The Secret Lives of the Amir Sisters

by Nadiya Hussain

  He nodded, as if thinking about something. ‘Of course you don’t. What do you want to do?’

  It was the worst question a person could ask. I wished someone could just tell me. What is anyone meant to do when something like this happens? How do you begin rebuilding reality? I shrugged.

  ‘Okay. Why don’t we go home, you can collect a few things and stay at mine for a few days? Just until you clear your head.’

  I looked at him.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked,’ he said. ‘I understand family troubles. You can stay in the spare room.’

  ‘But you’re my driving instructor,’ I said.

  ‘Aren’t I also your friend?’ he asked, smiling.

  More tears came to the surface – but this time they were the grateful kind. Suddenly, the idea of staying with a man in a house, alone, filled me with dread.

  ‘No, I’ll stay somewhere else. Thanks.’

  But where? I racked my mind for anyone who might take me in, anyone who might also call me their friend. No family and no friends.

  ‘Of course. Tell me where and I’ll drop you off.’

  ‘I … I don’t know.’

  ‘Listen, I’m out most of the day, working. But if you don’t feel comfortable, that’s fine. I just thought it might be good for you to get away for a bit.’

  Why didn’t I spend more time out, making friends and going places? Not only did I lock myself away from my family but from the whole world, and now, when I’m in need, I seem to have no-one. No-one but my driving instructor.

  ‘Thanks. Yes, please. If that’s okay? I promise I won’t be any trouble,’ I added.

  He smiled and said: ‘Fatima – you’re the least troublesome person I’ve ever met. Right, now – make sure you check the mirrors this time.’

  So I switched on the engine, found my braking point, checked my mirrors, indicated, and drove home in silence to collect my things.

  *

  When we stepped into the house it felt so unfamiliar and yet recognisable to me – as if all the memories I’d collected over the past thirty years weren’t actually true and yet they weren’t fake either. I went upstairs and threw whatever came into sight into a bag. Before going downstairs, I went into everyone’s room, just to take a look at the spaces in which they live. It wasn’t a goodbye, just looking at something in a different light. When I walked into Mae’s stuffy room my gaze fell upon a picture of us. It was taken a few years ago when we went to the park and I accidentally sat on some dog poo, which had Mae howling with laughter. I think Farah took that picture. Closing the door behind me, I went downstairs with my bag.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Ash.

  I looked at the picture of me as a baby – the day I was given away – on the mantelpiece, walked up to it and put it in my bag.

  ‘Yes. Ready.’

  I never really imagined what Ash’s life was like outside his red Nissan Micra. I knew he lived alone but it’s weird how empty a place can feel sometimes. This is what he comes home to every day – but he’s probably used to it. Maybe I could get used to coming home to an empty space too.

  ‘You can just leave your bags here,’ he said as I followed him into another room.

  The living room was small but cosy with vintage brown leather sofas and a modern fireplace.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’ he asked.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘I’ll order some pizza then,’ he added.

  Just the idea of eating made my stomach twist in a knot of anxiety. I shook my head. ‘Oh no, I’m not hungry.’

  I hoped my stomach wouldn’t grumble like it usually did when I was famished. I pulled my sleeves over my hands, grabbing on to the cuffs.

  ‘Don’t be silly. You probably haven’t eaten all day.’

  He picked up the phone and began to order.

  ‘You’re okay with vegetarian?’ he asked. ‘No halal.’

  I nodded, feeling as if the whole day had just slipped out of my control. But then, I’d never felt like control was something I had in the first place. It was six-fifty in the evening – I wondered where everyone was. Were they still at the hospital? Were they calling me and worried that they were only getting through to my voicemail? I’d texted Mae to let her know I was staying with a friend that night, but I didn’t want to see anyone’s name come up on my screen, so I just turned the phone off. This was the first night I’d spent away from home in thirty years. Today was a day of foreignness. Ash looked at his watch and put the timer on.

  ‘Over half an hour and it’ll be free,’ he said, smiling, showing his small and very white teeth.

  He sat down opposite me on the single sofa and clasped his hands together.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘Have we got used to the idea yet?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘That you’re adopted?’

  My face must’ve fallen.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I make jokes too soon.’

  I wanted to say I should go and freshen up – isn’t that what people say in films? But I was glued to the sofa – my heart was desperate for me to move but my brain and body had other ideas.

  ‘Don’t listen to me, Fatima. Well, only when I’m teaching you to drive.’

  I tried to smile, but I think it must’ve come out more like a grimace.

  ‘Why don’t I show you to your room? Maybe you want to rest for a while? I’ll knock when the pizza’s here.’

  He took me to a single bedroom that looked like it’d never been used; just a single bed, a side-lamp and a chest of white drawers next to a wardrobe. It seemed quite sad, even though it looked out into the back garden – just as my own room did.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘My daughter’s room. When she decides to come and stay, which, as you can tell, isn’t very often nowadays.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I said, because I couldn’t say it felt cold and empty.

  ‘I’ve told her a hundred times to do it up as she wants. I don’t know, put up posters and pictures – whatever the kids do nowadays. But …’ he simply shrugged.

