Have a Heart

by Nashina Makhani

  Things started to look up after a few years and then my dadi got sick too and ma had to stop working to take care of her. At that point, papa had no choice but to hire on a few more people. And, of course, because luck just didn’t seem to be on our side, history repeated itself. Dad falling into depression after his mum passed away just made things all that much worse, especially because ma wouldn’t trust anyone else anymore. So, she ran the business by herself, bhaiya helping her after school until he was done with GCSEs and didi helping until she finished up A-levels. They both joined the business full time once they were done.

  Eventually, papa had gotten back to a good enough mental state that he could go back to it. With the four of them running things, there was no need to pay out wages to other people and they managed to bring up business enough that they cleared out the debt that came from all the years of people stealing the money that was supposed to go to vendors. The store started to break even and then some but still, it wasn’t easy going.

  And then, nearly four years ago, like a bloody miracle, we finally caught a break.

  It was the day before Zia was born, actually. Papa bought a lottery ticket. Ma had been furious with him, point blank refusing to speak with him when she found out because he’d sworn off them years ago, before I was even born, when his gambling addiction had very nearly cost him everything – the business he’d had in Leicester, his relationship with dada and dadi, his marriage and his family.

  But that day, someone had asked for a ticket just minutes before sales closed for the day and then decided they didn’t want it. It had been too late to cancel it so papa had bought it. And despite the fact that ma had been vexed, it just so happened it was the best decision he’d ever made – worth enduring ma’s wrath until the draw was done for the night, he always says. Because, when the numbers were drawn, every single one matched his ticket, in perfect order.

  There aren’t a lot of events in my life I remember in great amounts of detail – everything that happened more than three years ago is hazy thanks to a concussion I gave myself falling out my old tree house – but that night I remember vividly.

  Papa was sat in the living room, holding the ticket and watching that night’s draw. Ma was in the armchair, ignoring him and trying her best not to pay attention to the TV. I was sat next to my dad, nose in a book but, from the corner of my eye, I could see his hand tightening on the ticket with every number called so I put my finger between the pages of my book and looked over his shoulder, shocked to see that the numbers were the same as the ones displayed on the screen.

  As the last number was called, my dad literally jumped off the sofa, actually whooping in delight and, at the exact same second, bhabhi cried from upstairs. Didi came rushing down the stairs to tell us the baby was coming at the same time papa showed the ticket to ma.

  It’s the reason for Zia’s name really. Though my parents aren’t overly superstitious, they said the baby was the reason for the change in luck, the light at the end of the – very long – tunnel, so to speak. So they chose to name her Zia, literally light.

  Four years may seem like a long time but, in reality, it’s next to nothing, especially after so many years of being up shit creak without a paddle.

  Which is why I can’t tell my parents the truth.

  It’s not even been a full four years since they got light back in their lives, I can’t be the one to take it away, to take away the happiness and laughter that was so, so rare before. I didn’t want their world to change for the worse again, didn’t want them to go back to spending most of their time worrying instead of smiling. Didn’t want them to miss out on all the important little things in their granddaughter’s childhood like they had mine because they were too busy fretting – this time about something that was completely out of their control.

  So, even though, at that moment, I felt slightly out of place in the midst of my crazy family, even though what I wanted more than anything was to go and hide in my room and block out the world, I didn’t. Instead, I pushed away all the dark thoughts that had been threatening to overwhelm me, locked them away in a little mental box that I labelled to be examined later, fixed a smile on my face and went to join the craziness.

  It was my turn to be brave now, my turn to deal with my problems by myself.

  After so many years of them all protecting me, it was time to return the favour. It was my turn to protect them. And that’s just what I intended to do.

