnessed with increasing annoyance, more often than not allowed it. Bubblee would never be one of those women, and the only way she was sure not to become like that was to not date at all. Then along came Zoya. Little, monkey-faced, chubby, cranky, saliva-spouting, inquisitive-looking Zoya. What had begun as a favour for her sister – and considering Bubblee was a virgin, the favour wasn’t to be taken lightly – had become a new life for Bubblee. She realised that life could take twists and turns and that some of the things you couldn’t control could still work out pretty well.

When Bubblee pushed their baby out into this world she didn’t realise she’d also pushed out a part of her cynicism and a whole load of reluctance. She had doubted her decision to carry her sister and brother-in-law’s baby, and that doubt had turned into her biggest source of happiness. So, Bubblee rethought her whole approach to life. It just so turned out that dating was actually fun. Yes, it was pretty problematic as a social construct given that women often seemed to be the ones who had to wait for men to make the first move, but it was what you made of it that mattered. And Bubblee never did wait for the men. She’d drop them a message as quick as she’d drop them when they were rude or obnoxious. As she tapped a new message to her latest match, she wondered at the irony of the fact that it took having a baby to be bothered with a man.

‘What are you smiling at?’ asked Farah.

‘This guy – listen: “biggest turn-ons: a woman who stays in shape and knows what cryptocurrency is.” What a loser.’

She hadn’t looked up at Farah, but if she had she’d have seen her swallow hard with a mild look of panic on her face.

‘Do men think we’re meant to find that attractive? “Oh, yes, please. Thanks for appreciating my body and my intellect.” Get a lobotomy, please.’

When Farah didn’t answer Bubblee looked up at her. ‘Not the way it was in your day.’

Farah managed a forced smile.

‘You should give this a shot at some point,’ added Bubblee. ‘If you feel up to it.’

‘No. I’ll leave that to you.’ With that Farah got up and stretched her back. ‘I’m so tired. I’m going to bed.’

Bubblee looked back at her phone. ‘Night.’

With which Farah left and went to bed.

Farah was tired. She did want to sleep. She had checked up on Zoya before getting into bed, made sure the baby monitor was on, checked the house temperature was between eighteen and twenty degrees and closed her eyes. Half an hour later she still hadn’t heard Bubblee come up the stairs and go to her room. It was ten o’clock so she guessed it was too early for her. Nowadays Farah was ready to go to bed by seven o’clock if she could but there were always chores waiting, days to map out, online grocery shopping to do. Even when Zoya had gone to sleep there was no guarantee that Farah could do all these things uninterrupted, and often she’d spend up to an hour trying to put the baby back to sleep, especially when she woke up in the evenings. It was, of course, part and parcel of motherhood. Sometimes Farah looked at her baby’s face and was so overwhelmed with love for her it brought tears to her eyes. Fresh anxieties would occur to her as well: what if the blanket suffocated her at night? Is that red mark just a rash or something more sinister? Why is her poop coming out so dark today? Farah would be writing an email to Mamas & Papas about their out-of-stock fleece onesie and she’d have to rush up to make sure Zoya was still breathing. Her mind, she found, was not her own any more. Now, lying in bed, Farah missed her husband. She wished he could’ve seen the way their baby snatched at her toy giraffe, how she settled on Farah’s chest and went to sleep; she wished he could smell the top of Zoya’s head. But the idea of dating! What was Bubblee thinking? Why would Farah want a man to come into her life and disrupt her already frantic days? It was the last thing Farah needed, and certainly the last thing she wanted.