  ‘Where does your son stay?’ I asked when it didn’t seem like he was going to go.

  ‘His room’s at the end of the passage. Much more lived-in. Maybe because he lives in it. But I didn’t think you’d want to be in a room that smells of teenage boy.’

  I smiled.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked.

  ‘No, thanks. This is great.’

  He looked like he was about to leave when he said: ‘You can stay here, or if you want to talk or anything, then I’ll be downstairs; just watching TV or reading or doing what I do on any normal day.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I repeated.

  ‘Right. I’ll leave you to it.’

  He paused again for a moment before he left the room and closed the door behind him.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling exhausted, so I slid under the covers – just for a quick ten-minute nap – replaying these random memories from years ago: me watching Bubblee, Farah and Jay from my bedroom window while they played hide-and-seek; Mae being born and me holding her in my arms for the first time; Dad doing the gardening while Mum cooked in the kitchen. Mum and Dad. Except they’re not my mum and dad, are they? Tears trickled down my cheeks and before I knew it I was sobbing into my pillow, as I fell into a dreamless sleep.

  *

  When I woke up it was dark outside. Where was I? What had happened? Then, bit by bit, the memory of the day came back to me. I closed my eyes again – they felt raw from all the crying – and lay in bed for a few moments, wanting to go back to sleep, until the faint noise of voices crept into the room. Opening the bedroom door, I realised it was coming from the television downstairs, so I crept down the steps, wondering whether I shouldn’t just stay in the room and sleep until this was all over.

  ‘Hi,’ said Ash, looking up as I stood at the doorway. An empty plate was next to him, a half-eaten pizza box on the table, and his feet were up on a foots
tool. ‘I came to wake you up but you were fast asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you. Come, sit,’ he added.

  He went and got me a plate, putting a few slices of pizza on it before handing it to me.

  ‘You have to be hungry now.’

  Actually, the hunger had gone, but I didn’t want to seem rude, so sat with the plate on my lap. Ash lowered the volume on the television – he was watching Star Trek.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  ‘Here, I’ll get you a drink.’

  He came back into the room with some water and handed it to me.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, gulping it down in one go.

  ‘So,’ he began. ‘Have you thought about what you’re going to do?’

  I looked up from fiddling with the crust of the pizza. ‘Do?’

  He nodded. ‘Where you’re going to take it from here?’

  Of course. I’d not been there one night but how long was I planning to stay? Where would I go from here? The idea of going to the same house and sleeping in the same bedroom just didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll be out of here tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. That’s not what I meant. You can stay as long as you need. What are spare rooms for?’

  I looked down at the white ceramic plate.

  ‘It’s too soon, anyway,’ he added. ‘You don’t have to think about anything yet, I suppose. I’m always in a rush to think of a solution.’

  ‘And I never can come up with a solution. To anything.’

  It just came out, because it was so true, and never felt truer than it did in that moment.

  ‘Perhaps we can find some middle ground,’ he said. ‘Until then, maybe you should phone home and let them know you’re safe. I’m sure they’ll be worried.’

  Home. The word made me laugh.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, as if he heard my thoughts, then paused. ‘It might not be my place to say … I don’t know your family or what your situation is at home, but it always seemed to me – from the way you spoke about them in our lessons – that they weren’t … well—’

  ‘—Horrible?’ I offered.

  ‘Like I said, it’s not my place to say. Feel free to correct me. Or throw your pizza at me.’

  I put the plate down. He was right. It’s not like I could complain about how they never cared about me – if anything, they cared too much.

  ‘That must’ve been awful,’ he replied when I said that.

  How pathetic he must’ve thought I was, to complain about parents who gave me everything I wanted, even though they never let me out of their sight. Who fed me and clothed me and told me they loved me all the time. How could I explain what living as if you see everything through a glass window felt like? Was that because of what happened and how I came to be an Amir, or was that just me? Would I have felt like that even if I wasn’t adopted? That word – adopted – every time it came to me I thought I might wake up from a bad dream. Why was I transferred from one family to another? Did Malik’s parents not want a girl? Couldn’t they afford it? Did the people I call Mum and Dad ask for me or was I just given to them – a bundle of burden? Did my brother and sisters know but just never tell me? So many questions were swimming in my head, but who was I meant to ask for answers when I didn’t even want to see the faces of the two people who raised me?

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry,’ he said, rubbing his face with his hand. ‘I’m not the best person in an emergency situation like this.’

  I couldn’t quite figure out the way to tell him he was like a Godsend today. I’d have been walking around the streets, aimless, if it weren’t for him.

  ‘Why? Do you help out a lot of adopted girls?’ I said.

  He laughed. So did I.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘You’re the first. I’m getting some practice. Anyway,’ he added, after a pause, ‘you don’t have to think about what to do yet. It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure. And you can use my phone if you do decide to call home.’

  Every time I heard that word, home, something tugged at me. What did home even mean?

  ‘Which one?’ I said.

  He sighed. ‘God knows, I don’t know. But I suppose it’s wherever you feel the safest – the most comfortable. Where you can be yourself.’

