Nadiya Hussain - The Fall and Rise of the Amir Sisters

‘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.

‘Yo! Bubs. You gonna stay in here all day? Thought you feminist types hated the kitchen.’

Mae was chomping on a celery stick.

‘Just eat a samosa, you brat.’

Mae laughed. ‘No, thanks. I’d rather let my arteries breathe.’

‘Arteries don’t breathe,’ replied Bubblee.

‘Whatevs.’

Bubblee regarded her little sister. So slight and pretty, pixie-like – full of energy and life. She envied the way the future was laid out in front of Mae. There was no doubt she’d thrive. Things would fall into place for her because nothing seemed to bother her – there were no insecurities, no second-guessing. God, how depressing. Bubblee wanted to be Mae . She shook her head.

‘Are you, like, having a spasm?’ said Mae, scrunching up her face.

‘Shut up and take these samosas in.’

‘Sure thing.’

They were leaving the kitchen as Bubblee asked: ‘What’s wrong with our mum, by the way? She’s acting a bit weird.’

‘God knows.’ Mae gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘Ugh. Needs . What was that?’

It was odd, but then people were always going on about men’s needs. No one else’s seemed to matter. Bubblee scoffed. It was just typical. Bubblee noticed the colour had risen in Mae’s cheeks.

‘I hope university opens up your mind a little to feminism and sexuality.’

Mae looked at her, hesitating. ‘Bubs, can I ask… Have you…?’

‘What?’

‘Have you… had sex ?’ whispered Mae.

‘That’s none of your business,’ said Bubblee, raising her head.

Mae stopped. ‘But you’re not married.’

Mae seemed to consider it, looking by turn amazed and bewildered. Living in a small village with her traditional parents had done nothing for Mae, but Bubblee couldn’t help her own heart from beating faster.

‘We’re not talking about what is, essentially, a person’s private matter,’ replied Bubblee. She walked past Mae, into the living room, adamant that she’d not let her flushed face prevent her from acting normally.

They’d all eaten, cleared the table and were sitting around, drinking tea and eating jalebis. After so much gabbing and noise that was brought about by too many people trying to fill their bellies, a quiet calm had descended upon them. Farah felt content as she watched Mustafa talk to Fatti. It wasn’t as if they had a new-found bond since discovering they were actually brother and sister, but there was a respect that they showed each other, which Farah felt comforted by. Their dad stood up, unexpectedly.

‘Okay, okay. Listen now.’

Everyone turned their heads towards him. He brushed down his brown trousers before patting his dyed jet-black hair.

‘Mae is leaving us.’

Farah noticed Mae look at Fatti.

‘I’m not dying, Abba,’ said Mae.

‘Tst tst, such things you say,’ said her mum. ‘You will give yourself the evil eye.’