Hussain Nadiya - The Secret Lives of the Amir Sisters

NADIYA HUSSAIN is the phenomenally popular winner of 2015s Great British Bake Off, with an ever growing public profile and a future womens fiction star. Nadiyas brand is growing beyond GBBO, including a cookbook with Michael Joseph, a childrens book with Hodder, and a TV series: The Chronicles of Nadiya. Her Michael Joseph cookbook, Nadiyas Kitchen, reached the Amazon bestseller chart, and Nadiya has a strong social media presence, with almost 100K devoted Twitter followers.

I would like to dedicate this book to my Baba. For putting up with my teenage angst and telling me One day you will actually like me young lady. As much as it pains me to admit it, you were right, and I do actually quite like you now.

Contents

I ts going to be fine. I wiped the palms of my hands on my trousers that crinkled from the sweat. Before I realised it my hand lunged towards my bedside drawer, shuffling around to try and find my stash. How could I have run out? Going downstairs wasnt an option given that I heard Mum on the phone with Jay. Thats the first time hes called in two months. Every time after a conversation with him theres always this odd kind of quiet thats filled with trivial stuff like, Did you get the toilet paper? And Lets re-arrange the family album. Mum can never quite look any of us in the eye, while Dad goes into the garden to inspect the flowers. I took a deep breath and went to open the window in my room. Just as Id predicted, there he was, standing with his hands on his hips, staring at his begonias.

I glanced at the next-door neighbours and quickly looked away. Marnie was out, sunbathing, stark naked. My eyes hovered towards her again. Amazing, isnt it? She hasnt a care in the world about whos looking at her and what others might think. What about all the insects in the grass? What if they decided to make a detour right up her ugh. Still, that is what you call being sure of yourself. Her whole familys like that. Naked, but sure of themselves. Dad scratched his head and bowed it so low it looked like he mightve dropped off to sleep. I wanted to go down and talk to him about his flowerbed, but I hate leaving my room the comfort of its four walls and dim light. I turned around and reached into my drawer again, just to double-check its contents, and right there at the bottom I felt the steely tube; crumpled, but there was hope. Lifting it out, I saw that my tube of Primula cheese had been squeezed to within an inch of its life. I unscrewed the lid and pushed into the top a meagre bit of cheese poked out of the nose and back in again. Just then I heard Mum rapping at the kitchen window.

Jays Abba. Come inside, she said to Dad.

I watched Dad peer in at her, confused. Not because she referred to him as Jays dad were Bangladeshi, after all, and there are some traditions you cant let go of; like calling your partner by your eldest childs name. Except in this case even though Im the eldest its Jays name because hes their only son. It doesnt bother me though not really.

Come inside, Mum repeated to Dad.

I guess she saw that Marnie was out too. There was nothing for it; I had to go down eventually, anyway, considering what day it was. So, I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Dont be nervous, said Mum as I sat down at the table.

Im not, I said, trying to smile without wanting to be sick everywhere.

She blew over me after having muttered a prayer.

Have you said your prayers? she asked.

Yes, I lied.

She patted my head and put a plate of biscuits in front of me, before going to make tea for Dad. He looked towards Mum, standing at the kitchen hob, and then over his shoulder. Reaching into his pocket, he handed me some money, putting his finger to his lips. I forgot about my nerves for a minute as I mouthed Thank you and tucked the money into my jeans pocket. I dont know why he hides the fact that he gives me money for all my driving lessons from Mum but its become our little secret.

Remember, he said, clearing his throat. You look into the rear-view mirror every few seconds, they will pass you.

Thats what you said last time, Abba, said Mae, whod wandered in, holding her phones camera towards us. Its time for some new advice. For my video, thanks.

Switch that off and help me make the dinner, said Mum to her. Farah is coming later.

Mae rolled her eyes. Or maybe you should get a new driving instructor, she said. Because hes obvs not doing something right.

Dad scratched his jet-black hair. I wish hed let it go grey like normal dads do. No-one actually believes his hair is that black.

No, he said. You know how long it took to find a Bengali instructor? Lucky he is just in the next town.

But Mae had already stopped listening and was tapping something on her phone.

Dont worry, Abba Ill remember to check all the mirrors, I replied before turning to Mum. Is Farah coming alone?

Yes, shes not staying long, said Mum.

Of course she wasnt. Shed be going home to her husband. I imagined her greeting him as he walked through the door. Or maybe shed be in the bathroom and hed call out to her? I do like it when the two of them come over sometimes, though. Its like watching TV but in real life. Only, every time they leave Im left with this hollow feeling inside, because it is real life just someone elses. I picked up a biscuit to go with the squeezy cheese Mum had just put on the table for me, but it was snatched from my hands. Mae, of course. She handed me a carrot stick instead while eyeing a bottle of olive oil.

Mum, that isnt organic, she said.

Mae, said Dad. We didnt have organic in our day and we are fine and healthy.

Yeah, right, she retorted.

A car horn beeped outside. I gulped as my mum and dad both looked at me. Everyone takes their driving test, I tried to reason with myself. What is there to be nervous about? So what if, at the age of thirty, Ive failed before? And the time before that? And so many times before that? My heart felt too big for my chest. I took the tube of cheese as I got up and made my way to the front door.

Say bismillah before you begin, Mum shouted out.

Bismillah. In the name of God. What was the point in telling Mum that Id tried that before each driving test and its not exactly worked so far.

I will, I called out.

I steeled myself as I put my hand on the front door handle. You can do this. Because whatever happens you dont just give up on a thing, do you? Opening the door, I saw my instructors red Nissan Micra parked outside our home. Ashraf lowered his head, dark hair flopping over his eyes, and waved at me. I took another deep breath before setting foot outside the door.

*

You shouldnt get so nervous, he said as I steered the car into a parking spot outside the test centre after Id had my lesson.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat as I looked up at the brown building. I cant fail again.

Okay, I said.

Dont just say okay. Mean it, he replied, softening his tone. You drove well.

Okay.

Fatima, the problem isnt whether you can do this or not the problem is you believing you can do it.

I stared at the steering wheel because he was right, of course. But it was all such an embarrassment. Which thirty-year-old woman struggles this much with a driving test? Its just that I know if I can do this, Ill be able to get my life in order. Id be free. Independent not have to rely on someone to drop me off or pick me up for my next hand-modelling shoot. I looked at my hands my source of income.