‘Hello.’
‘Hi,’ Farah replied.
‘How are you?’ said Fatti, as if nothing had happened between them.
Farah had to admit her sister was a better person than her. She really did deserve to be happier.
‘Fine, fine. You?’
‘Not so – not so bad. Good. Oh, God, sorry…’
‘Hello? Fatti?’
Where had she gone?
‘Fatti? What’s happening?’
Farah hung up and then dialled the number again. She had to do this a few times before Fatti picked up.
‘What happened?’ Farah asked.
‘Sorry, it’s just this… morning sickness,’ she mumbled.
Farah stood by her car, ready to open the door, but paused. ‘Oh.’
‘Sorry.’
She leaned against the car door and closed her eyes. This couldn’t go on indefinitely. She was going to be an aunt.
‘Don’t be, Fats. I’m sorry you’re getting sick.’
‘It’s fine. Part and parcel of it,’ replied Fatti.
There was a long pause.
‘Well, I’d better go,’ said Farah.
‘Where are you?’
‘Just some errands before getting back to work. I wanted to call and see how you were.’
‘Oh, God, sorry. I have to go again.’
Before Farah could say anything Fatti had already hung up, leaving her with the taste of bile in her own mouth.
That evening Farah went straight home after work, rather than popping in to see her parents, which she often did.
‘What happened at the doctor’s?’ asked Mustafa when he walked through the door.
‘More tests.’
Mustafa threw his house keys on the table as he collapsed on the sofa. The smell of manure had already reached Farah who was standing on a chair, dusting the curtains. Every time she looked around the living room it seemed so worn, no matter how clean she kept it. The black leather sofa had rips in it and the flooring was scratched and dull.
‘You need a shower,’ she said. ‘Maybe you should try and see what other jobs there are. You know, instead of cleaning out stables.’
‘What else is there around here?’ he said.
Farah paused. ‘I don’t know. We can have a look.’
When there was silence she looked over her shoulder and saw that Mustafa was staring at her.
‘You know you’ll be all right,’ he said.
If he could just have said we’ll be all right, she wouldn’t, that moment, have wished he hadn’t bothered to come home at all.
‘What’s for dinner?’
He went into the kitchen and saw that there was no dinner. She’d started cleaning as soon as she got home and wasn’t even thinking of food. Farah was about to retort with something when he said: ‘Don’t worry. Shall I make us some pasta or something?’
This was the thing: at times like these he was so different from what anyone would expect from a typical Bengali husband that she couldn’t be annoyed at him for too long. His moods were just a glitch. This was the real him. Farah got down from her chair and sat on it.
‘The doctor said we should think about IVF again,’ she said.
She decided not to mention the counselling. They’d get through this together. He was about to say something when she added: ‘Don’t worry. I’ve already told him we couldn’t afford another round.’
Suddenly, she realized Mustafa’s eyes were filled with tears.
‘Sorry, babe,’ he said, wiping them away. ‘I just never thought it’d be this hard, you know?’
She went and put her arms around him – he did want a baby, after all. It was ‘we’, not just her.
‘I know,’ she said into his ear. ‘The doctor even suggested surrogacy if we have no luck.’
Mustafa looked at her and frowned. ‘That would be weird. I don’t like the idea of some stranger carrying our baby.’
‘No,’ she agreed. Still, she half wished he’d try to talk her around the idea, but who knew what the test results would show? Perhaps they would get good news after all.
‘No, you’re right,’ she added. ‘Nor do I.’
Mae: Its lyk no1 evn cares im leavin in 5 DAYS.
Mae: Helloooooo??
Mae: None of u can com to my campus.
Fatti: Been sick all day. In bed. Will come and see you on Friday xxx
Bubblee: Mae, stop being so dramatic.
Mae: I think Im gonna take a module in drama
Bubblee: God help us all.
Mae: Helloooo, Fazzler? Rmba us? Ur sisters?
Farah: Had errands. I’ll pop over Friday too. GTG X
Mae opened the door and saw Farah shifting on her feet, carrying a box.
‘Why didn’t you just use your key?’ said Mae, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ve got too many boxes and Mum says I can’t take my juicer. I mean, hello? It’s not like any of you lot are going to be making kale smoothies.’
Farah walked in and simply greeted this with: ‘Oh.’
‘Thanks for the sympths. Hope your packing powers are better,’ Mae said, striding up the stairs, leaving Farah behind.
‘Well, she’s here at last,’ said Mae, going into her room where Bubblee was throwing some of Mae’s clothes into a black bin bag for charity.
‘Oi, no! I want those,’ exclaimed Mae.
Bubblee held up the beige cargo pants in disdain. She just shook her head and chucked them back in the cupboard. Fatti was lying down, her eyes covered with her arm and a leg dangling off the edge of the bed.
‘I’ll be better in a minute,’ she mumbled.
Mae went over and put her hand on her forehead.
‘She doesn’t have a temperature,’ said Bubblee. ‘She has a baby.’
Mae looked at Fatti, her brow knitted in concern.
‘You were all right last week,’ she said.
‘Evil eye.’
The three girls turned around to see their mum looming at the door and watching Fatti with a look Mae didn’t quite recognize.
‘Yeah, thanks, Amma. That’s gonna make her feel loads better,’ retorted Mae. ‘And who’s given her this evil eye?’
As if on cue, Farah appeared next to her mum, holding a box and looking into the room. Under normal circumstances Mae would’ve laughed. Only, it was a bit of a coincidence and it made her feel uneasy. Because Farah was not being Farah. That wasn’t to say she was going around cursing people with bad health, obviously, but still.
‘You’ve not got very far, have you?’ said Farah, eyeing