The Secret Lives of the Amir Sisters

by Nadiya Hussain

  ‘Have you never wanted to get married?’ I asked him.

  He looked a bit taken aback – it was slightly out of the blue. I’d even forgotten my initial awkwardness about speaking to him. He just wasn’t that difficult to be around, I suppose. Plus, I really wanted to know: what makes you want to spend the rest of your life with someone? How do you know it’s actually real or whether it’s something you’ve made up in your head? How long can Ash care about someone like me? Just thinking about it made me anxious.

  ‘I’ve never met anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with,’ he replied. ‘My parents would introduce me to a lot of girls, but I wasn’t able to get to know them and their ideas and thoughts. We’d always be with family and how was I ever to have a proper conversation when everyone else was listening?’

  I nodded, even though my thoughts began to wander.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Just wondering.’

  He gave me an inquisitive look and then just smiled. ‘Well, I’d better start looking into booking a ticket back home,’ he said.

  My heart sank. I was getting used to him being around. I wanted to spend more time with him, get to know him; his ideas, his thoughts. I loved Jay, but Malik was different – he seemed like someone I could go to if I needed advice. Plus, I knew Mae would miss him, even if Bubblee probably couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

  ‘Don’t think about that yet,’ I replied. ‘Don’t you want to spend some time with Mustafa now that he’s awake? And the rest of us too?’

  ‘Your parents are fine with me now, but still. I shouldn’t overstay my welcome.’

  ‘But everything is still so up in the air,’ I said. ‘We need to think of a way to help Mustafa and Farah not lose their house.’

  What could we do? Whatever it was, it’d have to involve all of us chipping in somehow. Mum and Dad would be able to lend some money and I had a fair bit saved from living at home and hand-modelling.

  ‘I will be able to lend some money too,’ said Malik. ‘Not a lot. You know how weak the taka is against the pound, but some.’

  I smiled at him.

  ‘Do you have any ideas?’ he asked as we walked into the house.

  ‘Not yet,’ I replied.

  I could tell Mum was looking at us as we walked in, watching out for what kind of conversation we might’ve been having.

  ‘Are you both hungry?’ she asked. ‘Fatti, here’s your cheese and prawns. I’ve put them on crackers for you.’

  I took it from her. ‘Thanks, Amma.’

  She put her hand on my face and I kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘But maybe you should stop buying this for me,’ I added.

  Malik had walked over to the sink and started washing the dishes.

  ‘Whatever you want, Babba,’ said Mum.

  ‘Maybe you should’ve stopped buying it for me a long time ago. Because, I know you meant well, but I don’t think it’s very good for me.’

  She nodded. ‘You are right. I made a mistake.’

  I put the plate of prawns and cheese down, looking at her lined face, this one white hair that sprouts from her chin, and her big, kohl-smeared eyes that are kind whenever they look at me.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You just did what you thought was best.’

  ‘You are my beti,’ she said, hugging me.

  ‘I know, Amma.’

  I held on to her until we heard the dishes clattering in the sink.

  Mum turned around and wiped her eyes as she said to Malik: ‘You go and sit down. Men don’t help in the kitchen.’

  ‘Kala, I’m trying new things.’

  Just then the doorbell rang and it was Marnie with a tray of cupcakes.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ said Mum, eyeing Marnie’s clothes suspiciously.

  ‘We thought you and the family could do with some treats now there’s something to celebrate.’

  Dad’s footsteps came rushing down the stairs as he came to greet Marnie.

  ‘Ah, so kind, Marnie. Isn’t that kind, Jay’s Amma?’ he said, looking at Mum.

  Mum pursed her lips, attempted a smile, and nodded.

  ‘We love cupcakes,’ added Dad, taking one from the tray and biting into it. ‘Mm! Perfect.’

  ‘My daughter made these ones,’ replied Marnie.

  ‘But she learns from her mother, no?’ said Dad, nudging her and smiling.

  Mum looked like she might shove the cheese-and-prawn crackers she’d made somewhere unsavoury if Marnie was naked.

