The Fall and Rise of the Amir Sisters. Nadiya Hussain
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raised her eyebrows.
‘Not on purpose,’ Farah added. ‘God, you’re making it sound worse than it was.’
‘I think the blinds are straight enough,’ said Bubblee.
‘Me and Mus were meant to go and see a film.’
Bubblee watched Farah pause and sway so that she thought she might faint. But Farah just went and sat on the edge of the bed. Bubblee noticed she was still looking at the blinds.
‘They’re still not straight,’ said Farah.
She went to get up again but Bubblee was blocking her way.
‘What is wrong with you?’ said Bubblee.
‘Nothing, I’m…’ Farah’s voice wavered. ‘It’s just… oh, Bubs – why can’t I have a baby?’
The tears began to stream down Farah’s face as Bubblee sat next to her and put her arm around her. She sobbed into her arms for such a long time Bubblee worried that Mustafa would come up and ask what was going on.
‘Shh, it’s okay,’ said Bubblee.
She looked at her sister’s tear-strewn face and felt several pangs of sympathy.
‘It must be hard,’ Bubblee offered.
‘Hard?’ said Farah, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s… it’s…’ Farah looked around the room, frantically, as if she’d find what it was in their bedroom. Her eyes settled upon Bubblee again.
‘But you don’t get it, do you?’ said Farah. ‘You’ve never really cared about having babies.’
It was true. Finding prolonged sympathy for Farah’s problem was going to be difficult – but she could understand the feeling of loss, of not getting what you want. Wasn’t every single atom of passion that she poured into her work – her labour of love – amounting to nothing?
‘No. They cry an awful lot.’
Farah shot her a look.
‘Well,’ said Bubblee. ‘I just don’t understand the need to have them, but I do get what it feels like when you can’t have what you want.’
Farah looked at her. ‘Were you seeing someone?’
‘No. Not everything has to do with relationships.’ Bubblee looked at the ground. ‘Things just aren’t really working out. With the art scene.’
As soon as the words escaped her Bubblee knew them to be true. It was a long-held secret that could only become fact once she’d said it out loud. Now, expecting to have felt a release of some kind, Bubblee just felt numb.
‘It’s the only thing I thought I was any good at and now… I don’t know what I’m meant to do with myself. My whole life. So, no. I don’t get the need for babies, but I get the idea of needs.’ She turned to Farah. ‘That gaping hole.’
Bubblee could finally share this with someone, and what’s more, she could share it with her twin sister, who’d always been so different from her.
Farah’s brows twitched. ‘Bubs, it’s hardly the same thing.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Not being able to make sculptures isn’t the same as not being able to make babies.’
Bubblee felt the warmth of her blood rushing to her face.
‘I mean, I’m sorry to hear it. I know what it meant to you, of course. But you can’t tell me not having a family is like no longer being able to…’ She waved her arms around, scrunching up her face, presumably to impersonate what was Bubblee’s livelihood. ‘…you know.’
Bubblee’s tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. A barrage of things to say were exploding in her mind, but couldn’t make their way out as she stared at her sister: the one she’d shared a womb with, birthdays and playtimes as they grew up; the person with whom she’d shared her secrets.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Bubblee, her voice even and cold. ‘I didn’t realize your husband wasn’t your family.’
She didn’t even care about Mustafa. She never thought he was good enough for Farah when they got married, and he certainly hadn’t improved in her estimation since he’d lost their money and had that godawful car crash. At least before he was tame and negligible. Now you never knew what might come out of his mouth.
‘Husbands don’t make families – children do,’ said Farah.
Farah’s eyes went to the bedroom door, and there was Mustafa, standing with his hand on the doorknob.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I just wondered what you guys were doing.’
Bubblee saw Farah swallow hard.
‘I’m going to go out, okay?’ he said.
Without waiting for a reply he turned around and closed the door behind him.
‘Oh, God, do you think he heard?’ asked Farah, looking at Bubblee in despair.
‘Doesn’t seem like you really care either way.’
‘What? Of course I care. I just need more than him. Is that so bad?’
Bubblee barely recognized her sister. When did she go from being the foundation of this family, the go-to person with the ever-straightforward-yet-wise advice, to this woman who couldn’t see past her own ovaries? Bubblee stood up and went to leave.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Farah.
‘Home.’
‘Are you annoyed because of what I said about your art stuff?’
‘You feel how you feel.’ Bubblee looked at her sister. She wouldn’t waste time trying to justify her needs and wants and losses. ‘I don’t know why I’m expected to feel more for you, though.’
She followed in Mustafa’s footsteps, out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her, before leaving the house.
Mustafa didn’t come home until late and Farah was already in bed, pretending to be asleep. She felt him slide in beside her and wondered if she should turn around and say something. What would she say, though? Sorry? If he had any sense in him he’d know what she meant, and he couldn’t possibly feel that just the two of them was enough. Not any more. It was a missed opportunity in terms of trying to have sex, but she couldn’t bear looking at his doleful face. Tomorrow Farah would go to the doctor because every problem has a solution, and she had to find theirs.
‘Have you considered other options?’
Farah wished the doctor was female. The greying man looked at her as if he were her teacher and she hadn’t prepared for her class quiz.
‘I know you tried IVF before, but you might like to –’
‘No,’ interrupted Farah. ‘We can’t afford to try again.’
She remembered the hormone injections, the failed pregnancy tests, the spiralling of hope that would expand and contract but never amount to anything. The doctor cleared his throat and adjusted his navy tie.
‘What about surrogacy?’
He wasn’t getting it at all.
‘Our finances. We can’t.’
And another woman carrying her child? No, thank you.
‘Well,’ he continued. ‘Let’s put you in for a transvaginal scan. The last lap-and-dye wasn’t successful, but let’s check that again and see what results we get. In the meantime, take some time to think about what I’ve said. Speak with your partner. Also, here are some leaflets with numbers for counselling. Trying for a baby can take its emotional toll on a couple.’
I don’t need more leaflets; I need you to tell me how to conceive.