Praise for Nadiya Hussain

‘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

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

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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.

‘Look how pretty you look,’ said her mum to Bubblee. ‘When will you find a husband?’

Oh, lord. Not five minutes they’re all together and it was all about to kick off. Mae waited for Bubblee’s ensuing tirade: Stop trying to bind me to the patriarchy! I’m happy the way I am. You’ve never understood me. I don’t need a man. I don’t want a man … etc., etc. But, much to Mae’s alarm, Bubblee simply rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips, as she said, ‘Honestly, Mum …’

‘Look, it’s Mae Kala¹,’ said Fatti, handing Adam over to her.

‘Oh,’ said Mae, looking at the chubby face and big brown eyes. ‘All right, Ads? What’s going on?’

His response was to dribble saliva on to his My Dad Rocks bib, crease his brows into a frown and kick his legs about.

‘Don’t hold him like that. He’s not a puppy,’ said Bubblee as she showed Mae how to cradle him.

‘Yeah, I know. I have done this before, remember? Like, all Christmas.’

Which was true enough except Mae still couldn’t help her awkwardness at holding babies. And they were bigger now – squirmier and whinier – if that was possible.

Mae waited for Fatti to take her baby back but Fatti was too busy telling Farah that she and Ash managed to get four hours of solid sleep last night. Ash joined in on the conversation about the baby that he and his wife seemed to have forgotten.

‘Let’s not make Zoya jealous now,’ said Farah to Mae. ‘Sit down.’

Mae sank into the sofa as Farah placed her niece into Mae’s other arm. She stared at both babies who looked up at her as if expecting her to say something, anything, to entertain them.

‘Weather’s a bit crap, isn’t it?’ offered Mae.

Zoya’s response was to spit some milk out of the side of her mouth, but Mae’s hands were fully occupied. As she looked up for help she realised that her dad and Ash had gone into the garden, her mum had gone into the kitchen, and Farah and Fatti were still talking as Bubblee was on her phone.

‘I’ve said to Ash, please, don’t use your phone around the baby,’ said Fatti. ‘It’s not good for them or you. You know?’

‘Yes, well, unfortunately some people aren’t as reasonable as Ash,’ replied Farah.

‘Oh, here we go,’ said Bubblee putting the phone in her back pocket and raising her hands. ‘Happy?’

Farah’s response was to fold her arms and sigh.

‘Er, guys. Yo. A little bit of help here, yeah?’

The three sisters turned around.

‘Ah, look at little Mae with our babies. Take a picture,’ said Farah. ‘They all look so cute.’

‘Now you want me to take out my phone?’ replied Bubblee, getting its camera ready. ‘Smile. Hmm, no. Let’s take another one.’

Farah scurried across to fix Zoya’s collar that was obscuring her face, managing to wipe the milk off at the same time.

‘Mae, look like you’re happy to be home,’ said Bubblee.

‘Of course she’s happy to be home,’ beamed Fatti. ‘It’s not the same without you, you know. So, tell us all about uni then. How’s it going?’

‘What are your lectures like?’ asked Farah.

‘Have you joined any societies? I hope you’ve taken up with some feminist movements,’ added Bubblee. ‘These are your formative years. So much of what you learn now’s going to affect your future. Make memories, you know? God, I loved uni. It was just the best time. Even though I didn’t become quite the artist I thought I would.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, that’s fine, because if I hadn’t failed at that I wouldn’t be doing all this interesting stuff now. Or “innovative” as one reviewer called it. Not to brag.’

Farah seemed to be ignoring the conversation on purpose but Fatti interjected with an, ‘Exactly. This pop-up gallery idea is so brilliant. Isn’t it, Farah?’

‘Mmm.’

‘So,’ continued Fatti. ‘Tell us about all your new friends.’

‘Oh, you know,’ said Mae. ‘It’s mad, isn’t it? All those new people. I’ve not really made that many friends. Just acquaintances.’

None of them responded.

‘Like, there are just so many people, so I’m all … you know …’ Mae shook her head as if crazed. ‘Mad.’

Bubblee took some peanuts from the bowl and put them in her mouth, nodding fondly. ‘I like the idea of you being a lone wolf. Not being tied down to any one person or group. Good. Well done.’

Why had Mae lied? She got so nervous that her sisters might think she was a loser – not the ‘fun Mae’ they said she’d be at uni – that she panicked. She wanted to say being a lone wolf wasn’t exactly out of choice. That she’d quite like to be a part of some kind of group so she had someone to hang out with during breaks and in the evenings, instead of updating her social media.

‘As long as you’re happy,’ added Fatti.

It was on the tip of Mae’s tongue to say that actually, maybe she wasn’t happy, when her mum’s voice came from the kitchen, asking for help. Much to Mae’s alarm her sisters left her with their babies while she heard laughter and chat from the kitchen. That was soon drowned out by Zoya who began to cry, swiftly followed by Adam.

‘Yeah,’ she said to both of them, trying to rock them at the same time. ‘I know how you feel.’

In fact, Mae felt it more acutely than she thought she would when it transpired that this little family gathering had nothing to do with her coming home for the Easter break. Apparently having babies that were teething was more worthy of celebration. What exactly had happened to this family?

‘God, I could kill a doner kebab right now,’ she said, putting a pakora in her mouth.

Her sisters all looked at her. Fatti cleared her throat and her dad pushed the plate of pakoras away from her.

‘I knew the student lifestyle would break you, Miss Kale Smoothie,’ said Bubblee. ‘Tell me, do students still live on beans on toast?’

Mae scoffed. The irony of the fact that she had been addicted to healthy eating pre-university wasn’t lost on her. Moving away was meant to open up her horizons but actually opened up her palate as well. Though some might say it wasn’t opening her palate so much as it was destroying it.

‘No. Everyone’s all organic now. It’s mad. You can’t go to a café without having something gluten-free shoved in your face. It’s such a cliché.’

‘So, you’re the one who’s having beans on toast?’ asked Farah. ‘Never thought we’d see the day. Speaking of, I made a decent cauliflower and cheese for Zoya but I think the cheese was too heavy for her.’

‘Yeah,’ added Fatti. ‘Adam had the same problem in the beginning but just start with small portions at first and they get used to it.’

‘Have some more rice, Jay’s abba,’ said their mum, getting up to put more food on their dad’s plate.

‘Sorry,’ said Bubblee. ‘Have to take this call.’

She got up from the dinner table as Farah watched her go. ‘I’m telling you, I’m going to take that phone and throw it in the toilet.’

‘You have to understand her work’s important to her,’ explained Fatti.

‘Not more important than a baby,’ said Ash.

‘Thank you,’ said Farah. ‘Exactly.’

‘The baby’s asleep,’ said Fatti.

‘That’s not the point.’

