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She went and took a seat at the table. ‘Go on,’ she encouraged him.
‘It just… forget it,’ he finally said.
He put the carton down and brought the rest of the breakfast to the table, setting his pills beside his plate. They ate in silence for a while. Farah kept looking at her husband, biting into his eggs and toast, taking a sip of tea with a faraway look. He downed the pills.
‘Do you still…’ Farah gripped her mug of tea tighter. ‘The baby – you still want one, don’t you?’
‘Hmm?’ Mustafa looked up at her.
‘It’s like you’re on another planet,’ she said. ‘Did you hear me?’
She couldn’t quite read his expression.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘Do you still want a baby?’
Mustafa leaned forward and took Farah’s hand as she put her mug down.
‘I want us.’
She looked at him, confused. ‘We have us. Us is sat right here.’
But even as the words came out she knew how hollow they were. Mustafa let go of her hand and just gave a small smile.
‘Fatti and Ash seem really happy, don’t they?’ he said.
She nodded.
‘She deserves it,’ he added.
‘She does.’
Farah played with the toast in her hands.
‘You want more tea?’ he asked.
Just then the phone rang. Farah went to pick it up and it was Bubblee.
‘You all right?’ Bubblee asked.
The scene from Mae’s party pushed itself to the fore of Farah’s brain.
‘Yeah, great. Fine. What’s going on?’
Bubblee paused. ‘Not much.’
‘What time are you leaving for London?’
‘You know, I thought with Mae leaving at the end of the week and all… I thought I might as well stay,’ replied Bubblee.
‘Oh. Right.’
Bubblee paused again. All this pausing didn’t suit her. Farah glanced over at Mustafa who was stabbing at his eggs and realized she wasn’t listening to Bubblee’s response.
‘. . . another week or so.’
‘Okay. What about work?’ asked Farah, turning back so Mustafa stopped distracting her.
Pause.
‘I’ve got some holidays. Plus, Sasha can cover for me at the gallery while I’m here.’
Farah wondered why Bubblee would forsake an extra week out of London to be in Wyvernage with her family, but she looked over her shoulder and Mustafa was still staring at his plate. She told Bubblee to come over later – better than going to her parents’ house and risk seeing Fatti – and put the phone down.
‘Do you want to go to watch a film later?’ she asked.
He looked up at her and smiled. ‘Yeah. That would be good, I think.’
Farah went back to the table. Perhaps if the film was good and put Mustafa in a better mood, he’d sleep with her and she’d get pregnant. Farah knew that the key was to try and make Mustafa feel normal. Those pills didn’t help, but they were necessary. Yes, they would come back from the cinema, have sex, she’d get pregnant and then all these problems would go away. With that thought Farah finished her breakfast, enjoying the toast a lot more with the hope of what was to come.
Bubblee knocked on the door.
‘Oh,’ said Farah, opening the door and looking surprised. ‘Oh, yes, sorry. I knew you were coming over.’
She looked at Bubblee as if she wished she’d do an about-turn and leave the way she had come.
‘You’re going out?’ Bubblee asked.
‘To the cinema. Come with us,’ said Farah, smiling widely.
She was rushing around the house, fluffing pillows, getting her keys and purse, talking to herself: Dishes washed, laundry out, vacuum done… Farah surveyed the place around her, looking pleased. But there was something twitchy about her movements. She looked far too keen and chirpy.
Bubblee stared at Farah. ‘Not really in the mood for it.’
‘To be honest, babe, I’ve kind of lost interest too,’ replied Mustafa, taking his jacket off.
Bubblee sat on the sofa as Farah stood in the passageway door. Bubblee looked for signs of disgruntlement. Interfering was Mae’s job but with her going away and the image of poor Fatti’s face when they were in the kitchen last night – well, Bubblee had to do something. Even if it was against her better inclination.
‘Come on, you guys,’ said Farah. ‘It’s meant to be a psychological thriller. Mus, you love those.’
Bubblee looked over at her brother-in-law whose back was turned as he’d gone into the kitchen. Even his gait annoyed Bubblee. She supposed that once upon a time he’d have been called ‘jolly’, the way he’d waltz into a room, slap people on the back and laugh so hard that his shoulders shook. Now he was like a retired comedian, or circus clown. Yes, it was a mean thing to say, but that didn’t make it any less true. Plus, at least Bubblee didn’t say it out loud. It wasn’t her fault that her brother-in-law had descended into being pathetic.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked her.
‘No, thanks. Bought any nice new things?’ Bubblee asked Farah, bouncing up off the sofa with uncharacteristic alacrity.
‘What?’ asked Farah. ‘No.’
Stupid question to ask because Farah couldn’t even if she wanted to – not with their dire financial issues.
‘Show me.’
Bubblee jerked her head towards the stairs as Farah looked on, confused.
‘I don’t –’
‘Great,’ interrupted Bubblee, pushing past Farah and up the stairs already.
‘What was that about?’ asked Farah as she walked into the bedroom after Bubblee.
Bubblee folded her arms and looked at her sister.
‘First tell me what yesterday was about.’
Farah’s eyebrows knit into a frown as she looked shiftily around the room.
‘Well?’ said Bubblee in the face of Farah’s silence. ‘Listen, I’m all for straight talk but you should apologize to Fatti.’
Farah paused. ‘Oh. Did she say something to you?’
‘Come on, it’s Fatti, she’ll never say anything to anyone. Anyway, does she really need to?’
‘I wasn’t being offensive,’ Farah replied as she walked over to the blinds and began trying to fix them.
Bubblee 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.