  ‘Is that how you feel here?’ I asked.

  ‘Sort of,’ he replied. ‘Most of the time. I’m certainly comfortable,’ he added, patting the little pouch that was his belly. It was such a little pot-belly that I hadn’t noticed it until then.

  ‘Do you like living alone?’ I asked.

  He seemed so content with everything – with life – that I had to ask. People talk about being alone as if it’s the worst thing in the world but I’ve always known that I prefer being alone. Or maybe that’s just me not being brave enough to be around people, because it’s not like I didn’t want someone by my side. It’s not as if I wasn’t lonely. Maybe preference is just another word for safety.

  ‘I’m used to it,’ he replied.

  ‘Yes, but are you used to it, or do you actually like it? I mean, if you had a choice, would you have it another way?’

  He smiled and closed the pizza box. ‘We’re getting into serious territory here.’ He looked up at me. ‘But then I suppose it’s a serious situation.’

  I waited for him to answer as I put a small piece of pizza in my mouth.

  ‘It’s not something I really like talking about,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry. That was a bit personal.’

  Why was it okay for me to suddenly ask him questions he didn’t invite? Maybe it’s because through understanding what another person’s like you can understand a bit of yourself. Or maybe find yourself in them, making things a little bit better – as if you’re not the only person in the world who feels a certain way.

  ‘Well, since we’re here, I can tell you.’ He took a deep breath and looked into the fake, unlit fireplace. ‘You get used to things because you have to. Not because you like it, just because that’s how things are and so you make the most of it.’

  Maybe I didn’t prefer being alone – maybe I’d just become used to it.

  ‘Can’t you change things?’

  He smiled as he looked at me. ‘Yes, Fatima. You can.’

  I inched forward. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, and it’s only because you’ve been a good … well … friend, I guess. But … why don’t you?’

  For a moment his face darkened and I thought I’d made him angry. This is why I keep my mouth closed, because who knows whether what I say will hurt a person or anger them? He then seemed to look into the distance.

  ‘I don’t know, Fatima. Old age; complacency. Same tired excuses.’

  ‘You’re not old,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe not in age, but in years lived, trust me – I feel it.’

  I sat back, putting my plate on the table.

  ‘Well, with it’s come wisdom, hasn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  ‘If you could change something,’ I asked, ‘what would it be?’

  He looked at me so closely I began to blush.

  ‘Hmm. What would I change; what would I change?’ he muttered, seeming to give the idea a lot of thought. He clapped his hands so loudly it startled me, as he said: ‘Pretty much everything.’

  ‘You’re not being serious,’ I said, picking up my plate again and taking another bite of pizza.

  ‘That’s because even if I knew what to change, I wouldn’t have the first clue how to do it. I’m a creature of habit. Anyway,’ he added, ‘this isn’t about me, it’s about you. Tell me, what are you thinking?’

  ‘Why someone’s parents would give them up like that. What must be wrong with someone that their own parents didn’t want them any longer?’

  ‘Hey,’ he said, coming to sit next to me. ‘You can’t think like that when you don’t know the facts – it could
be a number of reasons. And you know,’ he paused. ‘I hate to say it, but you know that having babies for a sister happens a lot in our families. You should speak to your parents,’ he said. ‘Or you’ll start thinking the worst when it probably isn’t even true.’

  What could be worse than being adopted? And how could I trust what they had to say, anyway? If my brother-in-law hadn’t been in hospital and Malik hadn’t come to London and I hadn’t found that photo, then would I have just died not knowing who my birth parents were? No matter which way I looked at it, everything felt like a lie and a betrayal.

  ‘I don’t want to hear anything they have to say right now,’ I replied. The idea of speaking to Mum and Dad made my body stiffen.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘What about your aunt and uncle? Your birth parents?’

  I looked up at him.

  ‘You can call them,’ he suggested.

  But suddenly this place seemed too small for me. Not his house, but Wyvernage itself and everything in it. The sameness of it all made me angry and stifled, and an urge rushed through me.

  ‘Or I could go to them,’ I said, almost to myself.

  ‘Hmm?’

  I looked up at him. ‘What if I went to Bangladesh?’

  He stared at me.

  ‘That’s where I was born and handed over. I don’t even know what the place looks like. I barely know what my birth parents look like.’

  In that moment I didn’t think about the fact that I’d never left the country on my own, that it’d involve me travelling alone and seeing the people who gave me up, alone. It was crazy. Of course I couldn’t go. I was angry with them too, of course. But it wasn’t the same kind of anger – it was like anger removed. Perhaps because I knew them less, it hurt less. It was a stupid thing to think I could do.

  ‘You know,’ said Ash, ‘that doesn’t sound like an awful idea.’

  ‘Really? But I’ve never …’

  ‘What?’

  How could I tell him that I’d never travelled alone? That I never did anything alone? But I’d run out of energy to think of a lie, or a diplomatic way to say it.

  ‘I’ve never done anything like this before. Travel alone.’

  He smiled. ‘Fatima, you’ll find that in life, there’s a first time for everything.’