Mae sighed inwardly and got up from the table. Seemed as if the honeymoon period of co-parenting, bringing the sisters closer together, was waning now that Bubblee was concentrating on her work. Mae went up to her room and wondered how long it’d be until someone actually noticed. Somewhere between university and home, her place in the family had disintegrated and it was as if she was taking up space rather than filling the one she’d left behind.

There was a light knock on the door before it opened.

‘All right, squirt?’

‘Jay!’

Mae bounced off the bed and gave her brother a hug.

‘Sorry I missed the party,’ he said.

‘You didn’t miss much.’

He looked down at her and nodded. ‘Keeping well then?’

What did all this ‘keeping well’ mean? Mae asked about his work. He waved his hand around, saying that it was a delivery job, how good could it be?

‘You stole my room,’ she said, laughing and pushing him.

Now that Jay was here she didn’t mind nearly as much.

‘I’m the man of the house. Got to have my due.’

‘Ugh,’ said Mae. ‘That’d be Dad, actually, and don’t be a loser.’

‘All right, squirt. I’m off to bed. Early start tomorrow.’

Was that it? Jay left the room and Mae sat back down on her bed. For some reason she always expected Jay to be this great big brother because that’s how she imagined him in her head, but this greatness, even years later, still hadn’t emerged. After all the disappointments, and the mistakes he’d made, affecting the whole family, he still seemed untouched by it all. Her thoughts were interrupted by sounds of one of the baby’s crying until it was followed by someone shouting, ‘Mae, Zoya’s woken up. Could you bring her down, please?’

This would not do. This would not do at all.

Chapter Two

The following day Mae woke up to smells of cooking and her mum speaking on the phone at full volume. She put the pillow over her head but nothing short of being in a soundproof bunker could drown her out. Getting out of bed, Mae stubbed her toe, followed by banging her head on the wardrobe because she was in a box room.

As she sat at the breakfast table, eating her toast slathered with peanut butter before taking to her Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, she listened to her mum’s monologue about Adam and Zoya. Mae could’ve left the room and she didn’t think her mum would’ve noticed. It was only when her dad came in and patted her on the head, sitting down to have some tea, that she was able to have a conversation about something normal, like the flowers he was growing in his garden. She stacked them up as two of the least boring minutes of her return.

By the afternoon Mae had taken her dad’s car and gone to Fatti’s, but she was so preoccupied with Adam they couldn’t have a conversation without interruption. Mae returned home to find Farah there with their mum, but the conversation was all about, surprise, surprise, Zoya. It did turn, for a moment, to Farah possibly getting married. Farah just looked at her baby and said: ‘I don’t think I want to any more.’

‘What do you mean?’ said their mum. ‘A husband is good for you. We should start looking for you.’

‘No means no, Amma,’ said Mae.

‘Your turn will also come after uni,’ their mum replied.

‘No, really, Amma,’ said Farah, looking at her. ‘I’m happy like this. Really happy.’

Her mum looked confused. ‘But what does that have to do with it?’

‘Er, kind of everything,’ replied Mae.

‘What do you know?’ said their mum. ‘You’re still a baby too.’

‘A nineteen-year-old, Amma. Kind of done with needing nappies, I’d say.’

But her mum ignored her and continued to press Farah about it. A woman couldn’t live alone her whole life – what would she do when she’s old?

‘Amma,’ said Farah. ‘I tried marriage once, and I don’t want to try it again. That’s the end of it.’

Eventually their mum just shook her head, said, ‘You girls,’ and started talking about what to cook for dinner.

Mae felt at a loss. She didn’t seem to fit into any space in this family, not one where she could actually be a part of something. It occurred to her that the only reason she had ever fitted in was because she was always dealing with other people’s dramas, trying to patch things up between them. Now that everyone seemed self-sufficient, where did she come in? She would’ve called her high-school friends except one had moved to Edinburgh and had seemed to get so involved with uni life that she no longer had time to return Mae’s messages, while the other had gone to Australia, of all places, to study. They’d email, like each other’s stuff on Facebook and Twitter, comment on any cool Instagram shots, but hadn’t once had a proper conversation since leaving for university.

It was the next day, when Mae came down to the kitchen to see her mum giggling as her dad pinched her bum, that she felt her bile rise again. She went straight back into her little room and stayed in there, watching shows on Netflix, until midday, when her mum began telling her off for being lazy and not helping around the house.

That’s when Mae decided to pack her bags and tell her family that she had to go back to university to finish up a project.

‘But you only just arrived,’ said her dad, who seemed to be the only one genuinely upset by her news.

‘Soz, Pops. Life of the uni student, isn’t it? Gotta make those grades.’

She felt a flush of embarrassment at this dual lie because she knew her grades weren’t exactly making the cut. It was all that time she spent on social media and staring at the ceiling. Her mind refused to focus. There was too much to distract her and nothing to occupy her all at the same time.

‘I bought some kale,’ he said. ‘Maybe you can go back to those smoothies instead of …’ he cleared his throat. ‘What you’re eating now.’

‘Ugh. No, thanks. What was wrong with me all that time? Having soya when I could’ve been having chocolate? That’s bad parenting, that is,’ she added, zipping up her bag again. ‘Seriously deranged behaviour from a teenager and you thought it was normal.’

She felt tears prickle her eyes.

Fatti: Don’t leave! Wanted to come and say goodbye but Ash’s at work and Adam’s getting a cold I think so don’t want to take him out. Message when you get to uni. Love you xx

Farah had managed to swing by but spent the entire time talking about Bubblee’s work schedule and how she was never around to help with Zoya. Mae shuddered at the name, haunted by her past obsession with soya and wondering whether this was just another one of her sister’s ways of testing her emotional resilience.

As Mae got out of the car at the station, her dad leaned over and beamed at her through the drizzle.

‘You have everything? Your toothbrush?’ he asked. ‘Your amma will be angry if you forgot it.’

‘She already asked me twice, Abba.’

‘Okay.’ He paused. ‘You are okay, yes?’

Why did her dad have to choose this moment to ask her? When her train was coming in six minutes, it was raining and the car’s engine was running.

‘Just fabbo, Pops.’ Mae blinked back the tears that really were in danger of falling this time. ‘You know. Nothing new’s easy, is it?’ she added.

What did she hope for? That from just a few words he’d get that things weren’t exactly the way she’d hoped they would be? That there was a sadness that had settled itself inside her and no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t shift it? She had begun uni feeling passionate about Media Studies but it just didn’t last. She seemed to have no friends, didn’t know who she was at university, and now she didn’t even know who she was at home either.

‘You’re a very good girl,’ he replied.

Mae felt perplexed at this, but her dad clearly thought that was the end of that as he told her to hurry up before she missed her train.

