CHAPTER TWELVE
Farah
We sat at Mum and Dad’s, all in a bit of a daze. As I looked around the room at everyone’s sombre face, each person lost in their own thoughts, I tried not to be reminded of it looking as if a funeral had just taken place. I tried calling Fatti a hundred times but it kept going to voicemail so I could only leave her messages. I couldn’t quite get my head around it – she was my sister and my sister-in-law. I thought of Mustafa, lying another night in his hospital bed; how we might lose everything, yet how he was unaware that he had also just gained a sister. For some unknown reason, in that moment, my love for Fatti seemed to multiply in a way that might make my heart burst. If only I could tell her.
‘You never told us. Any of us,’ I said, looking at Mum and Dad.
Dad rubbed his eyes – he looked pale and tired. Mum didn’t look much better.
‘All this time, and she’s not actually our sister,’ I added.
Mae’s head shot up. ‘Of course she’s our sister.’
Her eyes sparkled with tears that wouldn’t fall.
‘I know; that’s not what I meant,’ I added, sighing, looking at the ground, wondering what it’d be like if it swallowed me up.
‘Poor Fatti,’ said Bubblee. ‘As if a woman doesn’t feel displaced in her life enough.’
Oh, God. Why can’t my sister let a person feel what they feel without attaching social issues to it? Everything was another type of patriarchal oppression, everything was a female experience. Why couldn’t it just be a human experience? What was more disconcerting was seeing Mae nod in agreement. When I shot a look at her she just said: ‘What? She has a point, you know.’
‘We love her like our own,’ said Mum. ‘She is our first.’
‘Mum,’ said Bubblee. ‘I’m sorry to say it, but you don’t lie to the people you love.’
My dad looked up, eyes flashing in pain and anger. ‘When you have children, Bubblee, then you will understand what a parent goes through.’ He raised his finger at her. ‘Until then, don’t tell your amma and abba what they should or shouldn’t have done.’
Bubblee retreated on the sofa.
‘They said I couldn’t have babies,’ said Mum. When she looked up she stared right into my eyes – it was so intent, I wondered whether she knew. ‘If I couldn’t have a child, then what good was I as a woman?’
Bubblee scoffed. ‘Wow.’
‘Not now, Bubs,’ I said to her, sighing.
I’ve grown up so used to seeing Mum shouting out rules, telling us what to do, what to wear, what not to wear – and it was fine, because she was our mum and you let some things go – but it was so strange to think that as we cooked together in the kitchen, or as I helped her repaint the living room or we did the gardening together, she was carrying around this secret. This weight of a hidden past. Did she ever want to tell me? Were there ever moments when she wanted to just sit down with me and say: Faru, I have a confession to make. Just like I sometimes wanted to tell her that I couldn’t have babies. Because it would be a relief – it would be out there for everyone to know and I wouldn’t have to carry it around inside me like some terrible burden.
‘Things are different for you now,’ said Mum. ‘You have choices. But even if I had a choice, there’s nothing I wanted more than to raise a child as my own,’ she added.
My heart seemed to tighten and push tears to my eyes. I could understand that. If I adopted a baby, what would I do? Raise it so it knew that I wasn’t actually its mother, waiting for the day it turned around and said it wanted to go and find its real parents? Or bring it up as my own and have something like this happen? Lies have a way of coming to the surface. It all felt a little too much like a baby factory – Mum’s sister giving birth only for Mum to take it home with her, but I wondered what I’d do if Bubblee offered to have a baby for me. The extraordinary thing was that Mum ended up having all of us, one after the other, not two years after they went to Bangladesh to get Fatti.
‘Fatima was a miracle because when she came into the house you all followed,’ she said. ‘She’s the reason you’re all here too.’
‘I thought it was God that did all that, Mum?’ said Bubblee, raising her eyebrows, condescension in her voice.
Mae sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘What’s he going to do? Come down and hand babies over to people? He uses people as blessings for others. Loser.’ She looked down at her phone and mumbled, ‘Anyone can tell that Fats is obviously a blessing.’