Except that she couldn’t help but be surprised that Bubblee did seem to want it. When she had first mentioned it to Farah, Farah had looked at Bubblee as if she wasn’t her sister at all. She had written it off as a glitch and pushed down any worry that Bubblee might actually be serious, because Farah had other things to worry about, like Zoya’s new baby formula. But now the worry was back. And it had no right to be. Farah took a deep breath and told herself that she should not overthink things, that life had a way of working itself out. She reminded herself of her baby, sleeping in the next room, and a wave of gratitude came over her. It was with thoughts of her itinerary the following day that Farah drifted into sleep, only to be woken up by crying at one in the morning. She put her hand out for the baby monitor and tumbled out of bed, managing to drag herself into Zoya’s room. Without putting the light on, and being careful to stay out of Zoya’s view, she patted her baby’s chest lightly. Zoya continued to cry for a good ten minutes before she began to settle as Farah managed to open her eyes. It was when Zoya had drifted back to sleep that Farah realised Bubblee hadn’t got up, even though Zoya had clearly been crying for a while. Farah crept out of the room and quietly opened the door to Bubblee’s room only to see that she was fast asleep, sleeping mask on and, it seemed, ear plugs in. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night and Farah was exhausted, she found she still had the capacity to be annoyed. She would’ve slammed the door behind her if it wouldn’t wake the baby again. Instead she switched on the light.

‘Huh, what? who?’

Bubblee sat up and patted the bed with her hands before taking off her mask, only to have to shield her eyes from the glare of the light.

‘What? Are you okay? Is it Zoya?’

Bubblee sprang out of bed to rush to the baby’s side except that Farah hadn’t moved.

‘It was Zoya, she’s probably been crying for ages, did you even hear?’

‘Oh.’ Bubblee blinked hard and rubbed her face. ‘She okay?’

‘Obviously,’ replied Farah.

Bubblee flopped back into bed and was putting her mask back on when Farah said: ‘Is that it?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Do you even have your monitor on?’

‘What? Yeah, no. Why?’

‘No?’ asked Farah.

‘No.’

‘So it’s always up to me to get up when she cries?’

‘Huh? We don’t live in a mansion. It’s not like she’s in the East Wing,’ replied Bubblee.

‘Nice ear plugs.’

‘I went to sleep late.’

‘So?’ Farah resisted the urge to ask whether it was because she was working or swiping through whatever latest app she was using to find dates.

‘So, I have to be up at six to drive to Addersfield for a nine o’clock meeting with a potential donor for the next project.’

‘And I’ll be up at six to feed the baby and start my day.’

‘You went to bed at ten,’ replied Bubblee.

‘Because I was exhausted.’

‘So was I, and now I’m even more tired thanks to you disturbing me.’

Rage bubbled inside Farah. Disturbing her? What about Farah being disturbed? Bubblee had only got up twice at night during the whole week, and that was because it was the weekend.

‘I can’t believe you,’ said Farah.

She was too angry to even stay in the room. Instead she walked out, this time without thinking, slamming the door behind her. Right on cue Zoya began to cry.

‘You can see to her this time,’ she shouted out to Bubblee.

The following morning both were indeed up at six in the morning and both refused to speak to one another. Bubblee greeted Zoya with a kiss and cuddle, Farah asked the baby how she was, pointing to the day outside, describing the weather, speaking, in Bubblee’s view, so much that she was sure Zoya would tell Farah to shut up if she could talk.

‘There’s a cloud,’ Farah said. ‘There are lots of those today, aren’t there? Is it going to rain? Rain is wet, isn’t it? Like the water when you take your bath. Shall we take a long bath today? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Right, Monkey,’ said Bubblee to the baby. ‘I’m off. Behave.’

Bubblee kissed Zoya on the head and headed out of the door. Farah had waited for Bubblee to turn around and say something. Anything. Just a goodbye to show that she felt bad for the way she spoke to Farah last night, but she didn’t.

‘I just can’t believe her,’ she said into the phone to Fatti as she put some more porridge into Zoya’s mouth.

‘You don’t want her falling asleep at the wheel,’ said Fatti.

‘What if I fell asleep while feeding Zoya and she, I don’t know, fell off the sofa.’

‘You put her in a chair.’

‘That’s not the point,’ replied Farah.

Fatti sighed. ‘Ash doesn’t always wake up with me.’

‘No, but you take it in turns, at least.’

Farah knew Fatti didn’t have anything else to defend Bubblee with or she’d have said.

‘Ever wish we were young like Mae, swanning off to uni and living a life of no responsibilities?’ said Farah.

