‘And say what? Sorry your husband’s in a coma?’
‘Mae.’
Fatti closed her eyes and splashed her face with some water. The problem with Fatti is that she’s a worrier. Every little thing will have her crease her eyebrows, look from side to side and probably throw up.
‘Poor Farah,’ she said, under her breath. ‘She doesn’t deserve this,’ she added, looking at me.
‘You’re telling me.’
‘And Mustafa. Lying there with all those wires going through him, not having a clue that his wife’s crying her eyes out.’
I squirted some disinfectant soap and rubbed it into my hands.
‘He’s too nice to be in a coma,’ she added.
‘Yeah, well, it’d be great if only murderers and rapists got put in comas, but I don’t think that’s how it works.’
She paused, leaning against the sink. ‘Did you finish your history homework?’
‘Not exactly top of my list of priorities right now,’ I said.
‘You’ve had all week. You’ve got subjects other than media and English, Mae.’
‘Have I?’ I said, leaning forward in shock as if I’d just found this out. I leaned back and rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t know how I’d keep up if it wasn’t for you.’
Fatti dragged me by the arm as we came out of the bathroom and sat me down in the waiting room.
‘My poor daughter,’ said Mum. ‘My poor sister.’
I glanced at Fatti as Bubblee walked into the room. ‘Has anyone called Mustafa’s mum to let her know?’
We all looked at each other. No-one had enough of their head about them to actually call Mustafa’s mum in Bangladesh.
‘She won’t forgive me,’ said Mum.
Bubblee sighed and got her phone out. ‘You didn’t drive into him, Amma. What’s her number?’
‘No, no. I’ll call her myself.’
With which Mum got her special calling card out and left the room. Dad got up a few moments later and followed her out of the room.
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ said Bubblee. ‘Her sister’s son is married to her daughter and they still only speak to each other once every few months.’
‘Weird, for sure,’ I mumbled, scrolling through Twitter, reading all the messages I was getting about Mustafa.
Bubblee nudged me and looked over at Fatti who was wringing her hands. She’s mostly like a human but also a bit like a puppy – especially when she looks up at you like she did just then.
‘I don’t want Farah to be unhappy,’ she said.
Er, obviously.
‘Then you’d better stop looking like someone’s about to die,’ said Bubblee. ‘Because that’s the last thing Farah needs.’
*
We all came home that night – Bubblee volunteered to go home with Farah so she wouldn’t be sleeping alone. Mum, Dad, Fatti and I went to bed but when I got to my room and put my hand in my jeans pocket I realised I’d forgotten my phone, recording and propped up against the bread-bin in the kitchen. Walking past Mum and Dad’s bedroom, I heard them muttering. I’d have just walked past but something made me lean in and listen.
‘Did you see how short she’d cut her beautiful, long hair?’ I heard Mum say to Dad from outside their bedroom.
Amazing, isn’t it? Their son-in-law’s done in and in a coma, and Mum wanted to chat about Bubblee’s hair.
‘I spoke to Mrs Bhatchariya about boys for her. She said she’d send me some details, but you know what I think. We shouldn’t have let her go to London,’ added Mum.
‘Why couldn’t she be like our Faru?’ said Dad.
I was surprised they didn’t say Fatti. Nothing Fatti does is ever wrong. Speaking of the expanding devil, she came up the stairs and saw me crouching outside Mum and Dad’s door.
‘What are you doing there?’ she whispered, crouching with me.
‘Shh. I thought you’d gone to bed.’
‘Is that Mum crying?’ she asked.
I nodded.
‘Do you think Dad’s comforting her?’ she asked.
I let out a stifled laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’
Fatti began shifting on each leg until she couldn’t take it any more and sat back, leaning against the wall.
‘Why do you think that’s weird?’ she asked. ‘They’re always chatting in that room.’
‘Are they?’ I asked.
‘You might notice if you weren’t on your phone all the time.’
‘I only know what I need to know, thanks,’ I replied.
Fatti shook her head at me.
‘You think he’s going to be okay?’ she said.
‘Who?’
‘Mustafa.’
I shrugged. ‘Dunno. Hope so.’
‘What if he’s not, though?’ Fatti looked at me, fear in her eyes. ‘What if he … dies?’ Tears welled and were in danger of rolling down her cheeks.
‘You always think the worst’s going to happen.’
Fatti looked like she was about to say something when we heard Dad speak.
‘Malik is getting on a flight and coming as soon as possible.’
Our aunt and uncle are too old to travel and so their third eldest is coming instead.
‘Maybe this is why it’s all happened,’ said Mum. ‘Malik will come and then …’
Fatti struggled off the ground, interrupting my eavesdropping with her deep breaths and suppressed sighing.
‘Do you think Bubblee and Farah are okay on their own in Farah’s house? Maybe I should’ve stayed with her instead?’ she said as she hovered over me.
‘They’ll be fine. It’s not like they’ll kill each other – not while Farah’s husband’s in hospital,’ I replied.
‘You shouldn’t be eavesdropping,’ said Fatti, putting both hands on her hips.
I shooed her away. She was killing my buzz as I continued to listen in to my parents’ room, so she plodded away.
‘But is it the right time?’ said Mum.
Right time for what? I leaned in closer as they both went quiet. Then Dad spoke.
‘It doesn’t matter that he’s coming. Mustafa is here and you never worry about it.’
‘Mustafa is different. He’s the same as us now,’ said Mum. ‘Maybe Malik will also be like us one day. It will be the answer to our prayers and then we could tell her.’
‘We’ve waited very long,’ said Dad.
What were they talking about? Annoying Fatti who made me miss half the conversation with her anti-eavesdropping morals. Before I knew it, Mum and Dad began talking about shopping that was needed and how Farah should stay with us while Mustafa’s in hospital. Then I heard the creaking of the bunk as they both seemed to get ready to sleep.
I went downstairs to get my phone and switched off the recording. Before I deleted it I thought I might as well check