regrets things,’ I said.
He smiled and brushed something off his black jeans. Mae would have something to say about a man who wears black jeans. ‘So uncool.’ I wish I had been as sure of myself at that age; to be able to say what you think out loud. I wish I was that sure of myself now. My little Mae, who’s able to say what she wants and still manage not to offend anyone.
‘If my ex-wife regrets leaving, then her getting married to another man is a huge mistake,’ he said.
‘Oh. I didn’t know. Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. He’s giving her a detached house and an expensive car – all the things I couldn’t. Or didn’t. Either way, it doesn’t matter.’
How did we even get talking about his wife? If you have a driving instructor for long enough you’ll probably end up knowing more about their life than you do your own brother or sister’s. At least, that’s how I feel. I remember when I started my lessons he’d only just left her. She did sound like a bit of a shrew; not that Ash would say as much, but why would you come all the way from Bangladesh to England to marry a man, only to get permanent stay here, then make his life so miserable that he’s forced to leave you?
‘What matters is your test,’ he added. ‘Did your mum tell you to say your prayers?’
I nodded.
‘And your dad told you to check your mirrors?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Mae …?’
‘Gave me carrots.’
‘Good – so everything as usual then.’
I laughed. He must think my family is crazy. They do sound it when I talk about them. Funny that I always feel fonder of them when I tell him about the latest drama in the Amir household. My hands had stopped sweating and when he said it was time to go I didn’t want to reach into my bag for some Primula cheese.
Because we should always remember: what doesn’t kill us, only makes us stronger.
‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. That’s my sister, Fatti’s, motto every time she fails her driving test, which would be – not even exaggerating – for the fifteenth time now. That’s right. Fifteen. It’s kind of a rich thing to say when she walked into the house, with cheese all over her chin. Remember, guys: saturated fat does not make you stronger. Just looking at the gooey substance smeared on her face made me want to take a shot of wheatgrass. Anyway, ciao for now. More on the trials and tribulations of a millennial living in a Wyvernage later.’
I came out of Snapchat and stopped jogging on the spot for my warm-down after my run. Checking my Fitbit as I walked into the house, I called up to Dad from the passage.
‘Bet that run would’ve taken care of your headache, Dad.’
Headache – yeah, right. I walked back into the kitchen because where else would Fatti be? ‘Look what I made,’ I said, carefully placing the phone upright so the video captured me opening the fridge.
Fatti looked at the celery salad in disgust, scrunching up the pudgy nose she hates so much, even though I think it’s cute in its own way. But, hey, I’m the youngest in the family – what do I know?
‘Is that camera on again?’ asked Fatti. ‘Where’d Mum put the prawns?’
Of course the camera was on again. What would it take for my family to realise that this wasn’t some hobby now – it was work. I’d have the best GCSE media project in the year. No other student had eleven thousand subscribers on their YouTube channel. I stepped in front of our huge silver fridge. ‘It’s a scientific fact that celery can speed up your metabolism,’ I said, putting the bowl down in front of her.
‘Don’t worry, Fatti,’ said the mothership who’d walked in. She adjusted the drape of her sari and glared at me, which meant I should move out of the way or I might have a slipper thrown at my face. ‘You will pass the test next time.’
And she handed her the prawns, which I guess brought a bit of balance to the synthetic cheese in a tube.
‘Mae, can’t you eat like a normal girl?’ said Mum, looking at my salad. ‘Don’t you want your amma’s delicious curries?’
No, thanks. I’d rather not have a heart attack, but of course I didn’t say that because it would’ve been rude. I stepped back and zoomed the camera in on Mum who put her hand on Fatti’s cheek. I had to shirk off this weird feeling I got – as if I’m missing out on something. I tried to remember the last time Mum put her hand on my cheek. I couldn’t. Just then the front door opened and slammed shut again. Farah tumbled in with about seven shopping bags as Fatti went to help her. There was a look on Farah’s face, which I wanted to capture, but I couldn’t zoom in close enough – what was it? Like sadness, but it disappeared too quickly, because as soon as Mum came into view Farah put on a smile.
‘I see Mae’s busy with her high-school assignment,’ said Farah, raising an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps put the camera down for a moment and help with the bags?’
I rolled my eyes. The thing is, I don’t mean to, but it kind of just happens. Apparently it’s called having an attitude problem. Whatever.
‘Is …’ Farah cleared her throat. ‘Is Bubblee here?’
Farah’s movements slowed down as Mum told her: ‘She’s so busy in London. She said she can’t make it this weekend either.’ Mum’s sigh was audible.
‘All she’d do is smear mud all over the carpet and call it art. Ugh,’ I said, repulsed at the chocolate digestives that Farah put on the breakfast table. ‘Do you know obesity is one of the top killers in the UK?’
‘Tst,’ said Mum to me as she continued: ‘If Bubblee comes I might be able to show her some boys. She is so beautiful – maybe someone will marry her before she opens her mouth. And then at least she will give me grandchildren.’
Mum glanced at Farah not so discreetly, waiting to catch her eye, just so she could give her an aggrieved look. Because that’s how Mum rolls.
‘You haven’t heard that for five minutes, have you?’ I said to Farah.
She pursed her lips as she turned to Fatti. ‘Well. How’d the test go?’ she said, a hopeful look on her face.
Fatti shook her head. ‘But it’s okay. What doesn’t kill you—’
‘—Yeah, yeah,’ I said, catching Fatti staring at Farah’s wedding ring. ‘We know.’
Mum slapped me across the back of the head. I swear I have a bald patch because of her. I got my phone and tapped on the Twitter icon:
Some people have alopecia, others suffer from male-pattern baldness – I have a mother who likes to hit me across the head #Abrasiveparents #Hairloss #Aintfair #Meh #Whatever
