The Secret Lives of the Amir Sisters: the ultimate heart-warming read for 2018. Nadiya Hussain
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with Mae’s face.
‘Where’s Fatti?’ I asked Mae, pretending it was normal to have Farah walk away like that. Actually, it had become quite standard.
‘Well done,’ Mae said, ignoring my question. ‘Farah’s only gone and left now, and I needed to ask her about my tofu curry recipe. You need to let it go, it’s been five years. I mean, come on – so what Farah’s married?’ she added, looking at the leftover shopping. ‘Now I’m going to have to put it all away.’
I wanted to tell her she’s lucky she has Farah who manages to do that for her, as well as everything else.
‘So, she was helping out at home as usual. Not much change then,’ I said.
‘And handing over money from our dear brother, as per,’ added Mae. ‘Who, by the way, decided to call Mum and Dad today. Ugh.’ Mae leaned into the screen as I realised that she’d caught sight of my sculpture. ‘What’s that?’
‘A work in progress,’ I replied, turning the phone the other way.
‘What? Like you?’ She found this a lot funnier than I did and laughed as she made her way up the stairs again.
‘Wait. I wanted to speak to her,’ I heard Mum call out after Mae as she passed the living room.
Not that Mae listened. ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear. You can thank me later. Ssh.’
I saw she’d stopped outside Fatti’s room and leaned into the door. Mae put her finger to her mouth, waited for a few moments before shrugging and going into her own room.
‘How’s school?’ I asked, turning around to look at my sculpture, wondering what it was that made it seem so incomplete. What did Mae know? My sisters were so uncultured when it came to anything to do with the art world.
‘Better than your relationship with Farah,’ she replied.
‘Not now, Mae.’
Would I ever be able to say anything to Farah without her taking offence?
Mae shrugged. ‘Whatevs. I’ve got more interesting things to do than think about everyone’s crises anyway.’
Just then there was a loud knock on her door.
‘It’s Abbauuu,’ she said, smiling at our dad. ‘What’s up, Abs?’
‘Your amma needs to talk to Bubblee.’
‘Our amma always needs to talk to someone,’ she replied.
If I’d said half the things at her age that she did I’d have been locked in the cupboard under the stairs.
‘Soz, sis. I did my best but we are all veterans of our familial battles.’
‘Just pass the phone, Mae.’
Before I knew it there was Dad’s face as he spoke. ‘Fatti failed her driving test again so your amma is a little more stressed than usual. Just speak to her for five minutes and make her feel easy.’
‘She’s not going to feel easy until I move back home. And let me tell you, Abba, that’s not happening.’
‘I know, I know.’ He paused as I saw him stop at the top of the stairs. ‘Erm, what is that?’
I’d turned around again without realising that Dad could see the sculpture.
‘Something I’m working on,’ I replied.
‘Hmm.’ He furrowed his eyebrows. ‘And this is what you’re doing in London? Making sculptures of women …’ he leaned in closer. ‘Animals? What is it?’
‘Never mind, Abba. Just give the phone to Amma so I can get the conversation over with.’
I don’t mean for my words to sound short or irritable but that’s just how they come out.
‘I’ll speak to you properly later, okay, Abba?’
He was still looking at the sculpture, worry lines spreading over his features.
‘Hmm? Okay, Babba.’
By the time he’d walked downstairs I heard Mum complaining about Naked Marnie who was apparently out again, basking in the glory of unexpected sunshine.
‘It is a free country,’ I heard Dad say to her.
‘What do you want then?’ said Mum, taking the phone from him and giving me a view of the kitchen walls again. ‘For us all to go out naked?’
‘No-one wants you to go out naked,’ he replied.
‘Hello?’ I said. I had a sculpture to work on, after all.
‘Yes,’ said Mum, putting the phone up to her sour-looking face. ‘I called you two, three times and you didn’t answer.’
‘I was going to call back.’
‘When? Next week? Next month? Next year?’
I didn’t see why, between Fatti failing and Jay calling, I had to be the one who faced her aggression. This is why I make a point of calling home as little as possible. What’s the point when you’re only going to get told off? I’m an adult, for God’s sake. I bet Jay doesn’t get this antagonism. No, the golden child is probably showered with all manners of kindness.
‘Poor Fatti failed again,’ said Mum without any prompt from me.
‘Hmm.’
‘You know how hard it is for her. She doesn’t have your confidence – you should help her but you don’t even answer your family’s calls.’
‘It’s not as if I’m loafing around, Amma. I’m working.’
She looked up at my dad, presumably, and decided to mirror his worried face.
‘But, Bubblee, what kind of work? Look how beautiful you are – such a small nose and light-brown eyes. You shouldn’t take these things for granted. Maybe you should think of getting a proper job where you are making some money. Maybe banking, hmm? Whenever I have a nice boy’s amma on the phone who asks me what you do, I tell her and I never hear from them again. If you had a normal job they would see you and then your beauty would do the rest.’
‘These aren’t exactly the type of people I want to know anyway, and you need to stop trying to find me a husband. I don’t want to get married yet.’
‘Your youth won’t last for ever. Already you’re so old for marriage.’
‘I’m twenty-eight, Amma. And Fatti’s older than me. Why don’t you bug her about marriage? I’m pretty sure she cares a lot more about it than I do.’
Mum shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Allah, what have I done to deserve a girl who answers back so much? A girl who doesn’t even speak to her own twin sister?’
Which was, of course, a complete exaggeration. I speak to Farah. When we’re in the same room. Which, granted, might not be very often, because I avoid it as much as humanly possible, but that’s for her sake as well as mine.
‘And why?’ Mum continued. ‘Because she married a man?’
‘A man who’s not her equal,’ I replied, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.
Why does everyone find it so hard to understand? Why couldn’t they see that my twin sister deserved better than this prosaic, uninspired individual? Why does a husband have to be horrible, or abrasive, or neglectful to not be right for you? Of all the things Farah could’ve done with her life, achieved or aspired to, she decided to settle down and marry the first man that asked her. Forget the first man – her first cousin. And I bet it was all because he wanted to stay in England; coming here to study and then conveniently ‘falling in love’ with my sister, who then – naïve woman that she was – decided to fall in love right back. I mean, don’t even get me started