The Fall and Rise of the Amir Sisters

Without waiting for a reply he turned around and closed the door behind him.

‘Oh, God, do you think he heard?’ asked Farah, looking at Bubblee in despair.

‘Doesn’t seem like you really care either way.’

‘What? Of course I care. I just need more than him. Is that so bad?’

Bubblee barely recognized her sister. When did she go from being the foundation of this family, the go-to person with the ever-straightforward-yet-wise advice, to this woman who couldn’t see past her own ovaries? Bubblee stood up and went to leave.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Farah.

‘Home.’

‘Are you annoyed because of what I said about your art stuff?’

‘You feel how you feel.’ Bubblee looked at her sister. She wouldn’t waste time trying to justify her needs and wants and losses. ‘I don’t know why I’m expected to feel more for you, though.’

She followed in Mustafa’s footsteps, out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her, before leaving the house.

Mustafa didn’t come home until late and Farah was already in bed, pretending to be asleep. She felt him slide in beside her and wondered if she should turn around and say something. What would she say, though? Sorry? If he had any sense in him he’d know what she meant, and he couldn’t possibly feel that just the two of them was enough. Not any more. It was a missed opportunity in terms of trying to have sex, but she couldn’t bear looking at his doleful face. Tomorrow Farah would go to the doctor because every problem has a solution, and she had to find theirs.

‘Have you considered other options?’

Farah wished the doctor was female. The greying man looked at her as if he were her teacher and she hadn’t prepared for her class quiz.

‘I know you tried IVF before, but you might like to –’

‘No,’ interrupted Farah. ‘We can’t afford to try again.’

She remembered the hormone injections, the failed pregnancy tests, the spiralling of hope that would expand and contract but never amount to anything. The doctor cleared his throat and adjusted his navy tie.

‘What about surrogacy?’

He wasn’t getting it at all.

‘Our finances. We can’t.’

And another woman carrying her child? No, thank you.

‘Well,’ he continued. ‘Let’s put you in for a transvaginal scan. The last lap-and-dye wasn’t successful, but let’s check that again and see what results we get. In the meantime, take some time to think about what I’ve said. Speak with your partner. Also, here are some leaflets with numbers for counselling. Trying for a baby can take its emotional toll on a couple.’

I don’t need more leaflets; I need you to tell me how to conceive. Maybe the results this time would be different? Her heart beat faster at the thought – a knot of anxiety forming in the pit of her stomach. She took the leaflets he was handing to her and left the surgery.

Farah looked out into the cloudy sky and the town that seemed as oppressed under the bleakness as she felt. She took out her phone and waited a few moments before pressing on Fatti’s name.

‘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.