‘The truth is,’ he said, staring at me. ‘I wanted to …’
He looked agitated and every time he looked at me he’d look away again.
‘What?’ I asked. ‘Are you okay?’
He shook his head. ‘No. No, I’m not.’
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, leaning forward.
‘Do you really want to know?’ he said.
I nodded, because the least I could do was listen to whatever was on his mind, when he’d done nothing but listen to what was on mine.
‘Your family’s not the only one that cares about you,’ he said.
It wasn’t really clear what he meant – there wasn’t much I could say to that. He leaned forward, his eyes looking into mine in a way that I felt I should look away from, and yet I couldn’t.
‘Listen,’ he began. ‘I’ve seen enough of people to know who’s worth caring about and who’s not.’
‘Isn’t everyone worth caring about?’ I said, managing to look at my napkin instead.
He laughed and regarded me for a few moments.
‘No, not everyone,’ he replied. ‘But …’ He paused. ‘You are.’
I felt my face flush.
‘Thanks,’ I said, still not sure where to look, and so I looked at my phone, checking the time, and realised my battery had died. As much as I wanted to stay, it was time to go and see how Mustafa was doing.
Ash looked down at his lap and mumbled something. I’m not sure what it was but it sounded a bit like something not being easy, maybe.
‘I care about you,’ he said.
My cup was mid-air. The words he spoke wouldn’t have felt so weird if he hadn’t said them while he stared at me. I waited for him to say something else; something unrelated – maybe about the weather or something. I felt dizzy. What did he mean? When you tell someone you’re not related to that you care about them, does it mean as a friend, sister … something else? The idea of something else got my heart beating a lot faster – so fast, it was having an effect on my stomach, which wasn’t feeling at its best anyway. So much time had passed between what he’d said and my own thoughts that the only thing that came out of my mouth was, ‘Perhaps we should go?’
For a moment his face dropped, still looking at me, and then he gave a smile. ‘Of course. Yeah, let’s go. You’ll want to be with your family right now.’ He got up as he added, ‘Stupid of me wasting your time like this.’
‘No,’ I said, looking at him, wishing he’d see me smiling. ‘You’re the only person I can really talk to.’
‘Really?’ he asked, meeting my gaze.
I nodded. ‘I mean, all the times I’ve failed my test and you’ve never once lost your patience with me—’
‘—That’s my job, Fatima.’
‘No, yes – I know – but you’re also …’
What was he? I tried to think of the words.
‘A good friend,’ I finished.
That didn’t feel like enough, but then what else was he? He gave me a smile, but it seemed like a sad one. I don’t know, though; I think everything is sad nowadays.
When we got in the car he was very quiet. Something had happened back there but I wasn’t sure what. He drove into the main entrance of the hospital and I paused as I was unfastening my seatbelt.
‘Thanks for the coffee and … everything,’ I said.
‘That’s what friends are for,’ he replied, not quite looking at me.
Something weighed down on my heart and as I got out of the car I paused and then turned around.
‘Did I do something wrong?’ I asked, looking into the car.
He took a deep breath, giving a short laugh as he shook his head. Leaning into the passenger’s side, he said: ‘No, Fatima. You didn’t do anything wrong.’
He patted the seat, asking me to sit down, so I did. ‘I should’ve said what I really meant.’
Taking another deep breath, he looked at me and said: ‘I care about you. As more than a friend.’
For a second I thought: maybe this is a dream and I’ll wake up any minute.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s bad timing. Or maybe it’s perfect timing. I just know that when you realise something like this you have to tell the person, because who knows what kind of obstacles life can put in your way?’
More than a friend? I noticed a couple come out of their car with their two children. Who were they visiting? A flock of birds flew overhead in a perfect V-shape and I wondered where they were going.
‘You have a lot going on right now, though, and it’s important that you focus on that. On your family.’