  ‘Well, I have been known for my baking, in the past,’ she replied.

  Something began to swirl around in my head as Mum led Dad into the kitchen by the arm and Marnie was left standing in the dining area.

  ‘Really?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she replied, recounting the various cakes she’d made for birthdays and anniversaries. ‘People go mad for cake,’ she added.

  Of course they do. ‘What if we made more cakes?’ I said to everyone in the kitchen.

  Malik turned around.

  ‘I mean, lots and lots of cake.’

  Mum looked at Dad, concerned. Maybe she thought I was going to make all this cake and eat it myself.

  ‘Because people like it, don’t they?’ I said. ‘You can’t really go wrong with it if you make nice cakes. Like yours,’ I added, looking at Marnie.

  ‘Yes?’ she replied, as if asking what the point of this was.

  ‘What if …?’ No, it was a silly idea, surely. But then, what else did we have? ‘Suppose if we did something like a bake-sale?’

  Mum, Dad and Malik looked none the wiser with where I was going with this.

  ‘A big one? I mean a huge one.’

  ‘Yes, Babba, we can do whatever you want when things are calmer,’ said Dad.

  ‘Not for me, Abba.’

  I could see Marnie nodding. ‘Oh. Well, yes. I see.’ She thought about it. ‘But there’s a lot to consider, and yet, I suppose … I mean, why not?’ She seemed to be the only one who was understanding where I was going with this. ‘But Fateema’ – that’s how she always pronounces my name – ‘it would have to be a very big bake-sale.’

  She seemed a little embarrassed as she cleared her throat.

  ‘It’s just that …’ Her eyes flicked towards everyone, as if apologising. ‘We all know that Mustafa and Farah are having some financial troubles. And we gather that they’re rather big ones.’

  Of course they knew – everyone in the town did. But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing now. Maybe it meant we could do something about it.

  ‘What do you mean, bake-sale?’ said Mum.

  ‘I know,’ I said, looking at Marnie. ‘But isn’t it worth a try? Something is better than nothing, isn’t it? I just wonder – how willing would people be to help?’

  Marnie gave me a smile. It was the smile of a person who loved a challenge. The kind of smile I think I had on my face too.

  *

  ‘Fats,’ said Mae. ‘Trust you to think the only way to keep someone’s house from getting repossessed is baking cakes.’ Mae was shaking her head as she ate her edamame. ‘What are we going to do? Ice them with cheese from a tube?’

  ‘Shh,’ said Bubblee, who looked deep in concentration.

  It was family meeting time. Farah was still at the hospital and I gathered everyone in the living room to tell them about my idea. Malik came in with two mugs of tea, and handed one to Bubblee.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking up. ‘Thanks.’

  Maybe it was a stupid idea. As if that would actually help get their house back. I checked my phone and wondered if there’d be a message waiting for me from Ash. Nothing. I tried to push the disappointment to the back of my mind and focus on what was happening now. Why would he message anyway, after how I behaved? What must he think of me? I bet he’s changed his mind already. It wasn’t the time to think about him though, or the way my heart dipped at the thought of him.

  ‘It’d have to be a hell of a bake-sale,’ said Bubblee, looking
at me.

  ‘Hmm? Oh yeah. It would,’ I replied, just about catching what she said.

  ‘Who would make all these cakes?’ said Mum.

  ‘Where would we have it?’ asked Dad as he rocked in his rocking chair.

  ‘Yeah, genius; and what about how much it’d actually cost to make all this stuff? Cakes don’t grow on trees, you know.’ Mae popped another edamame in her mouth.

  I sat on the floor, because every seat was already occupied, and looked at the ground. My idea was a flop. Of course Mae was right. And so were Mum and Dad: who would make all these things and where would we even have it?

  ‘Well,’ said Marnie, who at Dad’s insistence had stayed to ‘give us her thoughts’, ‘Paulo’s best friend works at the council. We’d just need to fill in the application form and … hang on.’

  She got her phone out and called Paulo to explain what was happening.

  ‘Yes. Mhmm. Okay.’ She glanced at all of us as we all looked at each other. ‘Right, fine. Good,’ she added before hanging up the phone.

