see how things couldn’t be okay. We had everything, after all. I looked around the house and the lack of toys cluttered everywhere; no playpen, no children’s books, no pieces of Lego or dolls left lying around. I hear people complain about what their children have or haven’t done and it stirs something inside of me – making me want to shout – not sure what I’d shout, but that doesn’t matter.
‘Everything’s fine, Far,’ he added. ‘I’ll always look after you. You know that, don’t you?’
Of course he will. He always has.
‘Have you heard from Jay lately?’ he asked.
‘He emailed last week. Why?’
‘Just wondering,’ he said. ‘I er …’ he paused. ‘I promised your parents I’d get him to help out with work. Just to give him a hand.’
‘Oh.’
It was the first I’d heard of it. Why hadn’t anybody told me? When I asked Mustafa he simply said that it was only bits and pieces Jay was doing – nothing major.
‘I’ll see how he gets on – it’s nothing permanent.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘For helping him out.’
‘You’re happy with it?’
‘I know it’ll mean a lot to Mum and Dad. But take it one step at a time with Jay. I love him but it’s not exactly an ideal plan.’
‘Yeah, yeah, of course.’
‘And come home early tonight if you can,’ I added.
He replied that he would as he put the phone down, when the doorbell rang again.
‘Hi, Abba,’ I said as Dad walked into the living room and switched the television on.
‘Your amma thinks I’ve gone out to buy some things for the garden,’ he said.
He settled down on my large white sofa, giving a satisfied sigh and smiled as The Arti-Fact Show flashed on our fifty-inch screen.
‘I’ll make the tea,’ I replied, glancing at the television screen. ‘The presenter’s put on weight, hasn’t he?’
‘Look at that,’ said Dad, observing what can only be described as a painting of a swan, studded with crystals. ‘Beautiful. Even your amma would like that,’ he added, turning to me, and possibly seeing the disgusted look on my face.
I gave him his tea with a slice of cake and sat down next to him.
‘You’re okay?’ he asked, not taking his eyes off the television screen.
‘Yeah.’
‘Bubblee’s ideas are different,’ he said, sipping his tea.
I picked a bit of walnut off my cake and put it to the side.
‘London,’ Dad said, shaking his head. ‘Everyone talks about London, but we are happy here, aren’t we?’ he added, putting his arm around me, squeezing my shoulders.
‘Yes, Abba.’
‘She’s a good girl, but if she could just get married so your amma would stop worrying, it would help me very much. Now your brother, on the other hand; we might not always see him but he still thinks of us, sending us money. Plus, you know boys will be boys.’
It was useful to have the TV as a distraction, because the look on my face might’ve given my secret away. I couldn’t quite bear the idea of Mum and Dad thinking that their only son’s one redeeming feature of sending them money was actually me.
‘Before I forget,’ said Dad, taking out a letter. ‘What is this?’
I read through it.
‘It’s just about parking meters. You can read, Abba.’
‘Yes, yes, but the English sometimes is confusing.’
‘It’s nothing,’ I added. ‘Won’t affect our road.’
‘Very good.’ Dad smacked his legs with his hands and got up to leave.
‘Don’t forget to get the soil that’s on offer, Abba,’ I said. ‘Not the full-price one. Mum won’t stop telling me about it otherwise.’
He nodded, gratefully, kissed me on the head and left. When he’d gone I wandered around the house. I do this often; when all the chores are done and the kitchen and bathroom can’t get any cleaner. I look at the high ceilings and arched doorways, the mowed lawn, with flower beds dotted all around. Mum used to tell us that a woman makes a house a home. But sometimes these spaces seem so empty I’m not sure what else I can do to fill the void that seems to stretch. There are potted plants in the home, picture frames and even some organised clutter I’ve arranged, but nothing fills the emptiness apart from when my husband comes home.
I remembered the day we moved into this house. I couldn’t believe we’d be living in a place so big and beautiful, but thanks to Mustafa’s job and some help from Mum and Dad we were able to afford it. There’s nothing quite like making your own home; filling up the spaces with things you’ve been given or have bought; deciding where to put the television; disagreeing over the paint, only to settle on a colour that looks dangerously close to Magnolia. Mustafa had come up behind me and put his arms around me.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked.
‘I love it,’ I replied.
‘The small room upstairs would make a perfect nursery, wouldn’t it?’ he added.
I shook myself from the memory and sat at my laptop, looking at baby items on the Internet. If I had a baby girl I’d dress her up in pink – I don’t care what people say about the colour; it’d look beautiful on her. And my boy would be in blue. I’d want the girl first so she could play me to our baby boy, who’d obviously have some of his Uncle Jay’s looks. She’d hug him when he fell over, cover for him whenever he got in trouble with me or Mustafa – she’d call him when we asked where he was before he’d come stumbling home, careful not to wake us. Before going to sleep he’d creep into her room and plant a kiss on her forehead, which she’d accept before hitting him on the arm for making her lie again. I laughed at the memory it conjured and missed Jay so much, I wished he’d visit us. Five years ago it would’ve been Bubblee I’d have gone to, but now he’s the only one I could tell: No, Jay. I can’t have babies.
I looked through my inbox and clicked on his latest email to me.
From: Amir, Jahangir
To: Lateef, Farah
Subject: Hi
Hi Sis,
Thanks for sending through that money again. You know how much I appreciate it. I promise I’m trying to get my life together. Sometimes it’s hard, but this time I really think I’m going to get my big break. I’ve a friend who’s got a business plan and he wants me to be a part of it.
Don’t tell anyone about it yet, not until it all goes through. I know it’s been a while since I’ve called Mum and Dad but I promise I’ll do that too. I’m just concentrating on this business plan.
Take care,
Jay
P.S. I do know how I’m lucky to have a sister like you.
God, please let this work. At least he did call Mum and Dad, even if it was five days later. I’d asked him what this plan was but he didn’t want to go into detail because he said he’d jinx it. I don’t know why it is that for some people things just don’t seem to go smoothly. It’s always been something with him – whether it was school or work. I prayed that next time he emailed, it would be good news.
I ended up falling asleep on the sofa. When I awoke it was already six o’clock and Mustafa wasn’t home yet so I called him. No