  Part Two: Jai

  Chapter Eleven

  In the almost eighteen years I’d known her, I’d never seen Alia Sharma break. I’d seen her stubbornness, her anger, her crazy side and even the quiet upset that she hid so carefully. I’d seen her be overwhelmed by coursework, seen her drowning under the weight of being the one we all went to when we needed someone to simply sit and listen to us, I’d seen her mourning the loss of her dadi and worrying about the amount of stress her parents and siblings took on themselves. But even through all of that, never once had I seen her break down so completely.

  Out of the two of us, she was definitely the one who was more open about her feelings but she was also the stronger one. For as long as I can remember, she’d been my pillar to lean on, the one who picked me up when I was down, who gave me a slap up the back of the head and knocked me back to earth when I needed it, who could listen to me vent for hours and not complain. And I wasn’t the only one who would tell you that; her parents, her siblings, even her bhabhi, they’d all tell you the same. She was everyone’s support system and it had been that way for so long that, in a way, I’d kinda forgotten she’s as human as the rest of us, that she wasn’t invincible. That she needed a pillar to lean on just as much as the rest of us, even if she never let anyone know it.

  Seeing her break down that day was a brutal reminder that my best friend was… well, that she was human, that she needed someone who would do for her what she does for everyone else.

  And, to tell you the truth, it was the worst feeling in the world. Sitting there across from her, seeing that look on her face as I took away that last impossible hope from her and told her that this wasn’t a nightmare that I could make her forget about, that I couldn’t protect her from the monsters, couldn’t fight them off like I used to fight the imaginary dragons guarding the imaginary treasure in our games.

  I wanted to tell her that it was just a nightmare; more than anything in the world, I wanted to be able to give her that hope to cling onto, to tell her that she’d wake up soon and I’d make her forget all about it, but I couldn’t. What I could do was be the strong one, be her pillar to lean on, a decision I’d subconsciously made when she’d called me to tell me she had to go to the hospital for tests and one I’d have to stick to, no matter what happened.

  Ten days after I’d come to that conclusion, I found out that it’s easier said than done, being the strong one.

  My admiration for Alia increased a hundred-fold that day; for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what that girl was made of but, whatever it was, it must’ve been the strongest, most durable material in the world for her to be able to endure being everyone’s support the way she did. As I found out that day, sat in the consulting room of Dr. Smithson in the cardiology department of King’s Mill Hospital, I could barely handle being her support system, let alone anyone else’s.

  It was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do, sitting in that consultation room, listening to a doctor tell the most important person in my life that she was going to die and not react.

  From the second we sat down, it was awkward. And from there on out, it only got worse. ‘Miss. Sharma, before we go any further, I have to ask you, are you comfortable with me speaking to you in front of your… uh, friend?’ the cardiologist asked. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, embarrassed as always at the questioning glance between the two of us on the word friend and the assumptions I knew were being made.

  ‘Completely,’ Alia confirmed with a nod, clearly not feeling any of the embarra
ssment I was.

  ‘Okay, now, I understand that Dr. London has given you some information about the tests you went for, what they were for?’

  ‘A little, yeah.’

  ‘And, obviously, he told you they came back positive, and, based on that, we’ve been able to diagnose you with a heart disease, dilated cardiomyopathy.’ Again, Alia nodded, staying silent and simply listening to what the specialist had to say, apparently not really feeling anything about it.

  I, on the other hand, suddenly felt like a seven-year-old again, sitting in a chair that was way too big and listening to some doctor go on about things that I didn’t understand, using words that went straight over my head, telling my mother she had a heart disease.

  As the doctor spoke again, I was reminded that I wasn’t a child anymore, that my feet actually touched the ground while I was sat in the chair and I was here with my best friend, not my mum. But still, a part of me struggled with it. ‘Do you know what that means?’

  ‘Only what I’ve been able to figure out with the help of Google,’ Alia admitted with a small laugh.

  ‘Well, I imagine you’re probably pretty confused then,’ the doctor remarked with a smile. ‘Basically, the heart becomes thin, stretched, so it isn’t working as well as they should, they can’t pump blood around your body properly. We can’t be sure what the cause is, whether it’s genetic or something different. Nor can we really say how long you’ve had it. Could be it’s something that’s only recently come on, only since the symptoms presented or it could be that the symptoms have just taken a while to become something noticeable.’

