The Hopes and Triumphs of the Amir Sisters

‘Funny, warm and uplifting’

OK! Magazine

‘Breezy, funny and winning’

Daily Mail

‘A lovely story about family, faith and self-acceptance’

Red Magazine

‘Packed with humour and warmth’

Heat

‘An enriching, thought-provoking and – yes – entertaining read.’

Independent

‘Proves she’s more than just a dab hand with a piping bag’

Daily Telegraph

Over 14 million people tuned in to see NADIYA win 2015’s Great British Bake Off. Since then she has captured the heart of the nation. A columnist for The Times and Essentials, Nadiya is also a regular reporter for The One Show and presented a two-part series, The Chronicles of Nadiya on BBC One. She is the author of Nadiya’s Kitchen (Michael Joseph), Bake me a Story (Hodder) and has been named as one of the top five most influential Asians in the UK.

Also in The Amir Sisters series:

The Secret Lives of the Amir Sisters

The Fall and Rise of the Amir Sisters

The Hopes and Triumphs of the Amir Sisters

Nadiya Hussain with Ayisha Malik

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Nadiya Hussain 2020

Nadiya Hussain asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © January 2020 ISBN: 9780008192402

Note to Readers

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 Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008192389

Contents

Cover

Praise

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

About the Publisher

Chapter One

It was meant to have been the time of Mae’s life. It was the time of her life. Last night’s doner kebab wrapper was still on her night-stand so she scrunched it up and threw it in the bin. Scratching her head she ate another cheese Dorito out of the packet. Crumbs fell on to the jeans she’d packed on top of her bag, but she couldn’t be bothered to clean them off. It wasn’t as if anyone noticed her. Nor as if she actually wanted to be noticed, she supposed. Not any more, anyway. Whatever. So, she zipped up the bag, mumbled, ‘Laters,’ as she walked out of her room in the halls of residence, and closed the door behind her.

A slew of students scurried past and she waited at the door, shifting on her feet, glancing at people to see if anyone would catch her eye. There was Marcus who was in her Studying Television class. And Dilek who sat next to him. Dilek would spend the lecture crumpling up pieces of paper and throwing them at Marcus, who’d just spread out his legs, slump further down in his seat and chuckle. The paper ball once bounced off Marcus and hit Mae, who was sitting in the row in front of him.

‘Oops. Soz,’ whispered Dilek.

‘It’s all right,’ replied Mae, picking up the ball and wondering what to do with it.

She’d wanted to make a joke while handing it back: More useful than making notes in this class. Lucky it didn’t hit Buxom Buxton or it’d have bounced off her, straight into her face. But something caught in her throat. Everything that sprang to mind sounded lame. She picked holes in her retorts before she ever said them out loud and by that time the person had moved on, just like Dilek had, who’d carried on taking notes as Marcus snatched her pen.

Mae eyed them both now as they ambled past, Marcus with his arm casually around Dilek’s shoulders. Maybe they’d see her and smile. Maybe even say ‘hello’. Except they hadn’t noticed her. By the time Mae realised that there wasn’t anything lame about her saying ‘hello’ to them, they’d walked past and the chance was gone.

It was fine. She was going back home for Easter and there she didn’t have to always worry about words catching in her throat or saying something stupid. Mae wove her way through the corridors, out into the crisp spring air and walked towards the station. True, the Christmas holiday at home hadn’t gone as planned. Between two new babies and her mum and dad’s gross newly blossoming romance, Mae found herself scurrying from one place to the next, helping out, changing nappies, babysitting, helping her mum in the kitchen. Her mum, by the way, who didn’t once ask how university was going.

‘Typical,’ said Mae to herself as she boarded the train, taking a seat by the window.

She’d expected better of her sister, Fatti, but … motherhood. Mae sighed.

This time would be different because the babies weren’t as new any more, and there was a party, of course, because the whole family was getting together after so many months. Her dad had said they were throwing it in her honour. They might not say it very often – or at all – but Mae was sure they were proud of her being at university, even if she was only doing Media Studies. Maybe her family would ask her enough questions about university for her to see that university wasn’t that bad. Because it wasn’t, really, was it?

A few hours later she stepped off the train on to a small platform under an overcast sky. Ash, her brother-in-law, would be waiting to pick her up so they could drive down to Wyvernage.

Sistaaaas

Mae: Yo, fam. Wheres the bro in law at?

Mae waited for a response, but after a few minutes, when she saw no one was typing, she called her mum and dad’s house phone. It rang twelve times before her harassed-sounding mum picked up.