She stepped into the carriage that was full and took her seat by the aisle next to a boy listening to Eminem on his iPhone. The lump in her throat refused to budge because there was nothing she wanted more than to be sitting by the window – to turn her head away from the people shuffling in their seats, reading books, scanning their phones and eating crisps. She didn’t understand it. What did she have to be sad about, exactly? That she hadn’t made friends yet? That her sisters, who were all new mothers, were attentive to their babies? That even when they had asked her about university, they didn’t really pause to listen to her? It seemed so selfish of Mae. So frivolous. The old Mae would’ve just got on with things – forget that, these thoughts wouldn’t have even crossed her mind. What had happened to her? One of the few times that she had actually mentioned university she’d lied to her dad about her grades. Oh God, her grades. That was another thing that kept chomping at her sadness, turning it into anxiety. To think that her parents were helping her with uni costs, only for her grades to be sub-par. She’d have to do better. She had to try. It was when a poodle stopped by her feet and looked up at her with such doleful eyes that the lump seemed to burst and push the tears through her eyes.

‘I-I-I’m sorry,’ she gasped through her sobs.

The owner of the poodle, a man in his fifties wearing corduroys and a flat cap, sat on the aisle parallel to Mae. He didn’t seem to know what to do.

‘Would you like a tissue?’ he asked.

This just brought on a fresh wave of sobs as Mae nodded and he handed her a packet of Kleenex. She took one, blew her nose, and handed the rest of the packet back.

‘Keep them,’ he said.

‘Th-th-thank you,’ she managed to say.

The boy next to her just increased the volume of his music, angling his head towards the window.

‘Chocolate?’ the man asked, offering her a stick from his Kit Kat.

Mae shook her head as she put her hand out. ‘No, thank you.’

The man seemed confused at first, then pierced the foil and handed her two of the four fingers. The train pulled into the next stop and the man made a move to leave. As he got up he looked down at Mae and said: ‘Don’t you worry there. It’ll all be okay.’

With which he tugged on his poodle’s leash and left the train, dog in tow. Mae felt the heat on her face from the embarrassing tears that had just exploded and put her hands on her cheeks to try and cool them down. She took out her mirror.

‘Ugh.’

She leaned back and closed her eyes, wondering what had come over her. While she was at home she was convinced that everyone was being selfish, but maybe it was Mae who was self-involved? She even considered getting off at the next stop and going back to spend the rest of the Easter break with her family, as she’d first intended. Except she didn’t quite like the prospect of being shunted with the babies again. Cute as they were. Mae took a deep breath.

‘Pull yourself together,’ she whispered.

The boy next to her tutted and got up, walked to the next carriage and sat down there. Mae would’ve been offended if she wasn’t so glad to get the seat by the window. She shuffled over and got her mirror out again. A lot of people had got off at the previous stop, so the carriage was quieter. There was a man she noticed sitting diagonally opposite her who glanced at her as she took out her lip gloss. He had his phone in his hands, his fingers scrolling down the screen as if he was reading something. She applied the gloss, which didn’t really make much difference to her puffy eyes and face and as she decided to put concealer under her eyes she noticed the man with his phone looking her way and she wondered whether this was it. Maybe he found her attractive? Maybe he’d seen her crying on the train and felt sorry for her? Mae did what she’d never done before in her life: she crossed her legs, straightened her back and lengthened her neck in order to seem more attractive to him. He looked in his early thirties, which was old, but he wasn’t bad-looking. At nineteen years old, Mae had never had a boyfriend. She hadn’t even come close. A guy in high school had once asked her out and she was so horrified at the prospect that she told him he was gross and practically ran away from him. It made her feel bad because he wasn’t gross, and she did hope he hadn’t taken it personally, but he never did look her in the eye again. She blamed her parents and their upbringing. Having boyfriends was not allowed and Mae wasn’t a rock-the-boat type person. Today, however, felt different. Today she didn’t mind the idea of this random man looking at her. He could’ve maybe done with a shave and his eyes were kind of beady, plus the grey coat was too big for him but in that moment it was nice to be seen. She took out her kohl pencil and applied it in the rims of her eyes. The final touch was the blusher, which she brushed on maybe too vigorously, but she felt the overall effect wasn’t bad. In fact, she looked quite nice. Mae shut the mirror and took a deep breath as she glanced over at the man again. He was grinning now as he tapped on the phone and she felt a sense of unease. She watched as he scratched his head with his finger then looked under the fingernail, scraping whatever had gathered in there under his seat. Vom. Mae had to shake her head. First, she bursts into tears in public, then the next man that looks at her suddenly becomes a potential boyfriend. Boyfriend! Mae! As if.

‘Gross,’ she muttered as the man this time scratched the inside of his ear.

No, Mae had never been like Farah who only ever wanted to get married – and look how that worked out. Then there was Fatti who looked for love and found it with Ash. Despite the fear of her parents, she genuinely thought that she was more like Bubblee when it came to relationships. Just not that bothered. Like, whatever. Mae couldn’t help but feel now though that it would be nice to have someone to chill with, relax on her bed. Maybe in her bed. Her parents really would kill her if they even got a hint that the thought crossed her mind. Even Farah and Fatti wouldn’t approve, they were so traditional. Wasn’t that what university was about though? Living life? Doing things – even if you weren’t meant to do them? Her dad was right – she’d been a ‘good’ girl her whole life. Bubblee would scoff at that: Do you know how damaging it is to put women into these kinds of categories? As if exploring their identity in ways their families don’t agree with makes them bad. Mae knew she was quite attractive, she just never really made an effort, but maybe now it was time. She was nineteen, for God’s sake! She looked over at the man and realised now that actually he was kind of creepy. It didn’t matter, because the more she thought about it, the more it made sense: she would get back to university and make an effort to find a boyfriend and have a relationship. Somehow the idea of it felt easier than just making friends. People hooked up all the time at student bars so she’d just give that a go and see where it led. She imagined it was far easier to snog someone than have a conversation with them, so whatever. The fact of the matter was that she did not want to be alone any more, so she was going to buck up, stop complaining and make some changes. The train pulled into the next station as the creepy man got up and looked at her again, but this time there was disgust on his face and Mae’s heart thudded, unnerved by a look of such loathing. What the hell had she done to him? It took her a few more stops but she shrugged it off, told herself it was nothing, and anyway, who cared? Now she had a plan for university and it would change everything.

Sistaaaas

Mae: Got 2uni. Soz cudn’t stay longer.

Fatti: We miss you xxx

Bubblee: Join some organisations! I just signed up to one for modern female artists.

Farah: How much time will that take up?

Bubblee: Only once a month. And then some volunteering, but that’ll only be one weekend a month.

Farah: A whole weekend?? You have a baby, you know …

Ugh, Mae thought. Whatever she decided to do had to be better than what her sisters were doing, at least.

Chapter Three

‘How was the baby today?’ asked Bubblee, collapsing on the sofa. ‘Sorry I missed her bedtime.’

‘The baby has a name, you know,’ replied Farah.

Her back was turned as she washed up the last of the bottles and wiped her brow.

‘I know,’ sighed Bubblee. ‘I gave birth to her, remember?’

