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‘You know, I think he’s actually excited,’ replied Fatti.
Bubblee looked incredulous. ‘Excited? Sounds a bit farfetched.’
‘Well, he didn’t stomp off to his room or tell Ash how much he hates him, so I’m going to take it as a positive sign.’
‘Gosh. I guess so,’ said Bubblee.
‘You’re going to be an aunt,’ said Fatti.
Bubblee’s smile met her eyes. She really was so beautiful, even if she wasn’t looking her freshest.
‘Will I have to babysit every time I come to visit?’
Fatti shook her head. ‘But I am going to make sure my child likes you the least.’
Bubblee looked so genuinely hurt that Fatti laughed and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
‘We weren’t made to be alone, Bubs,’ said Fatti. ‘Don’t try so hard to be different that you end up not getting what you actually need.’
Bubblee put teabags into the mugs. ‘Oh, right, what do I need then?’
Fatti considered her younger sister. There was so much there, if only she’d stop being so… well, Bubblee. As much as Fatti hated to admit it, who would put up with someone so difficult? Bubblee was lucky she was beautiful because Fatti supposed it’d make it easier for her to find a husband. Probably not Bengali, though. No, Bubblee would have to marry a non-brown person. Fatti would help her when it came to Mum and Dad. It would be good if she managed to find a nice Bengali boy, though. Someone who loved Bubblee for who she was. She’d never have said all this stuff out loud, of course – it made her sound positively backward – but she couldn’t help feeling it. Happiness comes from the people who love you, and who you manage to love back. It’s just the way it is.
‘Well, you’ll know when you find it.’
Just then, they heard Jay’s voice break the silence in the room as Mae told him that Fatti was pregnant. He appeared at the kitchen door, tall and slim, wearing a sweatshirt and trainers, hair flopping over his eyes.
‘Congratulations, Uncle Jay,’ said Fatti.
He smiled and hit Fatti on the arm before hugging her. ‘Better steal some of those kids’ toys I deliver then.’
‘This is the man Mum wants to subject some poor woman to?’ said Bubblee.
‘How’s…’ He cleared his throat. ‘How’s Farah taken it?’
Fatti just gave a simple smile.
‘Always asking the right questions, Jay,’ said Bubblee with barely hidden sarcasm.
‘And how long are you planning to stay?’ he asked her.
She looked away, turning the heat down on the hob. Fatti just about made out Bubblee shrugging before they were called into the living room by their mum. The three entered the room, puncturing the silence, as Bubblee wondered how long she could stay without her family asking her questions about where her life was going.
That night, as Farah got into bed she thought over the evening’s events. Why had she said those things? She turned over and looked at Mustafa, his back to her. He’d hardly said a word when they got into the car and she drove them home in silence. Since the accident Mustafa was no longer allowed to drive, in case he had a seizure – just another one of the many changes their life had undergone. She looked on the other side of her bed, at the empty space where a baby’s cot would easily fit. The light on her phone disturbed her as she checked it and saw the messages.
Fatti: Goodnight. Xxx
Mae: Nyt losers xxx
Bubblee: Goodnight. Mae, I can hear you on your laptop from here. Mum and Dad probably can’t get to sleep because of you.
Mae: Whatevs. Usin da old folks as an xcuse cos u hv ears lyk a bat.
Farah: Goodnight. I am happy for you, Fats. Xx
Fatti: I know xxxx
Farah is typing…
I’m dying a little inside. I want to be happy for you. But I’m too sad for me right now. I can’t find the light at the end of this tunnel.
Farah then deleted her message and turned around in bed, hoping for sleep.
Chapter Three (#ulink_eee972c2-a768-5b7a-9e2c-06c95fc9d193)
Farah was happy for Fatti. At least she would be just as soon as her own life caught up with her sister’s. She put her phone away and reached over for Mustafa.
‘Are you awake?’ she whispered, putting her arm around him.
There was a pause. ‘Hmm.’
Farah stroked his chest. She knew he liked the way she curled his hairs around her fingers. Farah used to like it too, until it became a bit arduous; another hurdle in the obstacle of impregnation.
‘Want to try and make a baby?’
He turned his head. ‘What?’
She attempted to give him her most seductive look.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You look like you might cry.’
She paused, biting back her surge of anger.
‘Cry?’ she carried on whispering. ‘Only if you make me.’
Her hand slid down his torso when he turned around towards her fully. ‘I’m not in the mood, babe.’
He brushed the hair away from her forehead and planted a kiss on her brow.
‘What about me?’ she asked.
She was no longer whispering, but she tried to keep the accusation out of her voice. He looked at her for a moment and gave a tight smile.
‘It’s been a bit of a night,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you exhausted? Let’s sleep.’
How was her slim chance of getting pregnant ever going to happen if her husband didn’t sleep with her? Mustafa turned his back again but she pulled him towards her. All it took was one time. This night had to be it. It felt fortuitous with Fatti’s pregnancy. If she could get happily married and start a family, then Farah could surely get pregnant and happy too. If only her husband would let her.