‘Haam,’ she exclaimed.

‘Whoa, madre. Easy on the eardrums.’

‘Oh, Mae. What is it?’

‘Er, just waiting here at the station.’

There was a pause.

‘What station?’ her mum asked.

‘Waterloo.’

‘What?’

‘Sewell station, obvs. Where else? Where’s Ash?’

Another pause.

‘Oh my God. FATIMA.’

Mae pulled the phone away from her ear.

‘Fatti, where is your husband?’ exclaimed her mum. ‘He was meant to pick up Mae at the station.’

‘What? Today?’ came Fatima’s faint but recognisable voice.

‘Yes, today. She is waiting now. Okay, Mae. He’s coming.’

‘He must have forgotten.’

‘Adam has been crying so much, ya Allah. Teething. Fatti and Ash are both walking around like those zombies. He’s on his way so wait there. Have to go, the fish is burning.’

Before Mae could say anything else her mum had put the phone down. Mae looked at her mobile screen as flecks of rain spattered on it. She would have to take shelter.

‘You look wrecked,’ said Mae when Ash pulled up outside the station.

‘Good to see you too, Mae.’

She got into the car and punched his arm as she laughed, trying to shift her unreasonable feelings of being abandoned. ‘Always a pleasure, isn’t it?’

Ash looked at her properly and seemed taken aback.

‘Yeah. Always,’ he replied, turning away and pulling out of the station. ‘Sorry about the mix-up.’

‘Noz woz. It happens. Hear the little monkey’s giving you guys grief.’

That’s all it took for Ash to then give Mae a blow-by-blow account of Adam’s sleeping patterns, feeding habits, Ash’s lack of sleep, Fatti’s lack of sleep, Fatti’s intermittent crying, Ash’s intermittent crying, Adam’s not-so-intermittent crying.

‘Bloody hell,’ replied Mae. ‘Lots of crying.’

Ash just grunted then spent the rest of the journey in silence.

It wasn’t a fortuitous start to Mae’s break but she was an optimist. By the time they were outside her parents’ house she had plastered on a smile as she waited for someone to answer the door.

‘Ah, my darling bud of Mae has arrived,’ exclaimed her dad, pulling her into a hug.

She took in the familiar smell of incense and spices and hugged him back so tightly she felt tears surface her eyes.

‘How are you?’ he said, looking down at her with such affection Mae thought she might burst into tears.

All the feelings she’d kept buried, telling herself that everything was okay, that she was okay, brimmed to the surface now that she realised that all she wanted to do was cry into her dad’s arms. He drew back from Mae and looked her up and down, his face going from proud to perplexed.

‘Hmm,’ he said, squeezing both her arms. ‘You’re eating well.’

‘What?’ she said.

But she was interrupted by the noise of a baby’s cry piercing the reunion. Ash cleared his throat as Mae moved out of the way to see him dump her bag in the passage and run up the stairs.

‘Fatti stayed here last night so your mum could help her and Ash could get some sleep. But he felt so bad that he came over late and stayed awake with Fatti. He’s a very good man.’

‘Hmm,’ replied Mae.

She entered their living room and it seemed weirdly empty. Perhaps she’d been at university too long but it seemed to her that this house was always bustling with people, and when it wasn’t bustling then it was at least familiar. It was the same place she’d spent most of her childhood, but today, for some reason, it felt different. Like she was a guest.

‘Where are Farah and Bubblee?’ she asked.

‘Coming later. You can help your mum prepare the food.’

‘Great,’ she replied.

‘Oh, little Adam,’ said her dad as the baby’s cry got louder.

He rushed up the stairs, leaving Mae behind, wondering what to do. She took in the magnolia-painted room, the brown carpet, the same they’d had for the past ten years, but there was now a flat-screen television mounted on the wall, a new beige sofa that looked like you could sink into and not come out of for days, and photos of Adam and her niece, Zoya, hung on the walls. There was one with Bubblee, Farah and Zoya. Mae thought it was mad that they were bringing up a baby together – as if the twin sisters were husband and wife – after Farah’s husband had died. It seemed impossible that Bubblee had agreed to be a surrogate for them, only for her to now be a co-parent. It just went to show that people could change. Bubblee went from being the free-spirited artist, to being a surrogate for her twin sister who couldn’t conceive, to being an actual mother. Life, thought Mae. Bubblee had always been the black sheep of the family and now she was daughter and mother extraordinaire, and here was Mae … What was Mae? She’d always trodden on the outskirts of the family and that was all right, she was the youngest, after all. A good fourteen years younger than the eldest, Fatti. At thirty-one years old, Farah and Bubblee were more than ten years older than Mae, and there was an eight-year difference between her and Jay – prodigal son who never quite fell entirely from grace. Of course there were several photos of him. There was one close-up of him that their mum had insisted hiring a professional for – because he was such a handsome boy and everyone who came to the house should see this, since he was hardly ever there to be seen in person.

