The Secret Lives of the Amir Sisters

by Nadiya Hussain

  ‘Yeah, but Jay. Nothing is ever risk-free, is it?’ I might only be sixteen, but even I know that much.

  I shook my head in disbelief. It wasn’t even money that Mustafa knew Jay had borrowed. It was basically stealing.

  ‘Jay, this is bad. Like, really, really, really bad. Oh my God, he must’ve been so mad. What did he say to you? How did it end – well, apart from in an accident?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  I laughed. ‘You’re joking, right? People are going to want answers and they’re not going to be as calm about it as me, trust me.’

  ‘You can’t tell anyone, Mae.’

  ‘Are you mad? I’m not about to lie. Don’t you see what this all means? Farah has no idea about the money. The business is going to be in trouble and she’ll need to know how to handle it.’

  He didn’t respond.

  ‘Right?’ I asked.

  ‘Right, right.’

  ‘Jay, what aren’t you telling me?’

  He sighed. ‘It’s just that he took it a lot worse than I thought he would. I mean, I knew he was going to be livid, and I was willing to do whatever to make it up to him, but he went berserk. As in a mad panic. Started talking about monies tied up in other places and that he was already having financial difficulties …’

  This didn’t sound good. It just didn’t sound good at all.

  ‘Will you tell me how the surgery goes?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean? Aren’t you going to come? Where are you anyway?’

  He explained he was in the city – which I guess meant London because he said he was getting a train to Paris tomorrow.

  ‘Oh, nice little trip for you then,’ I said.

  ‘Listen, Squirt. Don’t say anything yet. I’m going to Paris to try to get this money – at least some of it. I’ve got friends to stay with there. There’s got to be a way to sort this out.’

  I hesitated.

  ‘Mae?’

  ‘I dunno,’ I said. ‘You’re telling me to lie.’

  ‘No, I’m telling you to keep quiet for a few days. Listen,’ he said, softening his tone. ‘What good would it do anyone right now, with him in surgery? Who knows how long he’ll be out of it, and in that time I might be able to do something about it. Don’t you think Farah has enough on her plate without you telling her the reason behind … you know. Everything.’

  Why did he make sense?

  ‘How will you get this money back?’ I said.

  It didn’t exactly sound like he had a plan.

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to try. But Mae, the last thing everyone needs is more to worry about, right?’

  He did have a point, but it still felt wrong.

  ‘I’m just asking for a little time – that’s all. I’m going to make this right,’ he said.

  I paused. ‘Okay. But Jay, you have to message me and let me know how you’re getting on. All right? Like, I need to know what’s happening.’

  He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Fine. Of course, Squirt. You just don’t say anything for now. All right?’

  ‘All right.’

  He said he had to go – that he was trusting me to do what’s best for everyone. You had to laugh at that, didn’t you? As if he ever thought of the family when he did stuff. But it wasn’t as if it was the time to go down that road. When I put the phone down I tapped on my Snapchat again.

  ‘Sometimes,’ I said into the camera, ‘even when you think you’re doing the right thing, you just can’t get over the feeling that the right thing is very, very wrong.’

  *

  Secrets suck. When I went back to the waiting room Fatti told me about Mustafa’s private insurance being cancelled and how he’d lied to Farah about it.

  ‘It’s weird,’ she said. ‘I never thought they had money problems but Farah told me that for a while bills had been stacking up, but she never thought much of it. Mustafa had been dodging her questions or putting her off by always saying he’d pay them today. Except today never came.’

  She looked at me with her wide, worried eyes, which didn’t really help my worry. So now, because of Jay, Mustafa wasn’t able to pay his health insurance bills, because of which Farah couldn’t switch to private care. I wanted to call him back and shout at what he’d done. Was he mental, investing money that wasn’t even his – who does that?

  ‘You can’t tell anyone,’ she added, going from worried to severe.