I noticed that his eyelashes curled upwards – it’s the first time I’d realised that. And that he had a really kind face. Not the type that would stand out in a crowd, but the one you’d probably approach if you were in that crowd and had lost your way. I thought of Mustafa and Mum and Dad, and everything else that was such a tangle as I nodded.
‘I don’t expect anything,’ he said.
Expect? What was happening? My headache was coming back. People cared about those around me, never me. The idea of anyone ever loving me like that was so ridiculous, I’d never even entertained the idea. Apart from when I first met Malik. The memory didn’t help my nausea. There’s a reason for being honest about who your birth parents are – accidentally falling for your brother being one of them. As Mae would say: vom.
‘Oh,’ I said, looking away.
What was I meant to say? Nothing had ever prepared me for a moment like this. I’d never expected it. If I spoke, I knew just a jumble of stupid words would come out.
‘I should let you go,’ he said.
Thank God he said that because I suddenly felt like I wanted to be as far from him as possible. Just him sitting there was confusing me. I couldn’t stay any longer with all these thoughts and feelings that began tingling the surface of my skin. I gave a rushed goodbye as I got out of the car and the strap of my bag got caught in the door handle. I yanked it out, almost breaking the handle and my bag’s strap in the process, slammed the door behind me and rushed into the hospital. My steps slowed down as I took in what had happened. Ash cares about me? My driving instructor Ash? Why? It didn’t make sense. I turned around to see if he might be driving past, out of the car park. But he was no longer in view. So, I walked in the direction of Mustafa’s ward, trying to calm the beating of my heart with each step that led me away from Ash.
*
‘Where have you been?’ exclaimed Mae, rushing towards me, still in her school uniform. ‘We’ve been calling you.’
She looked so terrified, my heart sank. She grabbed my hand as we rushed down the corridor, outside Mustafa’s hospital room. There was Farah, sobbing; Malik stood next to Bubblee, who looked pale and as if she was about to throw up; Jay looking at the floor with his hands in his pockets; Mum clutching her chest and Dad with his hand on her arm. I gripped Mae. And then I looked at Mustafa’s bed.
‘Oh my God,’ I said, under my breath.
He looked at me and smiled.
‘You’re awake,’ I said, almost in a whisper.
Farah turned to me and smiled through her sobs.
‘Hi, Fatti,’ said Mustafa, barely able to get the words out. Before I knew it I’d already rushed to his bedside and was hugging him.
I don’t know whether it was because he was my brother, or that it meant that I hadn’t given Farah the evil eye and she’d not be a widow because of me, or whether it was because, finally, the whole family was here, in a room together – and awake – for the first time.
‘You’re back,’ I said, still hugging him.
‘Ow,’ he said. ‘Just about.’
He looked at me as I drew away but he took my hand. Without saying anything, it was like he said he knew. I was his sister. As I sat up, taking in the fact that Mustafa was alive and awake, Jay rushed out of the room.
‘He needs to learn that forgiveness doesn’t come that easily,’ said Bubblee.
Mustafa’s eyes
flickered towards the window. ‘We both know that,’ he replied, his eyes drowsy as if he were about to fall asleep again.
It was weird, because I’d never really had a relationship with Jay the way Farah did, or the love/hate bond he and Bubblee shared, and definitely not the little-sister, big-brother connection he and Mae had – but despite everything, I felt sorry for him. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I left the room to find him. Typical Jay, he hadn’t gone far – he was sitting in the waiting room.
‘Hi,’ I said, sitting next to him.
He regarded me for a while. ‘Fatti. So. You’re adopted.’
He never was careful with his actions or his words.
‘You’ve dealt with it all a lot better than I would’ve if it was me,’ he added.
‘You’ve got enough to worry about,’ I replied.
He laughed out loud before rubbing his face. ‘Bangladesh’s changed you.’
It hadn’t occurred to me before – maybe it had. Maybe sometimes you’re so busy waiting for change that you miss the fact that you yourself are changing.