  Alia responded with yet another nod, taking a moment to store the information before asking, ‘okay, so what happens now?’

  ‘Well, unfortunately, there’s not a cure really. There are treatments that can help you to manage the symptoms, hopefully make your heart a little stronger. But, I’m sorry to say, that’s all that can be done.’

  ‘What kind of treatments?’ Alia questioned, her voice still infuriatingly steady.

  ‘For starters, medication to keep your blood pressure under control…’ Dr. Smithson continued on about treatments and medications but I barely heard the words, my attention span reaching its peak at that point, my brain checking out for a while as she explained.

  But I was quickly brought out of my idle thoughts about the patterns in the carpet as I heard the word operation. ‘I’m sorry, did you just say operation?’ I asked, wanting to make sure I’d heard correctly.

  ‘Yes. I was just saying that it’s possible that Miss Sharma may have to be fitted with a pace maker or and ICD.’

  ‘That’s like, worst-case scenario, right?’ I questioned, dreading the answer I was sure she was about to give.

  ‘No. Actually, the worst-case scenario would be a heart transplant. Now, I’m not saying it will come to that but it’s definitely not something that can be ruled out.’

  ‘A heart transplant?’ I repeated, unable to stop my shock from showing.

  ‘Yes. I mean, nothing is set in stone and it’s possible that it may not come to that but it’s also quite possible that it will. And, unfortunately, it can be difficult to find a match, especially one that’s close enough to be viable.’

  ‘So basically what you’re saying is that I’ve not exactly got too much hope,’ Alia stated, surprisingly calm for someone who’d just been told they had an incurable, life-threatening heart disease.

  ‘Uh, that- that is an incredibly blunt way of putting it but, essentially, yes,’ Dr. Smithson confirmed, visibly taken aback by the straightforward nature of the statement.

  ‘Alright so, any idea how long I’ve got?’

  ‘Hey Li, you maybe wanna be a little less morbid there?’ I cut in, the snakes that were already writhing in my stomach at being given all this information tying themselves into knots thanks to her casual demeanour.

  ‘I’m not being morbid Jai, I’m just accepting the facts.’ The tiny, almost undetectable tremor in her voice told me that the emotionless façade was just that – a façade, an act she needed to put on to stop herself from breaking again right there in the doctor’s office. But still, I couldn’t stand to hear her put it so bluntly, take it so lightly, like it was no big deal at all.

  ‘Nobody said you’re dying,’ I muttered, unfortunately just about loud enough that the doctor heard it too.

  ‘Look, Jai, can I call you Jai?’ I nodded, unable to speak thanks to the dread building inside me, making my throat close up. ‘I know this is not something that anyone wants to hear but, the fact of the matter is that, as much as I wish I could tell you otherwise, there’s nothing to be done. It is possible that, with the right medications and treatments, things could go well; some people who are diagnosed with dcm go on to lead long lives. But I won’t lie to you, in many cases, it does result in heart failure. In such a case, heart transplants tend to be the only option, especially at this age.’

  ‘Heart failure?’ I asked, confused.

  ‘When you have cardiomyopathy, your heart can’t pump blood around your body efficiently. Eventually, this can lead to complications; your heart works as hard as it can but, after a while, it just can’t do it anymore. In most cases, this is a chronic thing but it can also be acute, sudden onset,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh,’ was all I could think to say.

  ‘So then, how long have I got doc?’ Alia asked.

  ‘I can’t give you an exact time frame but, if I had to guess, I’d say a few years at best. It’s possible I’m wrong but your symptoms aren’t exactly minor.’ All that really registered in my brain was a few years, the words chasing themselves round my head like a dog chasing its tail.

  Chapter Twelve

  I walked out of the consultation room in a daze, Alia two steps behind me.