  I didn’t see how hiding things was helping here, but it’s not as if people listen to me. I almost told her that I talked to Jay and what really happened between him and Mustafa. I had to stop myself because she’d probably end up crying – Mum and Dad would see and not only would I get cussed for upsetting Fatti but everyone would find out why she was crying and that’d be the end of it. Looking over at Farah, it was clear that for once, Jay was right. I hoped to God he’d be able to recover at least some of that money.

  With all this commotion, I went outside again to try to call Bubblee. I wasn’t sure what she’d be able to do but it only felt right that she should at least be here.

  ‘I’m not coming back to where I’m not wanted,’ she said.

  People are so stubborn. It’s like, sometimes it’s not about you. It’s all great that she lives in London now, being into art and that stuff, but she’s no Tracey Emin. Of course, I couldn’t tell her that or she wouldn’t ever speak to any of us ever again. It’s not like there wasn’t enough to worry about.

  ‘People say stuff they don’t mean,’ I explained. ‘Farah was just upset.’

  ‘Well, I meant every word.’

  ‘Yeah, and when Farah’s husband’s under the knife it’s the perfect time to tell her you think it’d be great if he snuffed it. Well done.’

  She paused.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I do feel that way sometimes but … oh, I don’t know.’

  Bit rich when my sisters tell me to think before I speak. It’s hardly an Amir family speciality.

  ‘Listen, do you want him dead?’ I asked.

  ‘No. I’m not a vile person. I just think that if something like that happened, it’d give Farah the opportunity to finally do something with her life.’

  ‘What? Live in a poky flat in London and make clay pots?’

  ‘Mae – it wouldn’t hurt if you, of all people, respected the choices I made.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘And at least I’m not here literally trying to kill your dream.’

  For the first time since, like ever, Bubblee had nothing to say to that.

  ‘So?’ I said. ‘You coming back to the hospital or what?’

  *

  When the doctor came into the waiting room we all stood up at the same time. I don’t think Wyvernage Hospital has ever seen so many brown people in one room. The doctor removed her gloves, wiping her brow with her arm.

  ‘We managed to stop the bleeding,’ she said.

  You could literally hear everyone’s sigh of relief. Farah had her hand to her chest as Malik held on to her arm.

  ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘He’ll be okay.’

  ‘That’s the good news,’ said the doctor. ‘However, I’m afraid that the trauma to the head was severe and the operation sent his body into a state of shock.’

  ‘Oh, Allah,’ said Mum. ‘What is happening to our family?’

  The doctor glanced at her before looking back at Farah.

  ‘He’s stable and breathing but he’s gone into a coma.’

  Farah was shaking her head. ‘But he was in one before – he can come out again, can’t he?’

  ‘He can, of course, come out of it, but the first coma was medically induced. His body’s shut down right now and we can’t estimate if or when he might come out of this present coma.’

  ‘If?’ said Farah.

  Fatti grabbed my hand.

  ‘We can’t be conclusive about anything, I’m afraid. For now, we’re monitoring him and the good news is we’ve stopped the b
leeding. You should probably go home tonight. Get some rest. We’ll keep a close eye on him overnight and let you know if there are any changes to his situation.’

  Farah sat back down as Dad thanked the doctor.

  ‘I’ll stay here,’ said Malik to Dad. ‘You should take Farah Bhabi home and make sure she eats something. I’ll call you if anything changes.’

  Dad nodded, patting him on the arm, and all I could think was: This is Jay’s fault. And he’s not even here. Fatti’s tears fell to the floor like mini puddles.

  ‘You should go home and eat something too,’ said Malik to her.

  Fatti just shook her head – it took us all a while to see that Bubblee was standing at the door. She walked towards Farah and sat down next to her.

  ‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home.’

  *

  Sleeping’s never been a problem for me. I can sleep anywhere. I’m pretty sure I slept through my sister’s wedding, actually. Guess it was before I’d started recording stuff. But that night I couldn’t sleep. I’m pretty sure most of the others couldn’t either. Farah seemed to be barely breathing, which just meant she was as awake as me. Bubblee shared with Fatti again, because she might’ve turned up at the hospital but it was probably best to take things one step at a time between her and Farah – let’s face it, Bubblee’s the type of person you want to smother with a pillow at the best of times.