‘What about you? Has being away from all of us altered you?’ I asked.
He gave a big sigh. He always had been a bit of a scrawny thing, and even though he’d filled out, was tall, there was still this gangliness to him. That’s another thing he and Mae have in common.
‘Not enough, according to some,’ he said.
I leaned back in my chair.
‘What?’ he asked, looking at me.
‘Jay – did you really think it’d be that easy? That you’d come home, say sorry, and now that Mustafa’s woken up everything would be forgiven and forgotten? They’re going to lose their house – their savings, everything they’ve worked for.’
I noticed the colour rise to his face, but he had to hear it. Why did he assume everything would just be so easy? Just because he’s a man? I sounded like Bubblee – but then, I wasn’t sure that was a bad thing, actually.
‘Since when did you say what you thought?’ he said.
‘I’m a changed person, remember?’ I leaned forward, thinking of just how much was happening in that moment: Mustafa was awake, I was talking to Jay and Ash cared about me. Was this it? Was this life? ‘If you want to be a part of this family, then you have to do what it takes to be forgiven. By everyone.’
‘Even Bubblee?’ he said.
‘Especially Bubblee,’ I replied. ‘But listen, and don’t take this the wrong way. It’s just that, if you can’t do that, after everything you’ve put everyone through, then you might as well leave and not come back.’
The words felt so foreign coming out of my mouth and I could hear my voice tremble. These were all things I thought but never would’ve said if it were a month ago. Jay looked at me as if the words were as shocking to him as they were to me.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘But I have to be honest. You can’t just be here, but then not be here. It’s not about you any more. It’s about all of us, isn’t it?’
As the words came out of my mouth, I couldn’t help but think how they applied to me as well. Was I just as bad as Jay? I didn’t think so because I hadn’t ended up potentially getting Mustafa and Farah’s house repossessed, but it still felt true in some ways.
‘It’s always the quiet ones,’ he said.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Things aren’t exactly going to get better any time soon. Not with their financial situation. What are you going to do? Stay and help, or … run away?’
‘That depends. Are you going to run away?’
I thought of Ash and the family, right now, in Mustafa’s room. My family. Was that the moment; in Ash’s car? Was that the moment perhaps I’d been waiting for – when life would actually change; move in some way? Or maybe it was right here, in the hospital corridor with my younger brother. Because even as I looked at him and thought of all the distance between us – the lack of any real bond – I couldn’t help but feel, for better or for worse, that he was my brother.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m here to stay.’
*
Pretty soon we were told to go home and let Mustafa rest. He was still weak and in and out of consciousness.
‘Hasn’t he had enough sleep?’ said Mae to the doctor. ‘Shouldn’t he be, like, ready to party now?’
Jay laughed and put his arm around her as I caught Malik frowning at him.
‘This girl doesn’t stop speaking,’ said Mum as Dad laughed too, though he tried not to when Mum shot him a look.
We all left but Farah stayed behind in the hospital for a while. When we got home Jay said he was going for a nap and Bubblee said she and Mae would go to Farah’s house to tidy it before she got home.
‘Come with us?’ said Bubblee to me.
I glanced over at Malik who’d gone into the garden to take a call. I shook my head because now was the time to pluck up my courage and speak to him. I could tell Mum and Dad were looking over at me as I walked past them, into the garden, just so I wouldn’t have to be alone with them once Bubblee and Mae left. I wasn’t ready to speak to them about Bangladesh yet.
Malik had got off his phone as I joined him in the garden.
‘Hi,’ I said, forcing myself to look at him, even though I could only manage it for about two seconds.
He looked tired and I wondered what it must be like to have had to deal with my family these past weeks.
‘That was my parents,’ he replied.
‘Oh.’
Did they ask about me? Were they wondering whether I was safe or not? I couldn’t bring myself to ask. When he said that they passed on their salams and love, I had to wonder whether it was them speaking or Malik. He glanced over my shoulder and when I turned around I saw Mum was watching us from the kitchen window.
