‘Is this how you feed all people?’
I put the tray down as he took his cup of tea, looking at the country-flowered patterns. What else, other than feed people, should a person do to make them feel comfortable? When I said this he replied: ‘The person you marry will have to watch his weight.’
Was he taking the mickey? Referring to my weight? I felt my face flush and said I had to go and look for these insurance papers. Opening the cubby-hole door, I popped my head in and took out the grey file Mum mentioned. When I looked up Ash was standing over me.
‘Need any help?’ he asked.
‘No, it should be here somewhere. Thanks.’
I searched through the file but couldn’t find the papers. Getting up, I rummaged through the cubby-hole, found another file – nothing there. Where else could it be?
‘No joy?’ he said.
‘It should be here somewhere.’
On the top shelf I glimpsed a cream file. The papers in it looked too old to be the right ones, and I was about to put it back when some of the papers fell out, amongst which was a photo. When I looked at it, I saw it was one of Mum when she was younger, holding a baby in her arms – I considered it closely and all I could see was the top of the baby’s head, which had a load of hair. Next to her, in what seemed to be a hospital bed, was Malik’s mum. I guess it must’ve been a photo of when Malik or Mustafa was born. Mum is looking over the moon, while Malik’s mum is smiling; drained but content. Maybe that’s why Mum and Dad want Bubblee to marry Malik – if the baby’s Malik, the way Mum’s holding on to him, it looks like she never wants to let him go. I put the photo and papers – letters that were written in Bengali – back in the file and finally found the papers I was looking for.
‘Ready?’ asked Ash.
He finished his tea and I cleared everything up before we left the house, making sure everything was pristine. Locking the door behind me, I turned around to see Ash dangling the car keys in front of me.
‘Let’s get you back on the road,’ he said.
Driving past the park, I looked out for Bubblee but there was no sign of her. When we parked up in the hospital I felt a flush of relief. Not once did Ash have to correct anything I did.
‘You will pass next time,’ he said.
I looked up at the hospital building. ‘Stupid to be worrying about that when so much is going on inside there.’
‘I know,’ he replied. ‘But life goes on and this is important to you.’
I switched off the engine and it was weird; as if I had control of things. I felt like a grown-up.
‘He’ll be all right,’ I said, almost to myself. ‘He has to be.’
Because if he wasn’t then it’d be like it was my fault. I imagined Farah in plain clothes, crying alone in her big house. The idea made my mouth go dry.
Ash unbuckled his seatbelt. ‘Sometimes things don’t turn out the way we want them to.’
‘Do you …?’ I began.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Go on. Do I what?’
‘Do you believe in giving people the evil eye?’
He looked at me carefully. ‘You’re a strange one, aren’t you?’
I felt embarrassed at sounding so superstitious and wished I hadn’t said anything.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘It was a stupid question,’ I replied.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I like that you can ask a question like that. Most people would be embarrassed in case they thought they sounded silly.’
‘But I did sound silly.’
‘No. You sounded …’ He seemed to search for the right word. ‘As if the world hadn’t got to you yet.’
‘Oh,’ I replied.
I wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or not.
‘In answer to your question,’ he added, ‘I don’t know. I think the way we think affects what happens to us, so maybe the same goes for what we think about others.’
‘But they’re only thoughts.’
‘Which eventually become actions. Or inaction, even.’
‘Yeah. I guess so,’ I replied.
Of course he was right. It was so obvious when he put it like that. He checked his watch and said he had another lesson soon, so I got out of the car.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘What for?’
I wasn’t actually sure.
‘Making sure I don’t forget how to drive,’ I replied.
‘You’re an old hand at it, Fatima.’
He drove away as I walked back into the hospital, feeling a lot steadier than when I’d left.
*
‘Thanks, Fatti.’ Farah took the papers, flicking through them as she tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘What took you so long?’
‘Oh, er …’
‘Are those what you needed?’ Malik, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, asked Farah.
‘Yes. This is it.’
There were quite a few other people in the waiting room, along with Mum and Dad – both of whom seemed to be asleep, with their heads resting on the wall behind them. Not sure where Mae was.
‘Any news from the doctors?’ I asked.
Farah just shook her head. As I sat down, Malik sat next to me.
‘We were waiting for you,’ he said. ‘Did you see Bubblee?’
‘No,’ I replied, not mentioning that Ash had driven past her. It shouldn’t bother me that he asked about her, but how come it’s the people who don’t care that end up getting attention? My parents were furious when Bubblee announced she’d move to London, but she did it anyway and it was the only point of discussion for ages. And here’s this man who seems to like her and she doesn’t even give him a chance. How do you become the person others care about?
‘Took me a while to find the papers,’ I said. ‘I found a picture, I think of you – with my mum and yours. Just after you were born. Could be Mustafa, but I don’t know, I’ve a feeling it’s you. Looked like your mum was in a hospital bed.’
He looked over at my parents’ open-mouthed faces.
‘Really?’ he said, leaning in.
‘My mum’s holding you.’
‘We have the same picture,’ he said, holding my gaze. ‘Why is it hidden and not framed or in an album, like all our other family photos?’