‘All the night’s made me want to do is…’
She put her hand between his legs, but he moved it gently away.
‘Come on, babe. I’m serious.’
One time. Just the once and they’d be done. Her family would stop looking at her with such pity, and words that didn’t seem to belong to her would stop spilling out of her mouth, causing other people pain.
‘So am I.’
She pulled his face towards her and kissed him. His mouth tasted minty and his beard bristled on her face. She had a memory of the way they used to kiss and it stirred something up inside her.
‘Farah,’ he mumbled.
‘Mhmm.’
‘Farah, stop.’ He pulled away, looking at her. ‘What’s got into you?’
Why was he being so difficult? After the way the night had gone, how could he not want to make it better by giving her just one chance?
‘Me?’ she said, sitting up. ‘I’m your wife. How are we ever going to get pregnant if we don’t have sex?’
He took a deep breath and sat up with her. ‘I didn’t know we were trying again.’
‘We should always be trying.’
‘Listen, I know this thing with Fatti must be hard for you right now, but I told you, I’m not in the mood.’
‘Oh, of course, your mood.’
He rubbed his forehead. ‘If this was the other way around you know that I’d never force you.’
She scoffed. ‘I didn’t realize sleeping with me was such a task.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
Farah tried to relax – tension didn’t help getting pregnant, that’s what numerous articles and bloggers said. It’s all about de-stressing as well as things like ovulation and science.
‘Well then?’ She put her hand on his face, stroking his beard.
He patted her hand and went to move it away, but she kept it there, forcing it to his face.
‘For God’s sake, Farah,’ he shouted.
He pushed her away and leapt out of bed. She leaned back, pulling the covers over her. Mustafa’s shadow seemed to her foreboding and foreign in that moment, and her heart began to thud.
‘Mustafa…’
‘What the hell are you playing at? What’s wrong with you?’
He said it with such a look of disgust it brought unexpected tears to her eyes. Everything is wrong with me. I’m a woman who can’t even have a baby. She knew she shouldn’t think like this because that’s not all a woman is, but she couldn’t help feeling it. She’d wanted a family of her own since she could remember. So many years had been spent trying and dreaming of what it would be like that she didn’t know how to want anything else. It’d be like teaching herself not to breathe.
‘Don’t make me feel bad, because you can’t conceive,’ he added.
Before she could even take in the words he’d spouted, he’d left the room, slamming the door behind him.
‘Oh, God,’ she whispered, putting her hands to her face and letting the stream of tears come out.
That night she sobbed herself into a dreamless sleep.
When Farah woke up the following morning her eyes felt sore and her vision was blurred. She reached out to Mustafa’s side of the bed and when she realized he wasn’t there the preceding night came back to her. She closed her eyes again and put her head under the cover, trying to block out the all-in-one shame of rejection and accusation.
Did Mustafa not want a family any more, or did he just not want her? Did he really blame her as much as she blamed herself? She hadn’t ever imagined a Mustafa who’d say such a thing. All this culpability really did exhaust her. She kept her eyes closed until she fell asleep again.
This time Farah awoke to clattering. It was coming from the kitchen. As she swung her legs over the bed she still couldn’t open her eyes. She grabbed her dressing gown and pulled it over herself, trying to steady her feet. The words beat in her ears: Don’t make me feel bad because you can’t conceive. She opened her eyes as her face flushed in anger. She didn’t need her husband to feel the same way she felt about herself. That’s not how it worked with them. It never had and it wouldn’t damn well start now.
She ran down the stairs without even brushing her teeth or washing her face, the gunk from last night’s make-up gathered in the corners of her eyes. Farah burst through the living room that led to the kitchen, ready to point her finger at Mustafa and shout at him. She wasn’t sure what she’d say yet, but anger was best served improvised. She stopped. He was hunched over the hob, frying some eggs. Their small table was set with two plates and cutlery. Mustafa turned her head towards her, giving her such a sad smile that all her anger fell away.
‘Hi,’ he said.
She looked at the table again.
‘I made us breakfast,’ he added when she didn’t speak.
‘I see that.’
He went to the fridge. ‘Juice?’
She shook her head.
‘Coffee or tea?’ he asked.
‘Is this –’
‘I’m sorry,’ he interrupted. He paused, looking dishevelled in his shorts and T-shirt. ‘I don’t even know what I said.’
‘You said not having babies was my fault.’
Mustafa bowed his head. She thought he might let the carton of juice fall to the floor the way it dangled in his hands.
‘I lost my temper,’ he said, head still bowed.
When he looked up Farah saw tears in his eyes. She had the urge to go up to him and hug him, but couldn’t bring herself to move.
‘Yeah, you did.’
She saw the flash of something in his eyes – was that anger again? Mustafa looked as though he might say something.
‘What?’ she asked.
He paused. ‘Nothing.’