‘Have they forgiven you then?’ I said.
He glanced toward the window again and gave a wry smile. ‘Yes. I have apologised. It was wrong of me, but …’ he shrugged. ‘Still. I should’ve known better.’
‘I don’t suppose Mum was easy to please?’ I asked.
‘She was better than you would think, Fatima.’ He looked down at the grass, putting his hands in his pockets. ‘In fact, she said that in some ways she was relieved. The burden of carrying that secret and letting so much time pass must’ve been hard. It is not always how someone has acted – although, I’m not saying a person shouldn’t think about their actions – but it is important to know what a person has felt too. If they have felt anything. At least your amma has felt it.’
I nodded, considering what he said. Some weeks ago, before Bangladesh, it would’ve probably made me angrier towards them, but today I could understand.
‘Feelings are important,’ I said.
We heard someone come out into the garden next door. I looked over at Paulo, putting out the laundry, just his naked shoulders visible from over the fence. It felt good to see him – the familiar – though obviously not all of him. He waved at me as I waved back. Malik looked over and then glanced at me.
‘Your neighbours are … very interesting,’ he said, lowering his voice.
I had to laugh at how disturbed Malik looked.
‘So, I finally get to ask you properly: how was Bangladesh?’ he said.
I noticed that the grass needed mowing. ‘I got to meet everyone.’
‘Ah, yes, my brothers, their wives and all my nieces and nephews too.’
‘They seemed nice,’ I replied.
‘And my parents?’ he asked. ‘How did they seem?’
I paused, trying to search for the right kind of words.
‘Nice as well,’ I replied.
He gave a small laugh, bending his head to look at me as I still stared at the grass. ‘You can be honest with me.’
I looked up at him. ‘It’s not that they weren’t nice, it’s just that …’
‘They didn’t seem to care like you thought they would?’
I nodded – in some ways it was a relief that he said it himself.
‘This is why I wanted to go with you,’ he replied, sighing. ‘I am sorry,’ he added.
‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault. And really, like I said, they were fine, they just didn’t … they just didn’t seem to realise what they’d done.’
He furrowed his eyebrows as we meandered to the bottom of the garden. ‘I can’t make excuses for them, Fatima. I can only say that I know what poverty can do to a person, and what money can do when a poor person finally gets it.’
‘Do you think they gave me away because they might not have been able to afford a dowry?’
He pondered this for a moment. ‘Maybe,’ he replied. ‘Maybe not. They would have thought of it, though – at the time. It is no excuse,’ he added, turning to me. ‘I wished I could’ve grown up with a sister like you.’
I had to bite back the tears. ‘Well, you’re here now.’
He gave a sad smile. ‘So much time has passed and you never can buy the kind of childhood memories you have with your siblings.’
Turning back towards the house, he looked at it, considering it.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘A lot has happened these past weeks,’ he replied. ‘But your family felt very much like my family for a while.’
I looked at him for a moment and wondered: did he feel in Bangladesh the way I felt here? As if he didn’t belong to the family he was born into? And did he find something here that I didn’t manage to find in Bangladesh?
‘Even Bubblee?’ I said.
His smile disappeared.
‘I know,’ I said, when he didn’t speak. ‘She’s not easy to warm to. But she has a good heart really. I mean, only if she loves you. It’s just a bit hard to get her to.’
Malik put his hands behind his back as we strolled towards the house again. ‘If it were easier, it might not be as worth it,’ he replied. ‘I suppose,’ he added, as if as an afterthought.
I thought about Ash and something seemed to open in the pit of my stomach. When was the next time I’d see him? I still had a driving test to pass and yet how could I message him about another lesson, with everything that had happened? But it wasn’t even as if the test really mattered any more. It didn’t make a difference whether I saw him in the car, or in his home, or out in a coffee shop. It just mattered that I saw him.
The Secret Lives of the Amir Sisters Page 23