For a moment, Bubblee wondered if she should hang on to her annoyance about Farah’s constant digs, just for the sake of it, but she didn’t want to spend her energy combating disgruntled sisters. There were other places to spend it.

‘She was being a bit whiny but not so bad,’ replied Farah after a pause.

She came and sat down on the sofa opposite Bubblee, put her head back and closed her eyes. Bubblee was on her phone and swiped right. It was a match. Bubblee had heard plenty of dating disaster stories – she’d even seen some of the romcoms that Farah liked to watch in the evenings when Bubblee was in and out, working. The idea of dating, and men in general, had always filled Bubblee with a powerful sense of contempt. Watching her twin sister get married and set up a house with a man who was – she was sorry to speak ill of the dead – not Farah’s equal, even made her marginally disdainful of her own sex. It had all seemed so mundane to her when she was at university, then later, when she was honing her artistic craft, it didn’t get any less dull. The idea of someone being a part of her daily life, watching her, interfering with their unsought opinions, made her angry enough to not want to even give it a chance. Men, in her experience, hampered things. And women, she witnessed with increasing annoyance, more often than not allowed it. Bubblee would never be one of those women, and the only way she was sure not to become like that was to not date at all. Then along came Zoya. Little, monkey-faced, chubby, cranky, saliva-spouting, inquisitive-looking Zoya. What had begun as a favour for her sister – and considering Bubblee was a virgin, the favour wasn’t to be taken lightly – had become a new life for Bubblee. She realised that life could take twists and turns and that some of the things you couldn’t control could still work out pretty well.

When Bubblee pushed their baby out into this world she didn’t realise she’d also pushed out a part of her cynicism and a whole load of reluctance. She had doubted her decision to carry her sister and brother-in-law’s baby, and that doubt had turned into her biggest source of happiness. So, Bubblee rethought her whole approach to life. It just so turned out that dating was actually fun. Yes, it was pretty problematic as a social construct given that women often seemed to be the ones who had to wait for men to make the first move, but it was what you made of it that mattered. And Bubblee never did wait for the men. She’d drop them a message as quick as she’d drop them when they were rude or obnoxious. As she tapped a new message to her latest match, she wondered at the irony of the fact that it took having a baby to be bothered with a man.

‘What are you smiling at?’ asked Farah.

‘This guy – listen: “biggest turn-ons: a woman who stays in shape and knows what cryptocurrency is.” What a loser.’

She hadn’t looked up at Farah, but if she had she’d have seen her swallow hard with a mild look of panic on her face.

‘Do men think we’re meant to find that attractive? “Oh, yes, please. Thanks for appreciating my body and my intellect.” Get a lobotomy, please.’

When Farah didn’t answer Bubblee looked up at her. ‘Not the way it was in your day.’

Farah managed a forced smile.

‘You should give this a shot at some point,’ added Bubblee. ‘If you feel up to it.’

‘No. I’ll leave that to you.’ With that Farah got up and stretched her back. ‘I’m so tired. I’m going to bed.’

Bubblee looked back at her phone. ‘Night.’

With which Farah left and went to bed.

Farah was tired. She did want to sleep. She had checked up on Zoya before getting into bed, made sure the baby monitor was on, checked the house temperature was between eighteen and twenty degrees and closed her eyes. Half an hour later she still hadn’t heard Bubblee come up the stairs and go to her room. It was ten o’clock so she guessed it was too early for her. Nowadays Farah was ready to go to bed by seven o’clock if she could but there were always chores waiting, days to map out, online grocery shopping to do. Even when Zoya had gone to sleep there was no guarantee that Farah could do all these things uninterrupted, and often she’d spend up to an hour trying to put the baby back to sleep, especially when she woke up in the evenings. It was, of course, part and parcel of motherhood. Sometimes Farah looked at her baby’s face and was so overwhelmed with love for her it brought tears to her eyes. Fresh anxieties would occur to her as well: what if the blanket suffocated her at night? Is that red mark just a rash or something more sinister? Why is her poop coming out so dark today? Farah would be writing an email to Mamas & Papas about their out-of-stock fleece onesie and she’d have to rush up to make sure Zoya was still breathing. Her mind, she found, was not her own any more. Now, lying in bed, Farah missed her husband. She wished he could’ve seen the way their baby snatched at her toy giraffe, how she settled on Farah’s chest and went to sleep; she wished he could smell the top of Zoya’s head. But the idea of dating! What was Bubblee thinking? Why would Farah want a man to come into her life and disrupt her already frantic days? It was the last thing Farah needed, and certainly the last thing she wanted.

Except that she couldn’t help but be surprised that Bubblee did seem to want it. When she had first mentioned it to Farah, Farah had looked at Bubblee as if she wasn’t her sister at all. She had written it off as a glitch and pushed down any worry that Bubblee might actually be serious, because Farah had other things to worry about, like Zoya’s new baby formula. But now the worry was back. And it had no right to be. Farah took a deep breath and told herself that she should not overthink things, that life had a way of working itself out. She reminded herself of her baby, sleeping in the next room, and a wave of gratitude came over her. It was with thoughts of her itinerary the following day that Farah drifted into sleep, only to be woken up by crying at one in the morning. She put her hand out for the baby monitor and tumbled out of bed, managing to drag herself into Zoya’s room. Without putting the light on, and being careful to stay out of Zoya’s view, she patted her baby’s chest lightly. Zoya continued to cry for a good ten minutes before she began to settle as Farah managed to open her eyes. It was when Zoya had drifted back to sleep that Farah realised Bubblee hadn’t got up, even though Zoya had clearly been crying for a while. Farah crept out of the room and quietly opened the door to Bubblee’s room only to see that she was fast asleep, sleeping mask on and, it seemed, ear plugs in. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night and Farah was exhausted, she found she still had the capacity to be annoyed. She would’ve slammed the door behind her if it wouldn’t wake the baby again. Instead she switched on the light.

‘Huh, what? who?’

Bubblee sat up and patted the bed with her hands before taking off her mask, only to have to shield her eyes from the glare of the light.

‘What? Are you okay? Is it Zoya?’

Bubblee sprang out of bed to rush to the baby’s side except that Farah hadn’t moved.

‘It was Zoya, she’s probably been crying for ages, did you even hear?’

‘Oh.’ Bubblee blinked hard and rubbed her face. ‘She okay?’

‘Obviously,’ replied Farah.

Bubblee flopped back into bed and was putting her mask back on when Farah said: ‘Is that it?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Do you even have your monitor on?’

‘What? Yeah, no. Why?’

‘No?’ asked Farah.

‘No.’

‘So it’s always up to me to get up when she cries?’

‘Huh? We don’t live in a mansion. It’s not like she’s in the East Wing,’ replied Bubblee.

‘Nice ear plugs.’

‘I went to sleep late.’

‘So?’ Farah resisted the urge to ask whether it was because she was working or swiping through whatever latest app she was using to find dates.