Fatti paused. ‘Not really.’

Farah smiled, wiping porridge from Zoya’s face. ‘No. Me neither.’

‘Would be nice to have a break now and again though. Not that I’m complaining,’ added Fatti. ‘But I just found out that Ash’s children are going to be staying with us all summer.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Farah.

‘You know his ex is getting remarried? Well, she and her husband want to go on honeymoon and so we’re going to have the children the whole time.’

‘Oh God.’

‘It’s fine. They are his kids,’ said Fatti.

‘Yeah, but his son …’

There was a long pause.

‘He’s a little older now,’ said Fatti.

‘What? Fifteen, right? Still holding a grudge against the world?’

‘And me.’

‘Oh, and his daughter. She’s a real piece of work.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Fatti. ‘It’ll be nice even. Maybe. I’ll get to know them properly.’

‘Fatti, your eternal optimism is a lesson to us all,’ said Farah.

‘So, are you going to call and say sorry to Bubblee?’

‘Ha. No. But if she calls to say sorry to me, I’ll accept it.’

Except Bubblee didn’t call. Not only did she not call, but she sent a message to say she’d be home late. At first, Farah read the message in disbelief. No apology, not even a reason as to why she’d be out. That evening, Farah decided she wouldn’t go to bed until Bubblee came home. Unfortunately, Farah’s mood wasn’t helped by the fact that her sister walked in at midnight.

‘Oh. You’re up,’ said Bubblee.

‘Where were you?’

Bubblee sighed. ‘I had a date.’

‘Right. Don’t you think you should’ve told me?’

‘I didn’t think you were my mother.’

‘No, but you are a mother. Or had you forgotten?’

‘God, your nagging never stops.’

Farah had to take a deep breath and swallow her sense of being wronged. ‘You know, for all your feminism, I hope you realise you’re behaving like the worst kind of husband.’

‘Maybe that’s because I’m not your husband,’ said Bubblee.

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it. “Man”, “husband”, whatever you want to call it. It’s fine when you’re spouting your high ideals but are you actually living up to them? If you don’t want to be in this then don’t be, but don’t make me feel like I’m the one being unreasonable.’

Farah waited to see the effect of her words on Bubblee. She noticed the look of incredulity and confusion on her sister’s face. Without waiting for her to respond, Farah walked out of the room, up the stairs and into Zoya’s room.

‘I love you, little one,’ she whispered, stroking her hair.

With that, she went into her room, closed the door behind her and fell straight to sleep.

Fatti: Any ideas on how to entertain two teenagers over summer?

Bubblee: Netflix.

Farah: All you need to do is be organised and plan something fun to do outside the house. Don’t worry about Adam, I can look after him now and again.

Bubblee: Mum called telling me that Jay didn’t come home until three in the morning and that we should find him a wife. Hahaha. As if I’d knowingly ever get some poor woman mixed up with him.

Fatti: He’s very good with Adam.

Farah: Don’t get me started on Jay …

Chapter Four

Mae looked at her sisters’ messages and wondered what it’d be like to have their problems. It hadn’t taken more than forty-eight hours for Mae’s sense of optimism to collapse into a heap. The day she got back to university had been normal enough, even that evening and night passed without much happening. Mae had gone out to the student bar but there was hardly anyone there since most people were away for Easter. Still, sitting there on her own, she felt a sense of confidence expand in her and was certain that if someone fairly normal sat near her she’d go over and say hello. It was a shame the opportunity hadn’t presented itself.

The following day Mae had gone about the business of having a doner kebab and then sitting in a coffee shop to figure out which assignments needed to be done so she could come up with a sensible plan to do them all. She’d chosen Media Studies because she’d been passionate about it in high school so she was going to reignite that passion. It had to still be there somewhere. If she could find it again then she’d have something positive to focus on. In any case, handing her assignments in late now was not an option – not if she wanted to actually pass the year. Of course, Mae got slightly distracted by her usual social media addictions. She wasn’t even sure how she ended up on this Facebook page. Maybe it was someone on Twitter that had mentioned an obnoxious man, typically shaming a woman who had been minding her own business, that made her click on the link they’d added. These things always disgusted and fascinated her in equal measure. Before clicking on the video that had been uploaded she skimmed through the comments section.

