The Fall and Rise of the Amir Sisters

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.