‘So, I have to be up at six to drive to Addersfield for a nine o’clock meeting with a potential donor for the next project.’

‘And I’ll be up at six to feed the baby and start my day.’

‘You went to bed at ten,’ replied Bubblee.

‘Because I was exhausted.’

‘So was I, and now I’m even more tired thanks to you disturbing me.’

Rage bubbled inside Farah. Disturbing her? What about Farah being disturbed? Bubblee had only got up twice at night during the whole week, and that was because it was the weekend.

‘I can’t believe you,’ said Farah.

She was too angry to even stay in the room. Instead she walked out, this time without thinking, slamming the door behind her. Right on cue Zoya began to cry.

‘You can see to her this time,’ she shouted out to Bubblee.

The following morning both were indeed up at six in the morning and both refused to speak to one another. Bubblee greeted Zoya with a kiss and cuddle, Farah asked the baby how she was, pointing to the day outside, describing the weather, speaking, in Bubblee’s view, so much that she was sure Zoya would tell Farah to shut up if she could talk.

‘There’s a cloud,’ Farah said. ‘There are lots of those today, aren’t there? Is it going to rain? Rain is wet, isn’t it? Like the water when you take your bath. Shall we take a long bath today? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Right, Monkey,’ said Bubblee to the baby. ‘I’m off. Behave.’

Bubblee kissed Zoya on the head and headed out of the door. Farah had waited for Bubblee to turn around and say something. Anything. Just a goodbye to show that she felt bad for the way she spoke to Farah last night, but she didn’t.

‘I just can’t believe her,’ she said into the phone to Fatti as she put some more porridge into Zoya’s mouth.

‘You don’t want her falling asleep at the wheel,’ said Fatti.

‘What if I fell asleep while feeding Zoya and she, I don’t know, fell off the sofa.’

‘You put her in a chair.’

‘That’s not the point,’ replied Farah.

Fatti sighed. ‘Ash doesn’t always wake up with me.’

‘No, but you take it in turns, at least.’

Farah knew Fatti didn’t have anything else to defend Bubblee with or she’d have said.

‘Ever wish we were young like Mae, swanning off to uni and living a life of no responsibilities?’ said Farah.

Fatti paused. ‘Not really.’

Farah smiled, wiping porridge from Zoya’s face. ‘No. Me neither.’

‘Would be nice to have a break now and again though. Not that I’m complaining,’ added Fatti. ‘But I just found out that Ash’s children are going to be staying with us all summer.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Farah.

‘You know his ex is getting remarried? Well, she and her husband want to go on honeymoon and so we’re going to have the children the whole time.’

‘Oh God.’

‘It’s fine. They are his kids,’ said Fatti.

‘Yeah, but his son …’

There was a long pause.

‘He’s a little older now,’ said Fatti.

‘What? Fifteen, right? Still holding a grudge against the world?’

‘And me.’

‘Oh, and his daughter. She’s a real piece of work.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Fatti. ‘It’ll be nice even. Maybe. I’ll get to know them properly.’

‘Fatti, your eternal optimism is a lesson to us all,’ said Farah.

‘So, are you going to call and say sorry to Bubblee?’

‘Ha. No. But if she calls to say sorry to me, I’ll accept it.’

Except Bubblee didn’t call. Not only did she not call, but she sent a message to say she’d be home late. At first, Farah read the message in disbelief. No apology, not even a reason as to why she’d be out. That evening, Farah decided she wouldn’t go to bed until Bubblee came home. Unfortunately, Farah’s mood wasn’t helped by the fact that her sister walked in at midnight.

‘Oh. You’re up,’ said Bubblee.

‘Where were you?’

Bubblee sighed. ‘I had a date.’

‘Right. Don’t you think you should’ve told me?’

‘I didn’t think you were my mother.’

‘No, but you are a mother. Or had you forgotten?’

‘God, your nagging never stops.’

Farah had to take a deep breath and swallow her sense of being wronged. ‘You know, for all your feminism, I hope you realise you’re behaving like the worst kind of husband.’

‘Maybe that’s because I’m not your husband,’ said Bubblee.

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it. “Man”, “husband”, whatever you want to call it. It’s fine when you’re spouting your high ideals but are you actually living up to them? If you don’t want to be in this then don’t be, but don’t make me feel like I’m the one being unreasonable.’

Farah waited to see the effect of her words on Bubblee. She noticed the look of incredulity and confusion on her sister’s face. Without waiting for her to respond, Farah walked out of the room, up the stairs and into Zoya’s room.

‘I love you, little one,’ she whispered, stroking her hair.

With that, she went into her room, closed the door behind her and fell straight to sleep.

Fatti: Any ideas on how to entertain two teenagers over summer?

Bubblee: Netflix.

Farah: All you need to do is be organised and plan something fun to do outside the house. Don’t worry about Adam, I can look after him now and again.

Bubblee: Mum called telling me that Jay didn’t come home until three in the morning and that we should find him a wife. Hahaha. As if I’d knowingly ever get some poor woman mixed up with him.

Fatti: He’s very good with Adam.

Farah: Don’t get me started on Jay …

Chapter Four

Mae looked at her sisters’ messages and wondered what it’d be like to have their problems. It hadn’t taken more than forty-eight hours for Mae’s sense of optimism to collapse into a heap. The day she got back to university had been normal enough, even that evening and night passed without much happening. Mae had gone out to the student bar but there was hardly anyone there since most people were away for Easter. Still, sitting there on her own, she felt a sense of confidence expand in her and was certain that if someone fairly normal sat near her she’d go over and say hello. It was a shame the opportunity hadn’t presented itself.

The following day Mae had gone about the business of having a doner kebab and then sitting in a coffee shop to figure out which assignments needed to be done so she could come up with a sensible plan to do them all. She’d chosen Media Studies because she’d been passionate about it in high school so she was going to reignite that passion. It had to still be there somewhere. If she could find it again then she’d have something positive to focus on. In any case, handing her assignments in late now was not an option – not if she wanted to actually pass the year. Of course, Mae got slightly distracted by her usual social media addictions. She wasn’t even sure how she ended up on this Facebook page. Maybe it was someone on Twitter that had mentioned an obnoxious man, typically shaming a woman who had been minding her own business, that made her click on the link they’d added. These things always disgusted and fascinated her in equal measure. Before clicking on the video that had been uploaded she skimmed through the comments section.

Who cares if someone’s putting their make up on in public? What’s it got to do with you?

Ugh. Hate this shit. So gross. Seen her face? She should’ve put her make up on before she left the house n done us all a favour.

Are you crazy? Shes so pretty. Doesn’t even need the make-up.

Thank you. I’m not the only one who hates this!!!!

Mae rolled her eyes, mostly because she didn’t get why people wasted their time on something like this. Did they seriously have nothing better to complain about?

‘Losers,’ she mumbled as she went to the video and clicked on it.

