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Here was the problem: Farah thought she had forgiven him for his mistake, for the way in which he’d changed their lives. Being able to feel his arms around her again, it had been impossible not to. At the time. That was the other problem. Time had a way of making things changeable, including feelings, and God knows, hers never seemed to stay the same. At least that was something she and Mustafa had in common.
‘Mae doesn’t make trouble,’ replied Farah.
Mustafa gave her an incredulous look, but flinched, closing his eyes as if in pain.
‘Are you all right?’ Farah took his tray from him and put hers down too as she looked up at him.
‘Yeah,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Just a weird twinge.’
He put his hand to his temple and opened his eyes. She saw the emergence of a smile.
‘Why are you smiling? You just looked like you might faint.’
‘You look worried,’ he replied. He took her hand.
‘Oh, you like my face like this, do you?’
Where exactly had this new snappiness come from? She reminded herself more and more of Bubblee by the day. She guessed it was the result of living with the new and not-improved Mustafa.
‘Only when it’s for me,’ said Mustafa.
Farah smiled and shook her head. ‘It’s a lot easier being worried about you when you’re in this kind of mood.’
He looked embarrassed. ‘I know. I’m sorry, babe. I don’t know… Sometimes I don’t know what comes over me.’
Mustafa kissed her forehead as she forgave him again, because Farah realized that you can’t forgive someone just the once. You have to do it every time the same resentment hits you.
‘I know,’ she said.
They picked up the trays again and made their way towards the car. Farah sat in the driver’s seat and took out her phone.
Bubblee: Where are you?? We’re all already here, waiting.
Mae: Bubs is in cntrl mode. Hurryyyyyy
Fatti: Our baby’s going to uni!
Mae: Lol. Im rolin my eyes. N jus so u kno im a woman nw
Bubblee: One who can’t spell properly.
Farah: On my way. Mae, honestly. Sometimes it’s worth listening to Bubblee.
Farah looked over at Mustafa, in the passenger seat, staring blankly out of the window and tried not to think about how Bubblee felt about him. About them.
Farah: Only sometimes, though.
Chapter Two (#ulink_3c164b06-00a0-51a5-b90b-71cd54cb449e)
Mae had to listen in to her parents’ room. She almost hesitated, as if she were already at university and weaning herself off the habit. She crept along the corridor, bending over the bannisters to make sure the others weren’t going to see her, and leaned in to the door. Silence. Why couldn’t her parents make eavesdropping easier for her? Then she heard her mum.
‘I am just an old woman now.’
Weird. Her mum’s tone wasn’t resigned, it seemed to ask for a reaction. But of course this was her dad they were talking about. Dad was about as responsive as a tortoise.
‘We are both old,’ he replied.
Mae rolled her eyes and ambled down the stairs, biting into her home-made cacao-and-chia-seed almond ball. Maybe she was imagining her mum’s behaviour becoming erratic. She’d probably taken a leaf out of Mustafa’s book. God, her family needed to take a chill pill. All this angst made Mae twitchy – as if she couldn’t really concentrate on her own angst, and, hello, she had plenty if this lot would ever allow her to really worry about it. She felt a rush of excitement at the idea of the unending possibilities university would bring. Her life stretched out in front of her into this magically unknown place. She forgot about her parents, her brother-in-law, Mustafa – everything family related – and skipped down the last few steps, accidentally dropping her cacao ball. Oh, well, there were worse things she could let drop.
‘Fazaroona and Mussie Mustafa. Enter, please.’
Mae bowed down low and outstretched her arm for Farah and Mustafa. For some reason Farah felt tears prickle her eyes. She had an overwhelming feeling of love for the lightness of Mae and prayed that university wouldn’t change her.
‘Salamalaikum, Mae,’ replied Mustafa.
Farah wished he’d joked back with Mae, done a little skit with her, the way he would’ve done in the past. Now Mae seemed to annoy him. He’d say things like: Not everything in life is a joke. When is she going to be serious about life? Despite the fact that Farah would sometimes share this sentiment, she wondered why everyone had to be so serious, anyway. Mae cleared her throat and looked solemn.
‘Mustafa Bhai. Deep gratitude for the sandwiches. Very much obliged. I will be eating the filling, these are defo not gluten-free.’
He handed the tray to her as he walked into the house. Mae widened her eyes at Farah as if to say: Your husband – what a trip.