  ‘Precisely,’ she said. ‘We fill in the application form under the pretext of a community fundraiser – which it is, of course – and use the park to put the sale on.’

  ‘But it’s not a community fundraiser,’ said Bubblee.

  ‘Oh yes it is, dear,’ said Marnie, as if that was the final word on the matter. ‘Paulo and I will fill in the application for you, get his friend to process it and we’ll have permission within days. It pays to know people. We’re going to turn this bake-sale into a fete.’

  I had a new-found respect for Marnie.

  ‘Right, well, that’s one thing,’ said Bubblee, looking impressed. ‘Next problem.’

  ‘I only have two hands,’ said Mum. ‘You will all help me but even then, to make money from it, we will need so many. Hundreds and hundreds and thousands.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Marnie. ‘You have us.’

  Bubblee picked up her mug of tea. ‘To be fair, I’m sure plenty of Farah’s neighbours and friends will help too.’ She put the mug down and got her phone out, tapping on it before she looked up at us again. ‘But still, I mean, even if you sold cakes at an average maximum of two pounds per cupcake or slice, or whatever it might be, you’d have to sell at least fifty thousand of them for it to be worth it. There are only around five thousand people in Wyvernage. And they’re not all going to buy cake. It doesn’t even include the cost of making all of them.’

  It was looking grim. Every time I got excited at the idea and thought it might work, there was another hurdle to consider. For all of Bubblee’s cynicism, there was no denying that she was right.

  ‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Jay. ‘I have a lot of people who owe me favours.’

  Apart from Marnie, there wasn’t one person in the room who didn’t look at Jay with doubt. Even Mum and Dad looked sceptical.

  ‘All right. Do these people happen to be in prison?’ said Mae as Mum shot her a look.

  Marnie cleared her throat.

  ‘No, Squirt. They happen to be people who own bulk-buying stores.’

  ‘Jay,’ said Bubblee. ‘If people owed you money, then why would you be broke and have none yourself?’ She glanced over at Marnie who really was finding out a little too much about the Amir family.

  ‘You might find it hard to believe, but I have helped people with things in the past. And some favours,’ said Jay, getting up with his phone in his hand, ‘aren’t the money kind.’

  He left the room to apparently make a phone call.

  ‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ said Bubblee.

  ‘Listen,’ said Malik, leaning forward and clasping his hands. ‘If we can somehow get bulk ingredients from Jay’s …’ he cleared his throat, ‘… friends, then we could make boxes of cakes to sell so people will spend, I don’t know, eight or ten pounds for a box.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Mae, putting out her hands as if she’d had an epiphany. ‘We could call them Rescue Boxes.’ She smiled eagerly. ‘Get it? Because they’ll rescue Mustafa, Farah and people who are addicted to sugar. Well, actually, they’ll just feed their addiction rather than rescue them from it, but you get my drift.’

  Malik smiled at her, showing his teeth. ‘Such a clever one.’

  Mae took a very low bow.

  Dad sighed and stroked his chin. ‘This is good, but we still have the problem of making enough money. Bubblee is right. This town is small.’

  ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Mae, who dashed out of the room.

  She appeared again, a minute later, this time with her laptop in her arms.

  ‘But, my dear Abba, the Internet is not small,’ she said, tapping on the laptop, frowning in concentration.

  ‘These youngsters and their gadgets,’ said Marnie.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Taking advantage of the wonder of the online world, my dear sister,’ she replied. ‘Creating a Facebook page.’ She laughed to herself as she typed.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  Bubblee shook her head. ‘What’s this going to do?’

  Mae looked at Bubblee as you’d look at a child. ‘Create awareness, Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. And …’ she said, ‘get people to donate.’

  Mae explained that she could set up a Funding Page explaining the aim behind the fete.

  ‘Why would people just give their money to someone they don’t know?’ said Mum.