That’s when her heart fell to her stomach. She watched the video, looking at herself, sitting on a train, taking out a mirror and applying lip gloss.

‘What?’

Then she continued to watch as she relived the routine of her putting on kohl pencil, blusher, mascara, all the while hearing sniggering from the person who’d been recording. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t real, surely. Had Bubblee put this up as some kind of practical joke? But Bubblee didn’t have time for this kind of thing. And Farah and Fatti definitely wouldn’t be so creative. They weren’t even the sort of sisters who thought practical jokes were funny – especially not Fatti. Mae watched the video until the end and sat for a moment in disbelief. It didn’t make any sense. She was only putting make-up on. What was the big deal? She clicked on the profile of the person who’d uploaded the video and that’s when she realised: it was the same man who she, stupidly, for a little while, thought was actually admiring her. She noticed he’d posted a comment with the video:

People are making this about the colour of her skin, or being a woman and overweight, but not everyone appreciates having to look at someone slap on the cake while getting to work. Have some respect for other people on public transport. I don’t shave or cut my fingernails in public, why do I have to look at you women put your make-up on? #doublestandards #equality

Mae’s heart was thudding fast as she looked at the number of people who’d watched the video. One thousand and fifty-two. Geez. It wasn’t great, but she guessed that it could be worse. And anyway, who cares? It was only make-up. Mae went back to the comments section and couldn’t believe what she was reading.

H8 stupid bitches like this. Wish youd punched her in the face. C if she cud put make up on that. LOL

Why had that loser got so many likes? It didn’t end there. It went on and on about how women who apply make-up in public should have unspeakable things done to them. Mae sometimes forgot how depraved people who hid behind fake profiles and pictures could be.

That fat cow needs more than make up to help her looooool

That’s when she put her phone down, her heart thudding so fast she thought she might have a heart attack. She took a few moments before she opened up her laptop to have a look at her class notes, ignore what she’d just seen, but she couldn’t get past the first few lines. How could she concentrate on anything when she knew that people were saying such things about her? That people were watching her, judging her, ridiculing her … for what? Yeah right, this guy wasn’t sexist. She bet he’d never have done the same if a man had been combing his beard or something on the train. She went back to the video and watched it again. Was this a bad dream? Mae pinched herself to see if she’d wake up, but that didn’t work, obviously. It was just so absurd. It wasn’t just that the video had been taken, uploaded and then shared, it was the venom with which people had commented. Mae couldn’t quite get her head around it and the only thing she knew was that she had to speak to Fatti. She picked up her phone again and tapped on her sister’s name.

‘Fatti?’

‘Hang on – one second, Mae …’

Adam was whining in the background but Mae waited. Then she waited some more.

‘Don’t hang up! I’m coming.’

Eventually, Fatti did come back to the phone.

‘Sorry, he’d done a massive poo and it got all up the back of his Babygro. I was just washing him. How are you? Oh God. Just one minute, okay? Adam! You’re fed, changed and clean, why are you whining? Right, sorry. All this baby wants is to be held, it’s not as if I can resist, is it? I’d say that you know how it is, but luckily you don’t – not yet. All I can say is enjoy the life you have as much as you can. Farah and I are actually kind of jealous.’

‘Fatti …’

‘What is it, darling? Are you okay?’

It was the softness in Fatti’s voice that almost broke Mae. She bit back her tears because she suddenly felt so far removed from the lives of her sisters – as if they wouldn’t understand.

‘Yeah, yeah, fine. Just calling to see what was going on.’

If Fatti had insisted, asked her whether she was sure there was nothing wrong, perhaps Mae would’ve given in and told her, but she didn’t ask. After a few minutes Fatti’s house phone rang and she said she had to go because Ash needed her.

‘Send us pictures,’ said Fatti before she put the phone down.

They always said this to Mae, and the few times she had sent pictures of her lecture theatre, or lunch in the canteen, they hardly commented on it. Mae looked back at the video and played it again. Every time she watched it she convinced herself it was fine. Until she read the comments again. More likes for the video now, more comments, more shares. The ones of support didn’t quite lift her spirits in the same way the negative comments sank them. She shut the laptop again and looked around the coffee shop – as if someone might recognise her. A girl, Mae noticed, had been looking at her. Mae’s face flushed, wondering if she was staring because she’d seen the video. Before daring to look around any more, Mae stuffed her things in her bag and made her way out of the coffee shop, to her dorm room.

Sistaaaas

Bubblee: I’ve found a great nursery in town that does singing classes for babies. Have booked Saturday afternoon for the kids – let’s all take them. Xx

Fatti: Great idea! Will tell Ash.

Bubblee: Okay. Maybe I’ll bring my date, see how easily he scares ;)

Farah: Can’t we just keep it as a sisters thing?

Fatti: Thing is, weekends Ash likes to spend time with both of us because he says he misses us during the week …

Bubblee: Farah, you can stay home and I can take Zoya alone. You can then have your me time.

‘You haven’t picked your phone up for three days,’ blared Mae’s mum’s voice through the mobile.

‘What?’

Mae stuck her head under her duvet since the curtains weren’t proving sufficient protection against the sunlight flooding her room.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Busy,’ said Mae.

‘Your abba and me need to throw your things away.’

‘What things?’

‘In your room.’

‘Why?’ asked Mae.

‘What does it matter why? For the babies when they come and stay, of course.’

Of all the things in life that were going on, why did this have to be a discussion?

‘Can’t you just put them in the attic?’

‘Where is the room?’

‘You can’t just throw all my things away without me checking them first.’

Her mum gave a deep sigh. ‘I’m not storing them for ever. Oh, I have to go, your abba and I are going for a walk in the park.’

Her mum giggled and put the phone down.

Fatti: Morning, kalas!

With the message was a picture of Adam, spitting out what looked like apple puree.

Farah: And morning from me too!

And there was Zoya, lying on her jungle gym, furrowing her brows at the elephant dangling over her head. Mae lifted the covers and stared at the ceiling. She’d missed morning seminars and knew if she didn’t get up in the next two minutes to get ready for her afternoon class, she’d miss that too. She had an assignment that was due the following day, which she hadn’t even started, and reasoned that the only way she’d make the deadline was if she bunked Introduction to Moving Image and Sound. Except that she lay like that for two hours, looking at her phone and that video that had now been watched more than four thousand times. She had tried to ignore it, shrugged it off and pretended it hadn’t happened. Only every time she tried to forget, she’d be reminded by a new message from a random person on Twitter or Facebook. How many people that looked at her knew who she was? When she went out and someone stared, was it because they were as disgusted by her as the man who made the recording? The one class she had attended someone looked at her and said: ‘You’re that make-up girl.’ And that was it. No, sorry you’ve been getting so much flack online, it wasn’t bad at all, don’t take it personally. Just an identifier and then gone. By eight o’clock that night the only time Mae had left her bed was when she needed to use the toilet. Her paranoia had confirmed itself as fact so her only refuge was her room and the walls that protected her from the outside world. But why was the world dictating her actions? She couldn’t stay in her room for ever. (God, how she wished she could.) Who the hell was this creepy man to stop Mae from living her best student life, though? As if she wasn’t making it difficult enough for herself. A slow, burning, anger began to bubble, turning into a feeling of uncharacteristic defiance. At nine o’clock Mae swept her duvet cover off her and jumped out of bed.