  I kept tossing and turning, thinking about Jay and what he’d done. It’d been six hours since I’d Whatsapped him to let him know the latest and he still hadn’t responded, even though the two blue ticks appeared. Amazing, isn’t it? How easy it seemed for him to just ignore things. But maybe he was really trying. I had to take his word for it. He did sound genuine about sorting this out – you can just never tell, though. A person can still fail, with all the best intentions in the world. Twitter feed was full of crap and so I got up, grabbed my laptop and went downstairs to open up my blog page, which I run under a pseudonym because, let’s face it, last thing I want is for my family to accidentally read it and find out what I write. My parents will remember the way they never let my sisters leave the house and end up grounding me too.

  I began: Runaway. It all just came out in this wave of words that wouldn’t stop flowing. I don’t think I’ve typed that fast or furiously in my life. I began with the day Jay left home and how Mum and Dad just refused to see that he’d do anything wrong; the way Farah would cover for him. How Bubblee always argued to try and get out on her own and Fatti just lived in her own world. All of this ended up with my brother-in-law in hospital in a coma. I was so tired but there was no going to sleep now – I just typed and typed and typed. It was like my entire history all in one blog – but it was held together by that one common theme: family. Weird, given that I usually just let them get on with their dramas, but then this accident happened and everything’s become a mess. When I finished writing I checked it for any typos and pressed the send button – it was like a weight had lifted off my shoulders. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep.

  *

  Nothing much changed with Mustafa the next few days. Every time I’d check my blog so see how many times it’d been shared, or Twitter or Snapchat or whatever, my eyes would flick up to look at Farah. Everyone else talked – even made a joke now and again – but not her. She was either staring at her husband or sitting in a daze.

  ‘The thing is,’ she said when we were in the room with Mustafa, alone together, ‘I don’t actually know what to do without him.’

  I looked up and it seemed as if she was talking more to herself than me. I leaned into Mustafa’s face and eyed it. His lips were cracked, and I never realised before how big his pores were, but that was the least of his worries.

  ‘He looks better today, you know. Less … pale,’ I replied.

  ‘He does everything for me; the house, bills, mortgage – everything.’

  ‘That’s because you spend your time looking after everyone else,’ said Bubblee, who’d just walked into the room. ‘Here.’ She’d brought some tea for Farah.

  ‘How do you know?’ I said to Bubblee. ‘You’re never around to see it.’

  ‘Because I know,’ she replied.

  I’d got one lousy message from Jay saying he was still working on getting the money back but that he wouldn’t be in contact too much because he was busy. I still kept him updated though – just so he knew what was going on. Apart from that exchange, Farah and Bubblee hadn’t said more then three words to each other. I left my camera running during the day without anyone knowing. I’d gone past caring about whether it’s appropriate or not. Don’t think that there’s much that’s appropriate about the whole situation.

  The following day we were at home when Fatti stood over me as I was slouched on the sofa.

  ‘Mae,’ she said. ‘Help me clean. Mum and Dad are resting in their room before we go to the hospital and this place is a tip.’

  ‘What about Bubblee?’

  ‘She’s in the kitchen.’

  I gave Fatti an incredulous look.

  ‘I know. But she said she was doing something in there so maybe she’s surprising us all with dinner. No-one’s allowed to go in.’

  ‘Weird,’ I said, picking up my phone and seeing that my blog had now been shared over three thousand times.

  ‘Get up,’ said Fatti.

  ‘Yes, Master,’ I replied, saluting her and ignoring the look that Malik gave me.

  What a stick-in-the-mud. It was when I was cleaning the windows, that cluttering noises came from the kitchen and I heard Malik say to Fatti: ‘Do you have that picture you were talking about?’