‘Try her mobile again,’ said Bubblee to Mae.
She did but it went to voicemail again.
‘Where can she be?’ said Mae. ‘It’s not like she’s got millions of friends.’
‘Oh, Allah. Keep our baby safe,’ said Dad.
‘She’s a thirty-year-old woman,’ said Bubblee. ‘If she needs her space then we have to give it to her.’
‘London has hardened your heart, Bubblee,’ said Mum, but without the usual indignation. Just sadness.
There were too many things going on in my head – Jay, husband, coma, baby, Fatti – all whirring around. I had to close my eyes and think. But thoughts weren’t coming to me, just feelings; a mixture of sadness, anxiety and God knows what else.
‘It’s late. Let’s all get some sleep,’ I said.
‘How can we sleep when we don’t know where she is?’ said Mum.
‘Mum, please. Bubblee’s right. Fatti’s a grown woman. She said she’s staying with someone tonight, so we’re just going to have to wait to hear from her.’
Although, even as I said it I didn’t quite believe it. She might be the eldest, but with Fatti you never know what she’s thinking. As much as I hated to admit it, was she even capable of looking after herself?
‘Whatever,’ said Mae as she stalked off to bed.
I didn’t have the energy to ask what this particular whatever meant.
‘At least we’ve got rid of Malik,’ said Bubblee, also getting up and stretching her limbs.
He’d gone to stay with a friend who lived in Manchester, not least because Mum and Dad were furious with him.
‘Well, whatever you might think of him,’ I said, also standing, ‘he’s our sister’s brother.’
*
Of course, I couldn’t sleep. My hand kept on resting on my stomach – the place devoid of a baby. Now, with my husband in a hospital, how could we even try? How could we discuss the possibility of adoption with him lying in bed, fighting between life and death because of my brother? Because my husband lied to me. What was Fatti thinking and feeling right now? Did she know we still loved her? Who cared whose blood ran through her veins? She was still our Fatti who ate too much cheese in a tube and walked around trying to do nice things for people. Even though her mind and what she thought were a mystery, she was our mystery and it was up to us to solve her.
And where was Jay at this time? Would he even care that she was adopted? For years I’d made excuses for his lazy ways and that sometimes he didn’t seem to feel things the way people should – but I thought it was down to being the only boy, maybe; feeling lost. But I felt lost too, and I was still here, wasn’t I? I didn’t run away, take someone’s money, lose all of it and then not even face the consequences.
I got out of bed and walked into the passage, a dim light coming from Fatti’s room. For a moment I thought she’d returned, but when I opened it, it was only Mae, on her phone.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.
She put her phone down and tucked it under the pillow. ‘Nothing. Felt like sleeping in here. Just in case she came back. You know.’
‘Get some sleep,’ I said.
Just as I was about to close the door, Mae said: ‘What they did was wrong, you know. Keeping it from her and all of us. But I get it.’
‘You do?’
She straightened up in the bed and looked at the lilac paisley duvet cover. Lilac’s Fatti’s favourite colour.
‘’Course.’ She looked up. ‘’Course you can lie to the
people you love.’
Our little Mae – so much like a bird; tiny and fluttery, learning how to fly.
‘You do whatever you can to keep them safe, right?’ she added.
I nodded. Mae was still so young and had so many disappointments to face in life, but if I’d decided on one thing, it was that I wouldn’t hide from the truth any more, or hide it from someone either.
‘That can be true,’ I replied. ‘But sometimes you have to ask: are you keeping them safe, or yourself?’
*
I woke up early the following day, thinking no-one else would be awake, but I heard faint voices coming from downstairs. Creeping down the stairs, I looked over the bannister to see Mum and Dad, sitting in the living room. Their relationship has always been so functional and connected to us that I found it odd, seeing them together like that, talking quietly.
‘I should go out and look for her,’ said Dad. ‘Who knows how she slept.’
Mum sighed and replied: ‘Maybe Bubblee is right. Let’s be patient.’