‘That’s enough, Mae. Get a grip.’

The problem with feeling sorry for yourself was that once you started, it was easy to spiral into despair. No, if she was going to reignite her passion in her studies then the same should be said for her life in general. A video was not going to ruin her or her sense of self. Whatever that self was. So, she rummaged through her wardrobe, got into a short black skirt and white T-shirt, washed her face, brushed her teeth and put on some make-up (feeling like she should look over her shoulder in case someone was watching her), ready to head out.

She put her hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. It was empty. Mae felt her heart pump faster, along with her breathing. For a moment she wanted to turn right back around and get back into bed, but wouldn’t Bubblee have shaken her by the shoulders and told her to let no man bring you down? So, Mae walked on, out of the doors in her halls of residence and into the outside world. There was a definite sense of spring in the air as she only needed a jacket. With each step she became more resolute and assured. It helped that it was night-time. She walked to The Crypt, the club where all students headed to at night, where she had never gone because she never had anyone to go with. She guessed that there were some things you just had to end up doing alone. It was either that or not do them at all, and that wasn’t exactly life-affirming.

When she got to the club the doorman took one look at her and opened the barrier. There were people dawdling outside, smoking, laughing, in groups and couples, no one paying attention to her or recognising her. She walked into a dimmed arena that was lit with a red hue, lights flashing, Rhianna blaring, crowds and crowds of people and suddenly Mae felt more in command of who she was. There was a comfort in being lost in a crowd. Everyone was so consumed with dancing, laughing and drinking that it helped Mae to shed her layers of self-consciousness.

She walked over to the bar and hesitated, looking at all the alcoholic beverages behind the bar. If Mae were quite honest, life all felt a bit much: never being able to speak to her sisters because of the babies, university, that video. She felt her face flush anew with the shame of it.

No friends.

Not one. Mae wasn’t just lonely, she was alone. The knowledge of it settled in her stomach and chest. There was no one she could talk to, no one to share the misery of her online shame with, no one to even come to a club with. What kind of a loser was she? Why hadn’t anyone told her that being out in the world was hard? That making connections with people was even harder? And yet, she looked around and no one else seemed to be having trouble with it. She stared at the people to her left and right, ordering drinks, laughing with their friends and the desperation to just be one of them gripped her. She had never touched alcohol before but right then, there was nothing she wanted more. How could you crave something that you’d never had?

What would her sisters say? But they weren’t there, were they? Mae had nothing but an empty room to go back to. And knowing that her video was being watched by people even as she sat there. All those comments, all that hate. And no one to share the pain with.

‘What can I get you?’ asked the bartender.

Mae gulped, took a deep breath. ‘I …’

What was she doing? This wasn’t like her. It went against everything her parents had ever taught her.

Her parents, who never even ask about her life at uni. The bartender was staring at her … did he recognise her from the video too?

Before she could find out she blurted: ‘Vodka shot. Please?’

For a moment her heart beat faster, as if the bartender would raise his eyebrows and say, You’re not allowed to drink. By the time she’d had these anxieties the shot of vodka was already in front of her. What if her dad ever found out? What if someone here knew her and reported back to him? She didn’t think she could bear the look of disappointment on his face.

Mae glanced from side to side, unsure of what to do with the drink. Was she meant to just knock it back the way she saw people do it in films? Or was she meant to get salt and a lemon as well? No. She couldn’t do that – she’d feel too ridiculous. At first, she was going to just take a sip, but knew that was also ridiculous. So, Mae took a deep breath, put the shot glass to her mouth – thinking of that creepy guy on the train, the humiliation she was suffering because of him – and knocked it back.

The strength of the shot surprised her, burning down her throat as she coughed and spluttered. She absorbed the weird grainy taste, still spluttering as people looked at her. It took some time to get over the burning as she tried to clear her throat and pretend that this wasn’t the first time she’d ever had a shot of vodka. Was she meant to feel different? She did feel different. She felt quite … pleasant. Who cared if it was a placebo or not? If it meant she didn’t care what people around her were thinking, then it could only be a good thing.

‘Good sir,’ she said to the barman. ‘Another, please.’

So she took another shot, this time prepared for the burning, although the effect of it still surprised her and she coughed again. Her senses seemed to relax, the anxiety that had settled itself in the pit of her stomach had somehow dissipated. Mae wondered why it had been there in the first place. What exactly had been the big deal? Sure, she had no friends, got publicly shamed, random strangers were spending their time taking a dig at her, getting personal – just being mean, Mae thought with disdain. This shouldn’t stop her from doing things, though. She was still her own person, after all. When you’re your own person, what do you do? You be adventurous, that’s what. This time, when Mae asked for another drink, she said to the bartender that she’d take anything he thought she’d enjoy.

‘Maybe some orange juice for you,’ he said.

‘Ugh. You can give me that for breakfast,’ Mae replied.

He looked amused although Mae wasn’t sure why.

‘First time drinking?’

‘How did you know?’ Mae said, looking at him in fascination.

Was there a sign on her head? Did she make it that obvious? Or was he a mind reader?

‘Magic,’ he replied. ‘Here, have this.’

Mae looked at the glass filled with ice and lime and a drink that looked too much like Coke.

‘Are you tricking me? I’m a grown woman, you know. I can handle more than a Coke.’

‘With rum,’ he replied. ‘The special ingredient.’

Mae liked this bartender with his shiny skin, big hair and white teeth. A friendly face.

‘Rum and Coke?’ she repeated with giddiness. She raised the glass to him. ‘Well, cheers to you. Cheers to everyone.’

Mae took a sip and felt her throat burn a little, a pleasant taste of buttery Coke in her mouth.

‘Well done,’ she added to the bartender who nodded to her, smiling. ‘I’ve decided you look like a trustworthy person. Did you know that?’

‘No, but thanks.’

‘More people should have friendly faces like you. Honestly. The world would be a better place.’

Mae took another sip of her drink and felt that the world perhaps was a better place. She turned around to a group of girls next to her and admired one of them who had long blonde hair.

‘God, I wish I had hair like yours,’ she said to her.

The girl looked at her for a moment before she decided to smile. ‘Yours isn’t so bad.’

‘Oh no, it’s short, isn’t it? Yours is like, long. And blonde. Even if I grew mine out it’d never be that colour, you know? Where’s your necklace from? They real pearls?’

The girl laughed. ‘No! They look it? You’re so cute.’