Who cares if someone’s putting their make up on in public? What’s it got to do with you?

Ugh. Hate this shit. So gross. Seen her face? She should’ve put her make up on before she left the house n done us all a favour.

Are you crazy? Shes so pretty. Doesn’t even need the make-up.

Thank you. I’m not the only one who hates this!!!!

Mae rolled her eyes, mostly because she didn’t get why people wasted their time on something like this. Did they seriously have nothing better to complain about?

‘Losers,’ she mumbled as she went to the video and clicked on it.

That’s when her heart fell to her stomach. She watched the video, looking at herself, sitting on a train, taking out a mirror and applying lip gloss.

‘What?’

Then she continued to watch as she relived the routine of her putting on kohl pencil, blusher, mascara, all the while hearing sniggering from the person who’d been recording. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t real, surely. Had Bubblee put this up as some kind of practical joke? But Bubblee didn’t have time for this kind of thing. And Farah and Fatti definitely wouldn’t be so creative. They weren’t even the sort of sisters who thought practical jokes were funny – especially not Fatti. Mae watched the video until the end and sat for a moment in disbelief. It didn’t make any sense. She was only putting make-up on. What was the big deal? She clicked on the profile of the person who’d uploaded the video and that’s when she realised: it was the same man who she, stupidly, for a little while, thought was actually admiring her. She noticed he’d posted a comment with the video:

People are making this about the colour of her skin, or being a woman and overweight, but not everyone appreciates having to look at someone slap on the cake while getting to work. Have some respect for other people on public transport. I don’t shave or cut my fingernails in public, why do I have to look at you women put your make-up on? #doublestandards #equality

Mae’s heart was thudding fast as she looked at the number of people who’d watched the video. One thousand and fifty-two. Geez. It wasn’t great, but she guessed that it could be worse. And anyway, who cares? It was only make-up. Mae went back to the comments section and couldn’t believe what she was reading.

H8 stupid bitches like this. Wish youd punched her in the face. C if she cud put make up on that. LOL

Why had that loser got so many likes? It didn’t end there. It went on and on about how women who apply make-up in public should have unspeakable things done to them. Mae sometimes forgot how depraved people who hid behind fake profiles and pictures could be.

That fat cow needs more than make up to help her looooool

That’s when she put her phone down, her heart thudding so fast she thought she might have a heart attack. She took a few moments before she opened up her laptop to have a look at her class notes, ignore what she’d just seen, but she couldn’t get past the first few lines. How could she concentrate on anything when she knew that people were saying such things about her? That people were watching her, judging her, ridiculing her … for what? Yeah right, this guy wasn’t sexist. She bet he’d never have done the same if a man had been combing his beard or something on the train. She went back to the video and watched it again. Was this a bad dream? Mae pinched herself to see if she’d wake up, but that didn’t work, obviously. It was just so absurd. It wasn’t just that the video had been taken, uploaded and then shared, it was the venom with which people had commented. Mae couldn’t quite get her head around it and the only thing she knew was that she had to speak to Fatti. She picked up her phone again and tapped on her sister’s name.

‘Fatti?’

‘Hang on – one second, Mae …’

Adam was whining in the background but Mae waited. Then she waited some more.

‘Don’t hang up! I’m coming.’

Eventually, Fatti did come back to the phone.

‘Sorry, he’d done a massive poo and it got all up the back of his Babygro. I was just washing him. How are you? Oh God. Just one minute, okay? Adam! You’re fed, changed and clean, why are you whining? Right, sorry. All this baby wants is to be held, it’s not as if I can resist, is it? I’d say that you know how it is, but luckily you don’t – not yet. All I can say is enjoy the life you have as much as you can. Farah and I are actually kind of jealous.’

‘Fatti …’

‘What is it, darling? Are you okay?’

It was the softness in Fatti’s voice that almost broke Mae. She bit back her tears because she suddenly felt so far removed from the lives of her sisters – as if they wouldn’t understand.

