The Fall and Rise of the Amir Sisters. Nadiya Hussain

already said we can’t afford it.’

      ‘I understand, and that’s something you’d need to work on, but the chances of actually getting a baby at the end of it are higher than with IVF.’

      Farah drank in the word chance. Had she been too quick to dismiss the idea? She could always get two jobs to help save money, and her parents might be able to help them. It was just the idea of not actually carrying the baby that made her stop short.

      ‘It would be your baby, with your genes,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘I know the concept isn’t very easy to grasp, but it’s a scientific feat and worth exploring, in my opinion.

      I’ve given you the websites, so think about it and speak to your husband, of course.’

      Farah’s mind buzzed. It would be their baby. But she wouldn’t carry it. Mae would call her crazy, but Farah couldn’t help but look at Fatti and envy her the sickness she was going through. Well, perhaps not to the same extent, but she wanted to know the feeling of growing something inside her and that connection that comes because of it. Farah picked up her phone and dialled Fatti’s number.

      ‘Hello?’ came her muffled voice.

      ‘Are you in bed?’

      There was a pause. ‘That obvious? What’s going on?’

      Farah wondered why she’d even called Fatti – to ask her what it feels like to have a baby inside her and whether that was reason enough to reject the idea of surrogacy? Then she heard sniffling.

      ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

      ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.’ But Fatti’s voice sounded nasal and thick.

      ‘Do you have a cold?’

      A few moments passed before she replied: ‘No.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine, I’m sorry, I’m just…’

      ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Farah, getting ready to jump in her car and see her sister. She’d taken a late doctor’s appointment and had finished work for the day.

      ‘No, it’s fine, really.’ Fatti seemed to be gathering herself before she cried out: ‘I can’t say this to you.’

      ‘Say what to me?’

      Farah thought she heard Fatti sob. She waited, confused and unsure of what to do or say.

      ‘It’s just so… so…’ Hiccup. ‘So awful.’

      ‘What is?’ exclaimed Farah.

      The sobs began again.

      ‘The baby,’ Fatti cried. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this to you of all people. I know. I’m the one who’s awful.’

      Fatti paused, perhaps waiting for Farah to say something, but she had no words. Certainly no sympathy.

      ‘It’s just that I’m always feeling sick. I wake up all through the night. The other day I didn’t even make it to the bathroom and threw up on Ash’s slippers.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I’m grateful, really. Honestly, I am. You don’t need to hear this.’

      ‘No, it’s fine,’ replied Farah. ‘Listen, I should go. I’m actually driving.’

      Farah got into her car and started the engine.

      ‘Okay, of course. Hang on, why did you call?’ asked Fatti.

      ‘Oh, nothing. Just wanted to see what you were up to.’

      ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come out with all of that. Not when yo–’

      ‘I really should get off the phone,’ interrupted Farah.

      ‘Okay, I’ll speak to you later, then?’

      ‘Yeah, fine. Bye.’

      Farah put the phone down and rested her head on the steering wheel of the car. A sense of panic rose in her chest – she had to wind down the window for some fresh air as she switched the engine off.

      ‘Pull yourself together,’ she said to herself. ‘Just pull your self together.’

      It was so much easier said than done.

      It would be your baby, with your genes.

      The doctor was right, of course. Pregnancy was the beginning but it wasn’t the end. Holding a baby in your arms, tending to it, watching it grow, its features morphing in and out of recognition. The way it would reflect some of her, some of Mustafa and something new altogether was all still possible. This time when she switched the engine on again there was an urgency. She sped down the street all the way home to tell her husband. They would have a baby. It would be theirs. It’s just that someone else would carry it.

      When she walked into the house Mustafa was fixing the light bulb in a lamp.

      ‘Oh,’ she said, watching him with his tools sprawled all around him. ‘You’re home.’

      ‘Finished the day early so I came home and started this. I’ve fixed the bathroom tap too,’ he said. ‘It was driving me crazy. Do you know where my screwdriver with the green handle is?’ He was looking around for it.

      ‘No,’ she replied.

      ‘Oh, here it is,’ he said, bringing it up and looking at it. ‘It was right there. I must be going blind.’

      He laughed at his own observation. She wondered how the things that had needed fixing around the house for the past three months were only just occurring to Mustafa. He looked up at her with such child-like satisfaction she decided not to point this out to him. Plus, she needed him on side, and his mood hadn’t been this positive for a while. When she looked into the kitchen she saw that all the dishes and plates had been taken out of the cupboard.

      ‘What’s going on there?’ she asked.

      ‘Hmm?’ Mustafa glanced into the kitchen before returning to his light bulb. ‘Hinges on the cupboards were loose.’

      Farah wondered whether there were any other hinges loose as she stared at her husband. But she must stop all this negativity and appreciate that today was the day he felt like being productive.