to know.’
I looked at Fatti. Fatti looked at me. It hadn’t occurred to any of us that he should be told, given that he never knows what’s going on in the family anyway. Mum and Dad were walking down the hospital corridor where we’d congregated. Farah was in Mustafa’s room. When we asked them, Dad said: ‘No, no. Better to keep him out of it for now.’
‘He’ll just worry,’ said Mum. ‘Such a busy boy, trying to make something of himself.’
Bubblee scoffed as she folded her arms. Mum looked at her and raised her finger, while Dad mumbled something about needing some tea. It’s not as if Bubblee actually said anything, but God forbid anyone even suggest that Jay’s a waste. Which, as the youngest, I can appreciate without feeling too bothered about it. Bubblee’s bothered about everything, though. It’s just who she is.
‘Your amma is already worried enough. Don’t worry her more,’ said Dad to Bubblee. ‘And she isn’t wrong.’ He looked towards Mum who was staring at him. ‘You’re getting old and must think about getting married. Look at Mustafa and think how things can turn out.’
It’s not like he raised his voice or anything, but it was a bit off-topic.
Even in the middle of a hospital Asian parents have to speak about marriage. #Obsessed #Marriage #Coma.
Bubblee went to protest but Fatti nudged her as Mum looked at her.
‘Our son is trying to be a man,’ she said. ‘You should try to be a woman.’
Dad looked at the ground and followed Mum as they both walked away, leaving Bubblee, basically bubbling with anger. Who can blame her? I mean, bit harsh telling her that the only way she’s a woman is if she gets married. Plus, what did that make Fatti, who’d turned a shade of red too when Mum said that. Our amma needs to get with the programme. Can’t fight these oldies though, they’re stuck in their ways. Shame, really. Mum’s all right when she’s chilled out and not worrying about the fact that Farah’s not had a baby, the rice has run out or that Bubblee’s not married. She’s even interesting when you listen to the stories she tells about her childhood.
‘Unbelievable,’ Bubblee exclaimed as soon as they were out of earshot. The nurse behind the desk shot us a look. ‘Our brother-in-law’s in a coma and all Mum can think about is me getting married.’
I think it was a good idea to have a hidden camera running – you have to love media equipment. This would’ve been the time I’d have had to switch it off otherwise. Fatti fidgeted with her hands. I put my arm around Bubblee.
‘You’re twenty-eight, Bangladeshi and single. What else are they going to think about?’
Bubblee looked at me as if she was about to tell me to go to my room, before glancing at Fatti.
‘I don’t understand why they’re not on your back,’ she said to Fatti, shrugging my arm off her shoulder. ‘You’re two years older than me.’
‘Mae, go check if Mum’s okay,’ said Fatti to me.
‘You check,’ I replied.
She gave me her fairy godmother look so of course I had to listen. I swear, being the youngest in the family sucks.
‘All right, Ma?’ I said, slouching in the seat next to Mum and resting my arm on her shoulder.
‘Mae – sit like a girl.’
‘Oops, sorry,’ I said, putting my hands in the air before crossing my ankles. I pointed at them to show Mum how careful I was with her instruction. She ignored me. I tell you, it takes some kind of resilience to put up with this stuff.
‘So, er, Jay,’ I said.
‘Tst, Jahangeer,’ pronounced Mum. ‘We give him this beautiful name and you spoil it.’
Talk about touchy.
‘He’s the one who prefers it,’ I replied. ‘He hates his name. Jahangeer. Jahangeeeeeer,’ I said, spreading my arms out in dramatic Bollywood fashion. I sat back after Mum slapped my leg. ‘I mean, who can blame him?’
She chose to ignore this before she said: ‘Go and see where your abba is.’
‘But I want to talk to you, Amma.’ I gripped her shoulders and shook them. ‘See how you’re feeling, talk about what’s going on in here,’ I added, patting her bony chest.
She didn’t brush my arm off, so that was something. Mum stared at the wall in front of us that had disaster warnings of AIDS and Meningitis and all the diseases under the Wyvernage sky.
‘You girls don’t understand the struggles we’ve gone through.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘You know how easy your life is?’
I wanted to say easy’s not the word I’d use, but best not to rattle cages in hospitals and all that. Mum turned to me, her eyes softening. If I could’ve angled my video camera right then I’d have focused on those eyes.
‘You were such a good baby.’
This had me straighten up in my chair with pride.
‘And then you started speaking,’ she added. ‘Every time I would tell you to be quiet, Fatti would take you and talk to you.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell her I brought some of her cheese for her.’
She rummaged in her handbag to look for it, found it and put it carefully in one of the bag’s pockets.
‘Now check if your abba is fine,’ she said finally.
‘All right then. Good talk, Mum.’
I lifted myself off the chair and went in search of Dad who was standing in front of the vending machine, looking a little hard done by.
‘Every time,’ he said. ‘You put in money and nothing comes out.’
I nudged him out of the way and grabbed both sides of the vending machine, shaking it. That didn’t work so I bent down and shoved my arm up to get hold of his packet of Maltesers that had got stuck between the Bounty and M&Ms. It was too far up for me to reach. I saw him shaking his head at me. With one last try I flung myself at the machine, hitting it with my arm, and out fell the Maltesers.
‘You’re welcome, Pops,’ I said, handing him his packet of e-numbers.
He looked at the packet, turning it around in his hands. ‘You know, sometimes your amma is a little harsh.’
‘No kidding,’ I said.
‘But it’s only because she wants the best for you girls,’ he added, shaking his Maltesers at me.
He handed them to me and said: ‘Now go and give these to Faru.’
I sighed and walked down the quiet, grey corridor, cleaning my hands at one of the hand sanitisers attached to the walls. Farah was sitting on the green leather chair, next to Mustafa’s bed, staring at him.
‘Hey,’ I said, looking around for Bubblee and Fatti.
I opened the packet of Maltesers and handed them to her. She put them on her lap.
‘How’re you doing?’ I asked.
She nodded. What did that mean?
‘You’ve got to hope for the best,’ I said, looking at Mustafa.
I wanted to prod him, just to see what reaction, if any, I’d get from him: would he twitch? Give a deeper intake of breath? Just stay motionless? But I don’t think Farah would’ve been too happy about that. I’d have been accused of not taking anything seriously. It’s just that, granted he wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t exactly alive either, was he? It was kind of fascinating – all of us watching a man in limbo.
‘Jay’s the one who calls himself Jay, isn’t it?’ I said.