  Neither of us said a single thing as we walked through the corridors of the hospital, making our way to the lifts and then out to the building and to the car park. In fact, none of us spoke at all until we were seated in her car. I was too busy trying to digest the information we’d just been given and Alia knew me well enough to understand that I needed time to process, to come to terms with it all.

  It wasn’t until we were on the road that the fog clouding my brain finally cleared enough for me to regain the ability of coherent thought – and by extension, speech. ‘How d’you do it?’ I asked, breaking the silence, slightly startled by the sound of my own voice, the sudden noise almost unsettling after the silence that we’d been steeped in since leaving from the cardiologist’s office. Even if I was the one doing the speaking, I couldn’t remember actually making the decision to speak, hadn’t really been expecting to hear my voice, so the sound was just a bit shocking really.

  ‘Do what?’ she questioned, briefly flicking her eyes towards me for a second before returning her gaze to the road.

  ‘Be so strong for everyone, so calm. You’ve always done it. Just kinda dealt with everyone’s problems and you just… keep going. You don’t complain, you don’t – you don’t let it get to you. I can’t understand it, I don’t get how you do it.’

  ‘I dunno. I just… do. There’s no method, no instruction booklet. I mean, I didn’t make any decision about it, I didn’t choose to be the one everyone comes to. It’s just kinda my place in the family, you know? Somebody has to be the level-headed one, the one who can keep it together yeah? Considering it’s everyone else with the problems, it had to be me dinnit?’ she told me, a small smile tugging up the corner of her mouth.

  ‘So what… you just, deal?’

  ‘Well, pretty much, yeah,’ she confirmed with a shrug.

  ‘Doesn’t it ever get to be too much?’ I asked, simply not understanding how she could just deal with it, especially when she had it coming from so many people.

  ‘It’s not that hard. I just have to listen, don’t I? Listening to someone else’s problems, that doesn’t make it yours. It just makes their load a little lighter, takes a little of the burden off of them. Everyone
else, they’re all actually living it. Me, I just have to listen, like a human diary. Or a therapist I guess. But somebody has to do it, and you know the Sharma family; not a one of us is gonna go talk to some stranger about all the shit that’s going on with us. We’re all too bloody used to keeping secrets to ever let them out.’

  ‘You’re one hell of a person Lia, a bleedin’ brave one at that,’ I told her, a little in awe of the person sat next to me. Of course, I’d always known it about her, in a way, but hearing her explain it like that… it was something different.

  And then she said something that genuinely surprised me. ‘Not really. Not at all actually,’ she denied, shaking her head.

  ‘No, you are, Li. You manage to listen to everyone’s problems, you have for years. And you don’t break, you don’t crack, you don’t even bend. I mean, yeah, maybe sometimes you whine about it to me, maybe sometimes you even rant a little. But you keep on at it, you keep doing it all the same, being everyone’s living diary. And you don’t get mad at us, don’t tell us we’re idiots. You sit and listen, maybe give us a little advice when we’re really being stupid. And you empathise; you don’t sit there and judge or psychoanalyse. You feel. And that’s what’s gotta be the hardest thing, feeling it along with us and somehow, at the same time, not letting it get to you. You do it for all of us, every single one of us, and yet here I am, barely even able to stomach doing that for you.’ I couldn’t help but let out a little scoff at the end of my words, feeling pretty damn pathetic.

  Knowing me like she did, Alia knew exactly what the scoff meant. She shook her head, clearly disagreeing with the sentiment and I got ready for her argument. ‘It’s different Jai. This… this isn’t like me sitting by and listening to someone whine about the shit that’s going on with them. I don’t have to get involved in that, maybe I empathise but it’s not personal. You on the other hand, you’re actually involved in this,’ she justified, looking over at me with a smile. As caught up as I was in my annoyance at myself, I didn’t bother to scold her for taking her eyes off the road for so long like I usually would.