‘Yeah, yeah, fine. Just calling to see what was going on.’

If Fatti had insisted, asked her whether she was sure there was nothing wrong, perhaps Mae would’ve given in and told her, but she didn’t ask. After a few minutes Fatti’s house phone rang and she said she had to go because Ash needed her.

‘Send us pictures,’ said Fatti before she put the phone down.

They always said this to Mae, and the few times she had sent pictures of her lecture theatre, or lunch in the canteen, they hardly commented on it. Mae looked back at the video and played it again. Every time she watched it she convinced herself it was fine. Until she read the comments again. More likes for the video now, more comments, more shares. The ones of support didn’t quite lift her spirits in the same way the negative comments sank them. She shut the laptop again and looked around the coffee shop – as if someone might recognise her. A girl, Mae noticed, had been looking at her. Mae’s face flushed, wondering if she was staring because she’d seen the video. Before daring to look around any more, Mae stuffed her things in her bag and made her way out of the coffee shop, to her dorm room.

Sistaaaas

Bubblee: I’ve found a great nursery in town that does singing classes for babies. Have booked Saturday afternoon for the kids – let’s all take them. Xx

Fatti: Great idea! Will tell Ash.

Bubblee: Okay. Maybe I’ll bring my date, see how easily he scares ;)

Farah: Can’t we just keep it as a sisters thing?

Fatti: Thing is, weekends Ash likes to spend time with both of us because he says he misses us during the week …

Bubblee: Farah, you can stay home and I can take Zoya alone. You can then have your me time.

‘You haven’t picked your phone up for three days,’ blared Mae’s mum’s voice through the mobile.

‘What?’

Mae stuck her head under her duvet since the curtains weren’t proving sufficient protection against the sunlight flooding her room.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Busy,’ said Mae.

‘Your abba and me need to throw your things away.’

‘What things?’

‘In your room.’

‘Why?’ asked Mae.

‘What does it matter why? For the babies when they come and stay, of course.’

Of all the things in life that were going on, why did this have to be a discussion?

‘Can’t you just put them in the attic?’

‘Where is the room?’

‘You can’t just throw all my things away without me checking them first.’

Her mum gave a deep sigh. ‘I’m not storing them for ever. Oh, I have to go, your abba and I are going for a walk in the park.’

Her mum giggled and put the phone down.

Fatti: Morning, kalas!

With the message was a picture of Adam, spitting out what looked like apple puree.

Farah: And morning from me too!

And there was Zoya, lying on her jungle gym, furrowing her brows at the elephant dangling over her head. Mae lifted the covers and stared at the ceiling. She’d missed morning seminars and knew if she didn’t get up in the next two minutes to get ready for her afternoon class, she’d miss that too. She had an assignment that was due the following day, which she hadn’t even started, and reasoned that the only way she’d make the deadline was if she bunked Introduction to Moving Image and Sound. Except that she lay like that for two hours, looking at her phone and that video that had now been watched more than four thousand times. She had tried to ignore it, shrugged it off and pretended it hadn’t happened. Only every time she tried to forget, she’d be reminded by a new message from a random person on Twitter or Facebook. How many people that looked at her knew who she was? When she went out and someone stared, was it because they were as disgusted by her as the man who made the recording? The one class she had attended someone looked at her and said: ‘You’re that make-up girl.’ And that was it. No, sorry you’ve been getting so much flack online, it wasn’t bad at all, don’t take it personally. Just an identifier and then gone. By eight o’clock that night the only time Mae had left her bed was when she needed to use the toilet. Her paranoia had confirmed itself as fact so her only refuge was her room and the walls that protected her from the outside world. But why was the world dictating her actions? She couldn’t stay in her room for ever. (God, how she wished she could.) Who the hell was this creepy man to stop Mae from living her best student life, though? As if she wasn’t making it difficult enough for herself. A slow, burning, anger began to bubble, turning into a feeling of uncharacteristic defiance. At nine o’clock Mae swept her duvet cover off her and jumped out of bed.