I shrugged. ‘They probably put it there and forgot about it. I wouldn’t even have noticed if I wasn’t looking around for the insurance papers.’
It did seem weird though, seeing as Mum liked to have all these old photos in albums, which she looks at whenever she misses Bangladesh. Just then, Mum woke with a start. She looked around as if confused about where she was – then she seemed to remember, looking around for Farah.
‘Think she’s calling the insurance company,’ I explained.
‘Did you see Bubblee? Where’s Mae?’ she asked as Dad let out a snore.
‘Kala,’ said Malik, ‘let’s leave Bubblee – she’ll come around when she’s ready. I have the feeling she’s not a girl to be pushed.’
He gets her already. Farah then came in, frowning and looking agitated.
‘What wrong, Bhabi?’ Malik asked her.
‘Nothing,’ she replied.
Dad awoke, standing up almost immediately, making everyone in the waiting room start at him.
‘Do you want tea?’ Mum said to him.
He shook his head. When Malik asked what happened with the insurance Farah looked up.
‘Nothing happened. His insurance’s expired,’ she replied.
‘This isn’t sensible,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve told you children to keep all your things in order.’
Farah sat down, but didn’t seem to be paying attention.
‘Can’t you renew it?’ asked Malik. ‘Do they have to know what’s happened?’
‘This isn’t Bangladesh,’ replied Dad.
Farah was staring at the floor. ‘We’ll just have to make do with what we have right n
ow.’
I was too busy looking at poor Farah to notice that Dad’s eyes were set on me and Malik. As I looked at him he said to Mum that he did want some tea and that she should come with him. Hospitals can make people act very weird. When they left the room I went and sat next to Farah.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
She glanced at Malik, who was flicking through a magazine, before she lowered her voice. ‘They put a stop to the insurance,’ she said.
I looked at her, waiting for the point she was trying to make.
‘Okay.’
‘Fatti,’ she said, sighing. ‘They stopped it because he’d missed three monthly payments.’
‘Oh.’
What did that mean?
‘I only asked him about our insurance renewal a few weeks ago and he said they weren’t due for another six months. Why did he lie to me?’ she said, looking into my eyes so intensely, I couldn’t look away. ‘Why?’ she repeated.
I wish she could’ve asked me a question to which I had an answer.
CHAPTER NINE
Mae
The good thing about being practically invisible is that no-one really cares where you are. Everyone’s too busy dealing with their own dramas. I looked through my Twitter feed and read all the messages people had tagged me in as I slipped out of the waiting room to get some fresh air. I took a picture of the front of the hospital building and put it on Instagram – #Family #Accident #Pray4Mustafa #Hospital. It was all turning into a bit of a disaster, really. I opened up my Snapchat and made a quick video about what it’s like, you know, when your brother-in-law’s in a coma and your sister’s stormed out because she’s had a bust-up with her twin. #Feud.
‘That’s the Amirs for you,’ I said into the camera as I jogged on the spot, because with all this going to the hospital I didn’t have time to go for my regular runs. ‘And there’s no excuse for not doing exercise,’ I added into the camera. ‘Anyway, drama-central. And still no-one’s called my brother.’
That’s when the idea came to me, because let’s face it, it made sense, considering. No-one else seemed to have their head about them, so I might as well. Do Jay and I have the same relationship as he and Farah? No. I was always this annoying little brat who’d get in his way. When you’re little and stupid you see your big brother as this kind of sacred thing to look up to. At the age of seven or eight I’d see some of the other brothers in school look out for their younger sisters. One boy beat another boy up because he’d pulled his sister’s ponytail (she’s probably going out with that guy now). Not Jay. Yeah, he’d sometimes ruffle my hair and call me ‘squirt’ but he was always too busy being out with his mates or on the phone to care when I’d ask him to read to me. Fatti would feel sorry for me, settle me next to her, and take his place. And she was good because even if she saw tears running down my cheeks she wouldn’t say anything. She’d just put a box of tissues in front of me and look the other way, like a considerate person should.
So, yeah, when Mum and Dad harp on about Jahangeeeer, I’m like, whatever. He must’ve been a better son to them than he was a brother to me. Anyway, I’m not into holding grudges like Bubblee – that’s just OTT – and Farah needed him. That was the main thing. Hiding behind a corner outside the hospital, I tapped on his name. It barely rang before he answered.
‘Hello?’ he barked.
‘Easy,’ I replied.
‘Who’s this?’
‘Your long-lost sister.’
‘Bubblee?’ he said.
‘The other one.’
‘Fats?’
‘One more strike and you’re out,’ I said in a fake American accent.
‘Squirt,’ he answered as I heard some shuffling in the background.
I scratched a bit of the brick wall. The thing is, even though my brother’s a waste of space, I still like it when he calls me Squirt.
‘That’s the one,’ I sighed. ‘You used to be on your phone all the time when you were at home – would’ve thought you’d pick it up more often to make sure none of us were dead.’
I instantly thought of Mustafa, still in the operating theatre. Jay gets away with having to deal with none of it. It’s not as if I care or anything, but it’s unfair, isn’t it? Mae get off your phone, Mae go to your room, Mae be quiet, even though we’re always telling you to pay more attention to the family than to your phone. Talk about having your cake and eating it too. And then there’s Jay, probably chilling out on the sofa, not a care in the world.