She hadn’t minded being the observer to the unravelling of each of her sibling’s dramas; Fatti finding out that she was adopted and that her biological mum was Mum’s sister. The woman still lived in Bangladesh and had no regrets at having given Fatti up when they thought Mum couldn’t conceive. It’s what family did. The miracle was their mum then having four children after adopting Fatti.

Then there was Farah, who hadn’t been able to have a baby, during which time her husband had squandered all their money into one of Jay’s hare-brained business plans. Bubblee had some kind of early mid-life crisis because of her lack of artistic talent and came back home, only to end up becoming a surrogate for her sister, and then an actual mother to Zoya (and now emerging curator). Bubblee said she never thought that anything could be as important to her as her art, but here she was, mother and career woman, and she loved both equally.

Then there’d been Farah’s husband, Mustafa, who’d taken his own life because of all the money that had been lost. It was amazing that Jay was still seen to be a part of the family after everything he put them through. Mae looked at Mustafa’s picture, the one of him and Farah at their wedding – both of them looking so happy – and felt tears prickle her eyes. Yeah, he made some questionable decisions, but he’d been a good guy and Mae missed him. I mean, all of her family’s stuff was pretty messed up but she’d witnessed it all, helping in every way she could, while snacking on her stupid celery sticks that thank God she’d now exchanged for some actual food.

Uni was going to be her time to flourish, away from the family’s fold, for her to spread her so-called wings and fly. Except it soon became clear that, out of the family’s fold, Mae wasn’t exactly sure what her role was. At university, she wasn’t so much flying as flapping.

Mae searched for any pictures of herself and noticed only one, which was the family photo. In it she was laughing because she’d just pinched Bubblee’s arm, making her screw up her face.

Her mum came into the room and Mae went to hug her but her mum paused and just stared at her for a while.

‘What?’

Her mum simply raised her eyebrows and shook her head as she went around the room looking for the cordless telephone.

‘When’s everyone arriving?’ asked Mae.

‘Farah and Bubblee can’t make it because Zoya is ill so we do something tomorrow,’ replied her mum, finding the phone stuffed between the sofa cushions.

‘Oh,’ said Mae.

An unreasonable feeling of disappointment washed over her. She’d had an image of her family shouting out their welcomes as she entered the room. No big deal though. Her mum walked out of the room as Mae sighed and took the photo in her hands.

‘Well, Mae. Welcome home.’

Mae woke up the following morning to the sounds of giggling.

‘Shhh,’ came her mum’s voice. ‘Mae will wake up.’

Her dad’s voice was muffled so she couldn’t quite understand what he said, but whatever it was seemed to allay her mum’s fears.

‘Ugh,’ Mae grunted and put her head under her duvet.

Sistaaaas

Mae: O my days!!! Hw longs dis mum n dad weird luvd up phaze gonna last?????

Mae didn’t know what was worse – her parents always bickering or always having sex. She shuddered. All this family drama had brought them closer together, it seemed. Her mum, specifically, had said to Mae before she’d left for uni: ‘I am an old woman, Mae, but I am still a woman! All these years I have cared for you all and worried about everything and everyone and what have I got in return? Hmmm?’

‘That’s sweet, Amma,’ Mae had replied.

‘Now, I will pay attention to my husband when he wants me.’

‘Oh my God, I’m going to vom.’

And before Mae’s mum could give her any more details, Mae had swiftly left the room and headed for the toilet bowl. She didn’t actually throw up, but she had felt pretty close to it. Bengali parents just didn’t talk like this.

Now, Mae sighed and looked around the tiny room as she waited for a reply. She’d been shoved into the box room because, of course, Jay had moved back in and taken her room and since Mae was not only the youngest, but also a woman, the straw she drew tended to be short. In the meantime, she checked her Twitter account, Instagram, Snapchat and Facebook. Then she spent twenty minutes looking at videos on YouTube about facial contouring. Mae wasn’t particularly vain about her appearance, but the way you could change the dimensions of your nose and cheekbones with the stroke of a brush was pretty fascinating.

Bubblee: Why hasn’t uni taught you to write properly?