Mae was cute. She was also funny and charming. And she had a brain, which wasn’t always a given when you had cute looks and a personality.

‘Bartender, friend!’ Mae exclaimed. ‘A round of drinks for the girls. Especially my blonde friend, here. Doesn’t she have the best hair you’ve ever seen?’

Mae took the liberty of stroking it as the group of girls Mae had never before met exclaimed how she was the coolest. She could add that to the list of her personal attributes. Each girl in the group stood in front of Mae, waiting to be complimented for something or the other and because Mae was cool, she didn’t fail to find something nice to say. They each hugged her as they trotted off and for a moment Mae wondered why they hadn’t invited her to come along and dance with them.

‘Hit me up with another rum and Coke,’ she said, raising her voice over the din of the music, even though her glass was still three-quarters full.

‘Take it easy. And no need to buy more drinks for people you don’t know.’

‘Ugh, don’t be such a killjoy. And I am easy as they come,’ she replied. ‘Easy-peasy. You know I’m famous, right?’

His response was to raise his eyebrows.

‘Like, famous.’ She nodded, knowingly. ‘That’s right. Not just a cute face. A famous face.’

She raised her glass to him.

‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s good famous and bad famous and I guess if you were to ask, then I’d be bad famous, but you have to take what you get. If you know what I mean. There’s a video,’ she added, leaning forward. ‘Some sexist jerk recorded me putting make-up on, on a train. It’s like, so bloody what? Right?’

‘Right,’ the bartender replied, pushing several shots of vodka towards another group of students.

‘Then he had the nerve to put it on Facebook and it only went viral.’ Mae fiddled with the straw in her drink, staring into space. ‘People can be horrible,’ she mumbled.

The bartender pushed a packet of crisps towards her. ‘Lesson one: don’t drink on an empty stomach.’

‘Sound advice.’ She opened the packet and finished the crisps so quick even he was impressed.

‘Don’t sweat it,’ he said. ‘The video, I mean. Tomorrow it’ll be something else.’

‘Exactly!’ Mae exclaimed.

With which she spun around with her drink and made her way on to the dance floor. She felt her hips swaying to the music before she got enveloped in a crowd of people. Dancing was fun. Why had she never wanted to do this before? Why had she always felt self-conscious at the idea when no one even cared? It was a few minutes later that she felt someone behind her. She turned around and looked up to find a sweaty guy smiling down at her and, for some reason, his hands were on her hips. She shifted slightly but when he didn’t move she thought, well: this is the university experience, isn’t it? That’s what Bubblee was talking about. And Mae was getting some attention. Maybe this guy would turn into her boyfriend? He wasn’t bad to look at, though she supposed she’d have to check that in proper daylight. Whatever he looked like though, right now, this was exciting. So, she let him keep his hands on her hips and they danced. Even when he leaned in closer she didn’t move. It was when she felt something distinctly weird against her hip, as if poking her, that she turned around.

‘I’m Mae,’ she said.

‘Huh?’

‘Mae.’

‘Cool,’ he replied, getting closer.

The blue and purple lights flashed over his thin face.

‘What’s your name?’

He leaned into her. ‘Steve.’

His hot breath against her ear made her queasy and she wasn’t sure why. She put her hand out for him to shake, which he held on to with his own clammy hands.

‘Let me get you another drink,’ he said. ‘What’ll you have?’

Mae looked at her glass that was still half full but what the hell. You had to live a little and Steve might be a bit clammy but he was buying her a drink.

‘Rum and Coke,’ she replied.

He came back ten minutes later, two drinks in hand, and she’d already set her old glass down.

‘You’re a nice guy, Steve.’

‘Thanks,’ he replied. ‘You’re a nice girl.’

‘You think?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How nice?’

‘Hot nice.’

Mae put her arm on his shoulder and looked up at him.

‘You’re hot nice, too,’ she replied.

This was a lie, obviously, but sometimes you had to lie to be nice. Steve’s features were too pointed to be hot. His eyebrows too pale. But it seemed that people weren’t all horrible. There were Steves in the world and she felt so elated to have found this out that, without thinking, she went and kissed him. The first kiss she’d ever had and it felt weird. His wet lips against hers. Was this how it was meant to feel? So sloppy? Then he pushed his tongue into her mouth and it made her giggle.

‘Whoa, easy there, Steve,’ she said, spilling some of her drink as she wiped her mouth.

Before she knew it he was kissing her again, but she liked the feel of his hand on her waist, squeezing it, pulling her towards him. The music seemed to get louder and she heard cheering from one side of the club. Lights flashed faster and brighter and she opened her eyes to see Steve’s own eyes shut tight, his brown hair pasted to his forehead from the sweat. Mae had the uncontrollable urge to laugh.

‘Something funny?’ he said when she couldn’t contain it any more and moved back.

‘Yes,’ she said, laughing. ‘I mean, no, but it is kind of funny, isn’t it?’

‘What?’

He looked serious and she wondered if she’d done something to offend him.

‘Nothing,’ she said, taking a sip of her drink.

‘Have some more,’ he said, tucking his finger into the waist of her skirt and pulling her forward.

So she did. ‘Rum and Coke is good, isn’t it? In fact, I think it might be the best thing I’ve ever had to drink. Like, ever.’

‘Yeah. It’s all right. You wanna get out of here?’

This, to Mae, seemed to be the best idea anyone had ever come up with in the whole world.

‘Yes!’ she said, knocking back most of the remainder of the drink. ‘Let’s get out of here. Woohoo!’ She grabbed Steve’s hand and put her glass down as she danced towards the exit. ‘We are outta here!’ she exclaimed to the doorman. ‘Thank you, of course, for your duty as a bouncer. Godspeed, my man. Godspeed.’

‘You’re wasted,’ said Steve.

His face had got blurry and she felt herself sway on the spot. Mae tried to focus on him. Steve with his brown hair now swept back, his pointy nose and dark eyes.

‘Bloody hell, Steve. I think you’re right.’

Which only made her laugh again because wasted was a bloody funny word.

‘Wasted,’ she repeated, still swaying as he caught hold of her shoulders.

‘Let’s go back to mine. I’ve called an Uber.’

Steve had grabbed her wrist a little too hard and was hurting her, but she didn’t want to be a wet blanket.

‘Yours?’ she said, feeling the urgent need to sit down. ‘Why is everything spinning?’

‘I have that effect on girls,’ he said, holding her wrist tighter, pulling her towards the pavement.

His voice was distorted though and Mae felt she might faint.

‘You all right, love?’ came a voice, but it wasn’t Steve’s.

Then someone shouted. The world got fuzzier and darker as Mae felt Steve release her wrist from his grip. She stumbled and held on to a lamp-post. She wanted to say that she couldn’t focus, that everything was turning to a blur. That she would throw up.

‘Look at her,’ someone shouted.

That’s when Mae fell to the ground and everything went black.

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