  I wanted to ask what picture, but he’d lowered his voice and something made me stop myself. After a few minutes of Fatti saying it was too far back in the cubby-hole she gave in and they both went into the passage, closing the living-room door behind them. After a few minutes I heard him say: ‘See; I said you and my mother have the same hands.’

  What a drip.

  ‘No, don’t put it back,’ he said. ‘Keep it out. It should go on the mantelpiece with all your other pictures.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘No, no,’ said Fatti.

  ‘Why not?’

  Then there was another pause before I heard him say: ‘Well, then.’

  I crept away from the door before it opened and it was a few moments before they walked through it with this picture in hand.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘Mum and Malik’s mum – when he was born.’

  When I looked at him he was staring at the photo before glancing at Fatti. It’s like, make your mind up – do you fancy Fatti or Bubblee? Sure, Bubblee’s the obvious choice because she’s hot, but the more you look at Fatti the nicer her features become. Maybe it’s because she’s a bit, you know, innocent, as Mum and Dad like to say. You kind of want to pull her into a hug most of the time.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Okay. That’s nice.’

  ‘Mae …’ replied Fatti, as if in warning.

  ‘What? I said it’s nice.’

  Who cared? It was just a photo. So, I carried on cleaning the windows as Malik put the picture up on the mantelpiece with all the other photos.

  ‘Talk about wheedling your way into the family,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Little Mae – did you say something?’ said Malik.

  Little?

  ‘I wouldn’t dare, Mal Baia. Silenced by your very presence.’ I bowed and threw my yellow rubber gloves on the coffee table. At the same time, we heard the kitchen door open with a bang. We rushed towards it and there was Bubblee, standing in the middle of what used to be our kitchen.

  ‘Take a photo, Mae,’ she said, looking around.

  What seemed like all the pots and pans we’d ever owned were in a pile in the middle of the floor. The counter was covered in condiments; a bottle of ketchup was tipped over and spilling on to the counter; salt and pepper, oil, desi ghee, you name it, it was all spilling
over, dripping on the floor. The cupboards were open, one of the hobs was lit. It looked like the place had imploded.

  ‘What the hell?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Mae,’ shouted Bubblee. ‘Photo!’

  Her hair was dishevelled and she was whipping around. She stepped forward, over a pot, and moved the ketchup bottle an inch to the left. Malik looked like he didn’t know what to do and Fatti just stared at our sister, who’d obviously lost her marbles.

  ‘Are you … are you okay?’ whispered Fatti to Bubblee.

  I got my phone out and started taking pictures in case Bubblee shouted at me again. After I got ten or fifteen I switched it to video.

  ‘Maybe I was wrong about this place,’ she said, still looking at the mass of ruin around her.

  Fatti and me glanced at each other. She took a step towards Bubblee, slowly, in case Bubblee lost it and threw the frying pan at her or something.

  ‘What happened here, Bubs?’ asked Fatti, quietly.

  Bubblee shot a look at her and then at Malik, frowning. Not to be rude about my sister or anything, but she was acting a bit like an animal. One that might need to be put down.

  ‘What should happen everywhere,’ said Bubblee.

  We all waited for her to continue, but, you know, didn’t want to anger it.

  ‘What?’ asked Fatti.

  She looked around at us again, but this time a smile played on her lips. The madness was either slipping away or was becoming a whole new level of crazy. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and said: ‘The destruction of domesticity.’

  These arty types, I swear. They make a mess, call it art and then expect you to clean up after them.

  ‘I think, on some level, it was a call for attention for Farah,’ Bubblee said, knitting her brows together.

  While she was analysing the reason behind her madness Fatti and I tried to figure out how Mum managed to make all these pots and pans fit into the cupboards.

  ‘The Farah who’s not even here right now?’ I said.

  ‘We shouldn’t have to tidy this just because we’re women,’ Bubblee replied, raising her voice, I guess so that Malik, sitting in the living room, could hear.