The Secret Lives of the Amir Sisters: the ultimate heart-warming read for 2018

‘Beautiful,’ said the woman, admiring my hand as she gave it back to me.

I wondered what it’d feel like for someone to look at all of me and say that?

When we got to the hospital the nurse was checking Mustafa’s vital signs.

‘Well?’ I asked as the nurse left the room.

Farah shook her head, rubbing her tired eyes.

‘No change,’ said Dad.

Mum asked me how the shoot was as Bubblee went and sat on a chair. Mae was obviously on her phone. I stood around for a bit before noticing that it’d started pelting down with rain. As I sat, facing the door, dying for some prawns and cheese on crackers, this figure appeared, drenched. I couldn’t quite see his face under his dark-grey trilby until he removed it, holding it against his chest. Then our eyes met. I noticed his dark lashes and slightly hooked nose, his chest rising and falling as if he were out of breath. When he smiled at me it was the weirdest thing – it’s like there was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t decide what.

‘Kala. Mama,’ he said, looking away from me and at Mum and Dad.

They both turned around and got up.

‘Malik,’ said Mum as she burst out crying.

He put his arm cautiously around her, pursing his lips.

‘Shh, shh. He’ll hear you. You know my brother doesn’t know what to do when someone cries,’ he said in Bengali.

This made Farah smile for the first time in days. It didn’t seem to have quite the same effect on Bubblee, who sat as if glued to her chair.

‘What a surprise – everyone gathering around the man who enters a room,’ said Bubblee, quietly, glaring at him.

For a moment I wished I could be like Bubblee – unafraid to say what she thinks, not caring how people might react. I was ready to give up my seat for him, go and get him a drink, ask him what his favourite food is, and there was Bubblee, looking as if ready to murder him. Malik’s gaze fell on Mustafa, lying there with tubes attached to machines.

‘He will be okay,’ he said, so assuredly it made me wonder what I’d been worrying about. If I’d accidentally given my sister the evil eye, then he was here to do the opposite – to make things better. What was that feeling of familiarity? Maybe it’s because he looks a lot like Mustafa. Of course I knew of Malik – he’s family, after all, but it’d been so long since any of us had met him. He wasn’t able to come to England for Mustafa and Farah’s wedding and we hadn’t been back home in over twenty years. Last time we saw him we were all just children. I hadn’t realised that my nails were digging into my palms as I stared at him. I stood up.

‘Have my seat,’ I said.

He looked at me and smiled. ‘Fatima.’

Was it me or did he hold my gaze a little longer than normal? Then he looked around at all of us and said: ‘How you’ve all grown.’

His eyes settled back on me. I pulled my skirt down, trying to cover my thighs. Why hadn’t I put on a bit of make-up before leaving the house? It was only when he’d taken my seat that I realised I’d put him next to Bubblee, who’d turned around and pretended to look out of the window, even though it looked like it might give her a crick in her neck.

‘I remember, when we were children, you were the one who pushed me when I called you a girl,’ he said to her.

Mum laughed and said in Bengali, ‘She was always spirited.’

‘I didn’t push you,’ she said. ‘I punched you. And you went crying to your amma.’

He observed her for a moment before looking back at his brother.

‘Bhabi,’ he said to Farah. ‘We are all praying for him.’

She looked at him, grateful. What was she thinking when she looked at Mustafa like that? What exactly was going through her mind? Mum and Dad went through the story with Malik about the police coming to Farah’s and telling her about the accident, us all rushing to the hospital, Bubblee coming up from London, how difficult these past few days have been, but how glad we were that he was here. Malik rubbed his eyes and continued to stare at Mustafa.

‘Amma and Abba wouldn’t be able to look at this,’ he said.

Then he took Mustafa’s hand, leaned forward and kissed his forehead. ‘That’s from Amma.’

‘You should’ve told us what time your flight was getting in,’ said Dad. ‘Someone would’ve come to collect you.’

‘We would’ve sent Bubblee,’ said Mum. ‘This isn’t right – you’ve flown all this way, come straight here and didn’t tell us. You know Jahangeer is away, so you are now the man to come and look after us.’

I stole a glance at Bubblee who looked like she might throw something at someone.

‘He’s just so busy,’ continued Mum. ‘Working, working – sending us money.’

Mae snorted and looked up from her phone as everyone stared at her. ‘Sorry.’

‘If he were here you’d be able to speak with him, but you’ll have to settle for all these women,’ said Mum as Dad cleared his throat. ‘And your mama,’ she added, looking at Dad.

Malik stared at them both before he waved his hands around as if it were all too silly to talk about. Mum and Dad looked at each other, approvingly. I guess they were thinking he was perfect for Bubblee, and when Farah’s husband wakes up, there’ll be another family wedding and everyone will live happily ever after. I probably still won’t have passed my driving test. Oh, God! I remembered I’d forgotten to cancel my lesson the following day. I texted Ash and told him what had happened, if he hadn’t already read it in the paper.

From, Ashraf: I’m so sorry to hear that. Hope he recovers soon. Just let me know when you’re ready for your next lesson. Are you okay?

To, Ashraf: Yeah, fine. Just weird when something like this happens. Makes you realise how short life is. The sooner I pass my test the sooner I can start living mine.

I thought about it for a second before sending it, but Ash is always saying stuff like this to me – telling me what’s going on with him, so why not? I didn’t think he’d respond, but he did, saying something like I don’t need to pass my test to do that, but he doesn’t understand. Passing my test means being in control. Just once, I’d like to feel like I have some of that.

*

‘Ewww!’ exclaimed Mae. ‘Bubblee? Marry Malik? Gross.’

‘What do you mean?’ I replied. ‘He’s nice looking.’

‘Er, yeah,’ replied Mae, ‘but he’s like, from Bangladesh. That accent is vom.’

I’d laid out a blanket for her on the floor of my bedroom because Malik was staying with us and Bubblee and Farah were sharing.

‘Mae, you shouldn’t say stuff like that about people,’ I said, thinking about his trilby and how English he looked when he walked into the hospital room.

‘What? Be honest?’

I looked up at the ceiling as I lay down on my bed. ‘You need to learn that some things should be kept to yourself.’

The light from her phone shone on her face. ‘Yeah, well, I don’t expect people to read my mind.’

Wouldn’t that be great. If people could do that. My mouth never quite manages to say the words my brain thinks. It could save me a lot of trouble. While I was thinking this, someone knocked on the door before opening it.

‘Is she still on her damn phone?’ said Bubblee, walking into my room and plopping herself on my bed.

‘How’s Farah?’ I asked.