  ‘Because, my cynical mother …’ Mae looked around the room. ‘At least we know where Bubs gets it from – they’ll get a Rescue Box for every ten-pound donation. It might only have three cupcakes in it, but them’s the breaks. People love the idea of “helping” while getting something in return. And obvs, they pay for their own postage and packaging.’

  I looked at her in amazement. ‘Is this all possible?’

  Jay walked back into the room, puffing out his chest and smiling at us all.

  ‘Done. Marnie, I’ll need a list of the main things we’ll need, apart from eggs and flour and sugar, and then anything beside that we’ll just have to pay for out of our own pockets – but that we can manage, right?’

  Mum and Dad both looked at him, not beaming, but relieved that at least he’d managed to help in some way. Though Bubblee still looked sceptical.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘Are we saying this might actually work, then?’

  Bubblee leaned back and played with a short strand of her hair. I looked around at Mum and Dad, Malik, Mae, Jay and Marnie.

  ‘You know,’ said Bubblee, ‘I think it just might.’

  Mae was tapping furiously at her laptop still, her brows knitted in concentration. ‘Especially,’ she said, her eyes skimming across her screen, ‘when I contact our lovely local paper for a news story.’

  *

  The first thing I thought about when I woke up was Ash. Maybe I should message him? But then what if he didn’t actually mean what he said? Perhaps I should ask Bubblee? But it’s not as if she thinks very clearly when it comes to that kind of thing, considering what she thought of Mustafa. And Mae would just laugh and make a joke of it. Farah has other things on her mind. I could ask Malik but the very thought of it makes me so embarrassed, I want to crawl under my duvet.

  Just then Mae came charging into my room and said Farah was on her way. We told her to come to Mum and Dad’s house before going to the hospital because we needed to speak to her. I dragged myself out of bed and tried to forget about Ash. There were other important things to be done.

  ‘Oh my God,’ sang Mae, as she hopped about like a rabbit when Farah entered the house. ‘Have we got news for you!’

  ‘What?’ snapped Farah.

  ‘Oh yeah, sorry. First of all I meant, how was Mustafa yesterday?’ asked Mae.

  Farah came into the living room and looked at all of us as she took a seat on the single sofa.

  ‘Weak; sorry about what’s happened; alive,’ she replied.

  Farah played with her wedding ring and I noticed Bubblee pur
sing her lips as if she was stopping herself from saying anything. Mum and Dad were still in their room.

  ‘As if sorry’s going to bring our home back,’ Farah added.

  She put her face in her hands and sat there for a while, the three of us looking at each other, unsure about what to do. That’s when I explained the fete idea to her. At first I wasn’t sure whether she was listening, because it was a while before she looked up at me.

  ‘A fete? To save my home?’ She didn’t sound very convinced.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, glancing at Bubblee and Mae. ‘We sat here yesterday and figured out how it could work.’

  ‘It was Fatti’s idea,’ said Bubblee.

  ‘But we all came up with a plan together.’

  Mae came forward with her laptop and clicked on the mouse. She’d prepared a vignette of clips from her video and uploaded it to the Facebook page: shots of Farah and Mustafa together; in their home, in our home, laughing and bickering. Farah took the laptop from Mae. The following shots were of all of us in the hospital; the doctor coming to tell us Mustafa’s in an induced coma; a shot of Mrs Lemington’s poodle; Dad staring at the vending machine; Bubblee and Mum sitting side by side; a close-up of Farah’s face. Every step of the past few weeks, recorded by our little sister and collated into three minutes and fourteen seconds of images and conversation that made tears fall from Farah’s eyes.

  ‘Mae …’ whispered Farah, looking at her. ‘This is … beautiful.’

  ‘Oh, you know. Whatever,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, see that.’ Mae pointed at a figure at the bottom of the page. ‘That shows how much money people have donated so far.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Bubblee, staring at the four-figure sum.

  ‘It’s not much,’ said Mae. ‘Yet. But wait until the news story runs.’

  Farah began to read comments and messages from friends, neighbours, but also strangers. ‘But these people don’t even know us,’ she said.

  ‘But they know someone you might’ve known. Or Mustafa might’ve known.’ I looked at her. ‘People like him a lot.’