Mae wondered why university hadn’t taught her to do a lot of things properly. It was never going to be easy, being away from home for the very first time, considering she’d never even been on a weekend away without her family. Bubblee always said things were simple for Mae because nothing got to her. And they didn’t. Not for the most part. Everyone just assumed that Mae would fit in wherever she went and so Mae had held on to that assumption and thought it was fact.

In the first week of university, at freshers’ week, she found that she couldn’t just go up to people, put her arm around them and say: ‘Yooooo! What’s up, old chum?’ That would be weird. So, she inserted herself into groups and listened to people talk about their gap year – gap yaaaaaa – the places they’d travelled, the lives they’d led in high school and Mae realised how small her life had been. Still was. Aside from that, she wasn’t sure how to achieve the middle ground of small talk; something between familiarity and mundanity. Something to show a flavour of who she was without scaring people off. Instead, she remained a passive listener. The first day she told herself it was to be expected, of course. Throughout the week, when the discomfort hadn’t shifted, she reasoned that there was too much hubbub for her to really have a go at the whole ‘middle-ground’ thing. When it came to lectures though, everyone seemed to naturally get into groups afterwards, as if they’d all known each other for ever. She went to the student bar to see if she could see any familiar faces from class and just sidle up to them, but as soon as she did see anyone she knew she got a sudden bout of anxiety: What if they think I’m intruding? What if they don’t want me to sit with them? What if they don’t like me? The self-assured, unflappable, happy go-lucky Mae of Wyvernage didn’t seem to translate in the outside world. Now that she was home, at least she could just be herself.

Fatti: It’s sweet.

Mae: Think ur mistakin sweet wiv VOM.

Farah: Speaking of. Was going to come over early and help Mum with party stuff tonight but Zoya’s being ratty and just thrown up her breakfast all over my hair.

Fatti: Adam’s been the same! Did you get that teething toy I told you about?

So it began – the inevitable conversation about babies. Mae loved her niece and nephew as much as the next aunt, but there was only so much chat about baby formula and nappies she could take.

Farah: Bubblee was meant to have got it yesterday but she forgot.

Bubblee: Yes, yes, I know. You’ve reminded me ten times. I told you I’d pick it up today.

Mae: Ah da happy couple. LOL.

‘Are you here to sleep all day?’

Her mum had burst through the door without knocking and was looming at the entrance, wearing a floral print chiffon sari. So, what? Did her mum dress up now? Mae grunted and pushed her head under the duvet.

‘Is this what you do at uni? Sleep all day? Your baba didn’t give you so much of our savings only to waste it. Come and help me in the kitchen for the party.’

‘Ugh.’

And that was the other thing. Her parents were helping her to pay for university, the least she should be doing is enjoying it …

Mae stumbled out of her bed, almost falling over her Converses as her mum opened up the curtains, which let in very little light because of the neighbour’s huge tree. She looked around the room – it was crowded enough with just her in it, let alone her mum and her pungent perfume. Still, since it was a party for her, she supposed she could bring herself to help, and she had to remember that having babies wasn’t easy. Of course it was going to be hard for her sisters to find extra time to come and see her and hang out the way they used to. It was unreasonable to expect this. Didn’t stop it from being annoying though. Mae turned around to notice her mother staring at her.

‘What?’ asked Mae.

‘What are you eating at university?’

‘Whatever I can,’ replied Mae, thinking this was quite funny.

Her mum didn’t seem to share the sentiment though.

‘What happened to your carrot sticks and spinach and I don’t know what other healthy things you made your abba always buy for you?’

Mae shrugged, putting her hands on her mum’s shoulders. ‘Realised there was more to life.’

Her mum simply shook her head and walked out of the room, mumbling something under her breath.

‘All hail the prodigal babies return,’ exclaimed Mae as her sisters and brother in-law, armed with babies, tumbled into the house.

‘There she is,’ said Bubblee, starting as she looked at Mae. ‘Oh. Oh, never mind,’ she added before pulling Mae into a hug. ‘Good to see you, kid.’

Mae’s heart relaxed at the familiarity of the family together. Farah had also pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back and looking at her up and down. (What was up with all her family’s looks?)

Farah and Bubblee might’ve been twins but Bubblee always was the prettier of the two. Now that Mae was here, she thought that actually Bubblee looked even better than she remembered – fresh-faced and … what was it? She stared at her sister for a while when it struck her. Bloody hell. Could it be? Did Bubblee actually look happy? It wasn’t a characteristic anyone ever associated with Bubblee, and what was even weirder was how Bubblee kissed their mum on the cheek and asked how she was. Motherhood really could bring all sorts together.