Dad rubbed his eyes. ‘What’s happened? When did our daughters become the ones who we listened to? Has Jay phoned?’
Mum shook her head.
That bloody Jay. I sat on the steps. How come the two men I loved the most have been the most disappointing? All I’ve done my whole life is look after that brother of mine, and trust my husband. Have I been utterly stupid? Maybe Bubblee’s had it right all this time – attach yourself to no-one and nothing, and at least you’re free from this feeling of betrayal. As I sat on the steps, thinking about these things in a kind of daze, I thought about our home.
‘I can sort the mortgage,’ I’d say. Or, ‘I can pay those bills.’
‘No,’ he’d reply, snatching away letters from me, laughing. Then he’d hold on to me and say: ‘I’m looking after you, for ever.’
When I told Bubblee she practically sneered, and I never understood how she didn’t find it romantic. Fatti got it – she knew how lucky I was. Why did my twin sister think I was being locked in some kind of cage when I was being freed from all burdens? Ones that I needed to take up when I found out I couldn’t have children, just for something to focus on.
Without Mum and Dad seeing, I got my keys and made my way to the home my husband and I made. As I pulled up to my home I saw Alice, peering from her window. She walked out of her front door in her pale-pink dressing gown, her red hair tied up in a bun.
‘Farah,’ she said as soon as I came out of the car.
The fresh morning air had already given me the shivers.
‘How are you? How’s our Mustafa doing?’ she asked.
‘He’s the same,’ I replied, not able to look her in the eye.
There was something about Alice’s demeanour that was hesitant. She tightened the bow around her robe.
‘You tell me if you need anything?’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ I replied.
‘It … whatever’s happened. You know, in your family. I’m sure you’ll all sort it.’
Oh, God. She knew. Everyone now knew.
‘We all have our problems, after all, don’t we?’ she added.
I nodded as she gave me a sympathetic smile and walked back into her house.
It was funny how cold and empty it felt when I walked through the door. I went straight to the filing system in his study, flicking through folders, picking up various invoices: car insurance, health insurance, personal bank statements. I began trawling through all the statements in the past year – ridiculous outgoing payments, investing in the next thing he wanted to invent. I shook my head. There were a few payments to one J. Amir. One dated as far back as eleven months ago. That was soon after we’d found out about not being able to have children. Why had Mustafa kept Jay’s working for him a secret from me for so long? I was mourning over the mother I’d never be and my husband was secretly giving our money to my brother. Every time we talked about babies, or I cried, he was throwing away our future.
I heard something come through the letterbox. There were more cards that had come through from neighbours and friends, but it was the red letter that caught my eye: Final Notice. I licked my lips that had suddenly gone dry as I opened the envelope. Skimming through the letter, I could barely compute what it said: late mortgage repayments, arrears, bank loan overdue.
Please be advised if payment isn’t made in the next 60 days your house will liable for repossession.
I had to sit down, but there was no seat nearby. Everything was happening all at once – it couldn’t be possible that we’d lose our home in sixty days, surely. Not that soon. Not like this. I read the letter again, this time poring over every word. My heart seemed to catch in my throat. I rushed up the stairs, into his office and looked for the file with our mortgage details. Statements, statements, statements. And then I saw it. I couldn’t believe it. Mustafa had re-mortgaged our house.
‘No,’ I said to myself, shaking my head. ‘This just can’t be true.’
I looked around as if expecting someone to be there, someone I could say this to; say anything to. But the house resounded with emptiness. And it was all his fault – my stupid husband who was on the brink of death and now destitution. He’d taken out another loan on our home and not told me. Another lie. Another secret. Making a fool out of me all over again. I grabbed my keys, rushed out of the house and sped down the quiet roads towards the hospital.
As I marched into his room, Bubblee and Mae were already there.
‘We’d been looking for you,’ said Bubblee. ‘You left your phone at Mum and Dad’s.’
But I hardly looked at my sisters. I just stared at my husband, lying in bed, without a care in the world, while mine was falling apart.