‘Did Mum or Dad tell you to call?’ he said, sounding wary.
‘What? No. Listen—’
‘—Where the hell is that number?’ he seemed to say to himself. ‘I have to go,’ he added.
‘But wait.’
‘What?’ he snapped. ‘God, Mae, I don’t have time for a cosy catch-up. I have stuff to do. Adult stuff.’
‘Oooh, you’re an adult now, are you? That’s a first. Anyway, calm down, I called because it’s important.’
There was more shuffling in the background as he swore down the phone.
‘For God’s sake, Mae, unless someone’s dying, call back later.’
‘Mustafa’s dying,’ I said.
He paused.
‘Well, not dying, but he might.’
‘What?’ he whispered.
I told him what had happened and that, even as we spoke, Mustafa was in surgery and none of us knew whether he’d come out of it.
‘Shit,’ he exclaimed. Then there was silence before I heard a bang – as if something had hit a wall – on his end of the phone.
‘Shit, shit, shit. Tell me everything; everything you know.’
‘I just did.’
He paused. ‘Okay, okay. It’s all right. It’s going to be all right. I just have to think.’
I might as well not have been on the phone for all the random things that were coming out of his mouth.
‘What are you talking about?’ I said. ‘I’m telling you so you can come and see us. Be here with Farah.’
‘Farah,’ he said. ‘Shit. Farah. Okay, Mae, when did this happen? What day?’
I told him. He paused.
‘What time?’
‘In the evening, on his way home from work.’
‘Yes, but what time exactly?’
‘I don’t know the exact time, but some time between five-thirty and six o’clock,’ I replied.
‘Oh, Mae, I think I’ve messed up. I think I’ve messed up big time. How can this be happening?’
He wasn’t making any sense and all I could keep asking him was what he meant.
‘I didn’t think,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t think. I mean, I called him and he hung up and when I called back, I just … I didn’t think. He’s going to be okay, though, isn’t he?’
It seriously sounded like Jay was losing the plot.
‘We don’t know. That’s why I’m calling you. Can you calm down and tell me what you mean? It was an accident. It’s got nothing to do with you. All Farah needs is her brother here to support her.’
‘You don’t get it, Squirt. It is my fault.’
‘Unless you were the one driving, I don’t think so.’
‘It was me,’ he said.
‘You what?’
God, some people took ages to explain stuff.
‘I was the one he was speaking to when it happened.’
‘What?’
Since when did Jay and Mustafa speak? Jay didn’t speak to anyone really, apart from Farah.
‘Mae,’ but he didn’t say it as if he wanted me to respond. It was like a call of desperation, only my name came out because it was me he was chatting to.
‘It’s my fault,’ he said. ‘I think I’m the one who caused the accident.’
*
It’s not like I’m easily shocked or anything, but I had to sit down. There were no chairs so I just sat on the ground, leaning against the wall.
‘Mae?’
‘You did what?’
‘It
wasn’t intentional,’ he said, desperation in his voice. ‘We had an argument and … and, I don’t know, he got angry and hung up on me. I called back but it kept going to voicemail, so I thought he’d just switched his phone off to avoid talking to me.’
‘What was the argument about?’ I said.
He paused. ‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Er, well, clearly it does matter. If you called him soon after he hung up, then he’d have had the accident straight after.’
This pause was longer.
‘Oh, Mae. It wasn’t … I didn’t mean for this to happen.’
‘Can you please explain what the hell you’re talking about?’ I said.
He wasn’t making any sense and I was tired of him not answering my question.
‘Hello?’ I said.
‘I lost all his money.’
‘What? What do you mean, you lost all his money?’
Why did he even have any of Mustafa’s money? How can you lose something that’s not yours?
‘It was an investment,’ he explained. ‘Mustafa hired me to help him out with some of his business stuff. I had access to his accounts …’
‘Right …’
‘It was meant to be risk-free.’
‘But Mustafa knew about it, didn’t he?’
He paused.
‘I didn’t know that this arsehole of a supposed friend was going to stitch me up. There weren’t meant to be any risks.’
‘You didn’t tell Mustafa that you were using his money?’ I put my hand to my forehead. ‘Jay.’
For the first time I could see why Bubblee was always mouthing off about him. How stupid do you have to be to give someone else’s money to a ‘mate’ who’s going to invest it for you, and not even tell them?
‘How much?’
After a few seconds, I repeated: ‘How much?’
‘A lot,’ he replied.
‘How much, Jay?’
‘Over a hundred grand.’
It was unbelievable.
‘One hundred thousand pounds?’ I exclaimed. ‘And Mustafa didn’t even know.’
He paused. ‘I told him I was going to make us both rich. I just didn’t tell him how. Mae, you have to understand that this was meant to be a risk-free investment. My friend knew what he was talking about. He’d made loads of other people rich. Goddamn that bastard,’ he shouted as I heard him kick something. ‘The whole thing just tanked.’
The Secret Lives of the Amir Sisters Page 8