‘The clan awaits,’ said Mae as she and Farah followed Mustafa into the living room.
‘Well, it’s about time,’ exclaimed Bubblee. ‘I can make it from London on time but you guys, who live ten minutes away, are late.’
‘Nice to see you too, Bubs,’ said Farah.
‘Bubblee, let your sister sit down before you start shouting at us all,’ interrupted their father.
Their mum gave him a long look, and her voice softened as she spoke: ‘Listen to your abba.’
But their dad didn’t seem to notice their mum staring at him as he took Mustafa’s jacket and went to hang it up.
Bubblee embraced Farah in a rather sturdy hug. ‘Sorry. Bloody neighbours have a new baby that cries all hours into the morning, and I haven’t slept for days.’
Farah looked at Bubblee properly and could see what she meant. She had dark circles, her hair looked as though it needed a wash and without any make-up on, Bubs looked older than usual. Older than Farah did, she was sure, and they were twins.
‘The poor baby,’ said Fatti, who pushed herself off the sofa. ‘You should offer some help to them, you know. I mean, I know you’re busy, but if you’re tired imagine how the parents must feel.’
Farah observed her oldest sister, Fatti, who was looking rather well. Marriage agreed with her. It looked as though her husband, Ash, was thinking along the same lines. Every time Fatti spoke, he seemed to think it was the most important thing being said. That’s how Mustafa used to look at Farah when they got married. She felt a pang of loss in the face of Fatti’s gain. Must not compare lives. MUST. NOT. COMPARE. LIVES. If only the heart could do what the head told it to.
‘Fats,’ said Mae. ‘I’m sure the parents of the newborn have got enough troubles without you springing Bubblee onto them.’
Bubblee smacked Mae around the head as their mum said: ‘Fatti, you must think of having your own babies and stop worrying about someone else’s.’
Fatti just looked at her hands.
‘Salam, mate,’ said Ash, shaking Mustafa’s hand.
Farah had to take a minute and appreciate the moment. After everything they’d gone through in the past few years, they were all here together. Apart from Jay.
‘Your brother is out making a delivery,’ explained her mum. ‘He is working very hard now.’
Farah had to admit that it was better than him sitting around, waiting for someone to fix his life. Even if she wanted to she couldn’t give him money. And she wouldn’t want to – not after he’d turned their lives upside down.
‘We should find him a nice wife now,’ her mum added.
‘Who’d wanna marry him?’ exclaimed Mae. ‘He’s a proper loser.’
‘Mae.’ Their mum narrowed her eyes at her.
‘But it’s true though, isn’t it? I mean, he probably needs another five years before he can even support himself, let alone some poor woman who’s got to stay married to him for the rest of her life.’
‘Five years? A man has needs,’ said their mum, pausing meaningfully, looking around the room before her eyes rested on her husband. ‘Everyone does.’
The room paused as her family looked at her.
‘Eww,’ mouthed Mae to her sisters. ‘Gross.’
Bubblee and Farah exchanged looks and Fatti never could hide her blushes. Their dad laughed nervously as he said: ‘Yes, yes, Jay’s amma. Very good. You must be hungry, Mustafa? Hmm? Ashraf? My daughter is feeding you well?’
Farah expected Bubblee to have something to say about a woman having to feed a man – as if they were incapable of doing it themselves – but she stayed quiet.
‘Can’t you tell?’ said Ash, patting his stomach.
‘Oh, please,’ replied Fatti. ‘There’s nothing there.’
Mae laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s because it’s all there.’ She gestured at Fatti’s robust frame, which hadn’t diminished with marriage.
‘Mae, you could probably do with some of this yourself. Look at how skinny you are. It’s not healthy,’ replied Fatti, unmoved at the attention brought to her wide hips and thick thighs. She didn’t seem to care whether her stomach protruded any more, and she looked the better for it. She no longer slouched or fidgeted with her hands. Farah noticed that Fatti never looked sideways any more before answering a question, as if she wanted to run away from the pressure of giving an answer. Today she was wearing a long burgundy chiffon top over a pair of tapered black trousers. She no longer wore things that were either too tight or too loose. Somewhere along the way she had managed to balance her wardrobe as well as her life. Her hair was loose and curled and she wore the golden bangles that Mum had given her when she got married, rings scattered on her fingers. Farah noticed she was even wearing earrings.