‘You!’ I shouted, grabbing on to the bed-rail and shaking it.
‘Farah …’ began Bubblee.
‘You unbelievably stupid man.’ Tears of anger surfaced as I glared at his unperturbed face. ‘Who does that? Who fritters away thousands and thousands of pounds without telling their wife? Who takes out another mortgage on their home without telling the person they’re meant to be sharing their life with? I’m your wife,’ I exclaimed, stabbing at my chest with my finger. ‘Didn’t you think?’
‘Faru, what’s happening?’ I heard Mum’s voice in the background, but I didn’t turn around. I was too busy staring at my husband, anger rising that he wasn’t waking up and fixing this.
‘You’d better wake up,’ I exclaimed. ‘Hey!’ I shouted, leaning into Mustafa’s face. ‘You wake up and you fix this and you be my husband again, or I swear to God I will sell your organs to keep our home.’
‘Faru,’ I heard Mum’s voice again. ‘He’s in a coma.’
I felt someone’s hand on my arm, but I pushed it away.
‘Did you hear that?’ I spat at him. ‘Your kidneys. Your lungs. I’ll sell your eyes and your liver and even your scraps of flesh if they’re worth anything. And all the bits of you that remain, I’ll make a korma out of them and feed it to the dogs – I swear to God I will if you don’t wake up. I’m not joking around.’
‘Far, maybe—’
‘As for your heart. No, I won’t sell that. I wouldn’t even give that to the dogs. I’ll throw it out of this window,’ I said, striding up to the window, pointing out at the grey skies. ‘Creepy crawlies can nibble at the veins because you …’ My voice began to break. ‘You promised you’d always be there.’
I couldn’t help it; the tears were streaming down my hot, flushed face.
‘And if you promise something you’d better keep it. We can’t have a baby, we’ve almost lost our home, I will not lose you too.’
That’s when I lost my words to sobs and my body weight to someone who’d enveloped me in their arms.
‘Shhh,’ came Bubblee’s voice, brushing past my ear. ‘You’re okay, Far. You’re okay.’
I felt myself being moved and settled into a chair, in which we both just about fitted.
‘He’d better keep his promise,’ I
gasped, voice muffled against Bubblee’s shoulder.
‘He will,’ she whispered, stroking my head. ‘Of course he will.’
I stayed like that, sobbing, gasping in her arms. When I was finally able to breathe properly, I lifted my face from Bubblee’s shoulder and found the room was empty, apart from my husband, still lying in bed. Could he hear what was happening? Did he have any idea at all?
‘What do you know? You don’t even like him,’ I said.
‘Just so we’re clear,’ she replied. ‘I faulted you for marrying him, not him for loving you.’
I hadn’t realised there was a difference.
‘I’ve lost everything, Bubs.’ The lump in my throat came back. ‘Everything.’
‘Not everything,’ she replied, tightening her grip around me.
We were squashed together, unable to move, maybe even unwilling – the last time we were this close was probably in our mum’s womb. The crying had given me a headache and the warmth of her arms somehow helped soothe that pain.
‘Has anyone heard from Fatti?’ I asked, barely able to look at Bubblee.
‘No. Not yet,’ she replied.
‘Are you worried?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
She’d handed me a tissue with which I cleaned my nose as I sat up. I took a deep breath, trying to even out my breathing.
‘Where’d everyone go?’ I asked.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
I rubbed at a mark on my trousers. ‘Maybe you were right,’ I said, licking my thumb, attempting to get the stain off my trousers. ‘I’ve spent my married life relying on him, and now look.’
We both glanced at my husband’s bed.
‘The house …’ I said.
‘What?’ Bubblee put her hand on my leg, covering the stain.
I looked at her. ‘How could he have told such a lie for so long?’
‘Unfortunately people make mistakes,’ she replied. ‘And plenty of them.’
I stared at the grey lino. ‘Like Mum and Dad. Mustafa gave Jay that job for their sake and they didn’t tell me either.’
The Secret Lives of the Amir Sisters Page 13