‘Fatti’s looking well, isn’t she?’ commented Farah to Bubblee as they went into the kitchen while the others tucked into the buffet already laid out on the table.
‘Yeah. Though not sure about the contents of Mum’s jewellery box being tipped over her.’
Farah simply sighed. Wearing a pair of dangly earrings might make Bubblee look a little more approachable. She watched her sister’s movements as Bubblee put some samosas in the microwave. Farah uncovered the sandwiches.
‘Are you okay?’ Farah asked.
‘Hmm? Yeah, fine.’
‘I mean, marriage has completely transformed her,’ added Farah.
‘Not marriage, Faar. Love. Apparently there’s a distinction.’
Farah felt uneasy. She began opening the cupboards but forgot what she was looking for.
‘Stupid, anyway,’ said Bubblee. ‘As if you should need another person to make you feel better about yourself.’
Farah wondered whether having another person was exactly what Bubblee needed. Not that she could tell her that without an argument breaking out.
‘What about you?’ asked Farah. She lowered her voice, to make sure their parents couldn’t hear, although there was enough chatter coming from the living room. ‘Are you… you know… seeing anyone?’
Bubblee flashed her a look.
‘I’m your sister,’ said Farah. ‘Aren’t I allowed to ask?’
‘As my twin, you should know that such things are low on my list of priorities.’
Bubblee took out some glasses and seemed to avoid Farah’s gaze.
‘Okay then.’ Farah leaned against the kitchen top and folded her arms. ‘What is important to you?’
Bubblee’s eyes flickered. She placed the glasses down carefully, each one next to the other.
‘I’m serious. I’m asking you,’ added Farah.
‘Being…’ Bubblee itched her head. ‘Being, you know… For God’s sake, just being.’
Farah paused. ‘You know, your life in London as an artist has made you…’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Is Jay behaving himself here?’
Bubblee shrugged. ‘Mae’s the one to ask about that. I haven’t even seen him yet. Mum and Dad say he’s working hard and Mae hasn’t contradicted them, so maybe he is.’
‘That boy used to tell me everything,’ said Farah, staring into space.
‘But now you don’t want to know. I mean, he never did deserve being your favourite, and now he definitely doesn’t.’
‘No,’ replied Farah.
‘It’s really quite amazing that Mum and Dad never seem to mention how he messed up this family. Especially when Mum still hasn’t let go of the fact that I decided to move to London for uni and never came back. That was ten years ago.’
Farah gave a vague answer in response and went to leave the kitchen with the sandwiches laid out on plates when Bubblee asked: ‘What about you?’
‘What about me?’ said Farah, turning round.
‘What’s important to you?’
Bubblee’s look seemed to be challenging Farah to something, though she wasn’t sure what. The chatter from inside got louder as she heard Mae laugh.
‘Family, of course.’
Bubblee raised her eyebrows and for a moment Farah wanted to slam the kitchen door in Bubblee’s face. Because she didn’t want to admit that her words seemed hollow. That even though her answer was honest, there was something gaping in it. Instead, she tried to look resolute before turning around and walking out of the door.
The truth was that Bubblee had just wanted a reaction. She knew she gave everyone a hard time and that it somehow distanced herself from the family – shaped her as the black sheep – and yet she couldn’t help herself. She was, as one would say, her own worst enemy. Perhaps it wouldn’t have annoyed her as much if she didn’t want to be a part of what seemed to be everyone’s camaraderie. She listened to Mae’s cheer as Farah must’ve entered the living room and thought about the question her sister had asked her. What’s important to you? She used to think it was her art. She would spend every day trying to create something innovative and brilliant, and after so many years in London, after so many tried and failed starts, she realized the stark truth of it all: she was a hack. She put her hands to her eyes because the last thing she needed was to fall apart in her parents’ kitchen. Bubblee was no longer sure whether she was ashamed because she’d failed herself, or because she didn’t want to hear I told you so from her family. The two had somehow become inseparable and she wasn’t able to untangle them, or herself, it seemed. She thought of Fatti, the one who’d probably gone through the most in the past few years, only to come out on top, really. She shone. The one who used to cast shadows now cast light. Bubblee laughed at the ironies of life. The sheer inconsistencies that could make a person stumble from the shock of change.
