Being Lara

by Lola Jaye

  “That’s okay,” he said, stroking her hair. “I’ll spend the night with you, holding you and watching you sleep.”

  Lara released herself from him and reached into the fridge for some water. As she sipped he slipped out of his jacket to reveal a familiar slim frame dressed in a French Connection shirt, with his slightly upturned bum in loose Levi’s and a hint of boxer short teasing out at the top. How she wanted to run over and trace a finger over the contour of his birthmark, a mark in the shape of the map of Britain, passed down from his American mother. How she wished she could feel featherlike wisps of his breath on the tip of her nose. How she wished she could pour out a selection of loving words and sentences just as he was able to do and, with his gorgeous face in her hands, tell him how she felt about him.

  But she couldn’t.

  And she never would.

  Two days before the party, Lara and Tyler were on their way to a “birthday drinks” session organized by Sandi and a few of her friends from Essex.

  “Does getting to thirty, you know, make you think about the future?” said Tyler as he drove to the venue.

  “Up until a few days ago, I think I was more fixated on the past.”

  “So what’s changed?”

  “I’m not sure. I just think it’s time I moved on and stopped focusing on the past. Look ahead. Onwards and upwards. Why the deep questions…?” she said with a smile, feeling uncharacteristically relaxed.

  “I dunno… I’ve been thinking … that…”

  Tyler didn’t do hesitant sentences, and suddenly she was aware that something must be up.

  “What is it, Tyler?”

  “Oh, this is hard…” He sighed, turning a corner as Lara thought that perhaps now wasn’t the time for this.

  Thoughts began to dance about in her head. Was he about to leave her after almost six months together? Had he finally gotten fed up with her?

  Tyler sighed again as a stream of negative thoughts ran in Lara’s head on a continual loop.

  I knew this would happen.

  He was leaving, just as I always knew he would.

  I feel sick.

  “Lara? Did you hear what I just said?”

  She nodded her head as he pulled over and stopped in a random spot.

  “There’s something missing with us, and I just feel that … that we should be going further than we have been… I’m not going to get heavy with you, I know it’s only been six months and it’s your birthday week and all … but sometimes it feels as if we’ve just met.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Not when I feel like I don’t know you or that you’re not opening up to me.... I just wanted to say, I need to say, that we have, that I—”

  “Tyler, we’re on our way to see my friends.” she said, quickly interrupting as her feelings of dread refused to subside. “And you know how Sandi gets when I’m late. Plus some of my friends are traveling down from Essex. We should think about making a move.”

  “Sure, we’ll leave it for now. You know how I am, I go with the flow, so when I feel something has to be said—”

  “I know.”

  They drove off again as Lara sighed inwardly, knowing the evening was sure to be marred by the lurking certainty that she was going to be left again. And very soon. Her middle finger tapped the side of the car seat. Eight times. And then another eight.

  As the two of them walked the short distance to Oxford Circus from the car park, Tyler holding her hand, she decided that if Tyler was about to leave her, she’d be ready, armor on, weapons loaded and pointed—just like the cannons in her courtyard.

  They arrived at Cocoon, where Sandi was waiting at the dimly lit bar, “funky house” music pulsating from invisible speakers.

  “About time! I look like a right desperado sitting here!” joked Sandi. Tyler kissed her on each cheek and Lara went to do the same, but suddenly Sandi grabbed her and wrapped her in a hug.

  “What’s that for?” asked Lara, a little stunned, as Tyler ordered some drinks.

  “It’s called a hug. I know we don’t do it very often, but it’s not every day you reach fifty. Just don’t expect any more. Not at least until you’re sixty!”

  “Thank you,” said Lara to her oldest friend, the closest to a sister she was ever likely to have. Sandi had long since dropped the Y in her name—but luckily, she’d never altered from the beautiful, funny, and glamorous human being Lara had met all those years ago. Lara often wondered why she was still around and hoped she’d never wake up one morning, question their friendship, and get rid of her, just as Tyler was about to.

  Ever since that infamous afternoon in the school dining room many years ago, when Sandi had tapped into very efficient negotiating skills to prevent Lara’s potential beating from a group of girls who’d pushed in at the dinner queue, they’d sustained a friendship that Lara adored. Needed. In fact, she probably even loved Sandi—not that she’d ever reveal this. Therein lay the “thing” about Sandi and Lara; the sisterly love and closeness they shared remained relatively unspoken at their insistence. Both were aware of its existence and how it floated around the ether ready to be claimed at any time; they just didn’t need for it to be defined, because to do so would suddenly deem it invalid in some way.

  The night progressed and the group of friends enjoyed a pleasant enough time. But Lara’s mind was often elsewhere, sometimes fixated on Tyler and what he was about to do and sometimes on the upcoming weekend and that bloody birthday party, which she hadn’t even asked for but was getting closer with each passing day.

  When the day of the party finally arrived, Lara’s feeling of dread had yet to subside. As she slipped into black-and-red stilettos, she was totally unconvinced of her bold choice of sparkly silver minidress, which skimmed her waist deliciously. Hair still needed to be straightened, makeup had yet to be applied, and she and Sandi were officially running fifteen minutes behind schedule. Hence the third part to her birthday celebrations had begun quite stressfully.

  “If it’s the cab, it’s early!” she huffed after the doorbell rang.

  “Still avoiding Tyler?” asked Sandi as she pressed the intercom button.

  “Definitely. Why?”

  “He’s on his way up.”

  Tyler strolled in and immediately appraised Lara’s dress. “You look amazing!”

  “Thanks,” she replied, walking up the stairs to search her jewelry box for the beautiful Swarovski crystal teardrop necklace and matching bracelet (a free sample, a constant perk of her job) she was hoping to wear to the party.

  “Sandi says you’ve booked a cab… I could have taken you, no problem,” he called up.

  “It’s done now.”

  “You can cancel.”

  “No, it’s fine. We’ll take a cab and meet you at my parents.” She located her bag, a sweet lambskin number with a woven top handle. Another free sample.

  “Okay,” he replied with what sounded to Lara like disappointment. Ever since his statement in the car, she’d felt so cautious around Tyler. His desire to talk about their relationship scared her as she was all too aware he’d be highlighting all her inadequacies. She wasn’t the best girlfriend in the world, she knew that. She liked to plan and only felt comfortable seeing him on designated days. He, however, was the embodiment of a living, breathing, walking list of stereotypically “good on paper” attributes and was someone who could do so much better than her—a sock-in-the-gut realization that occurred to Lara each and every time they were together or apart.

  That feeling of just not being good enough.

  Lara gazed at herself in the mirror, deciding she did at least look good enough. The shoes were a little high and the dress a bit shorter than she’d have liked, but purchased with Sandi’s encouragement, she now appreciated the risk-taking challenge it represented. Challenge was another word for new beginnings and fresh starts, she hoped, and so very apt for the night of her thirtieth birthday party.

  “Lara, are you ready or do
you need more time? You know, what with you being ancient and everything?” asked Sandi, herself looking effortlessly beautiful and confident, dressed in a metallic blue playsuit and tall stilettos with a platform front, with her hair tied up in a loose bun, curly brunette tendrils brushing against long eyelashes.

  “I’m fine,” smiled Lara, welcoming Sandi’s jokey sarcasm and for perhaps the first time beginning to entertain the thought that Mum’s party wasn’t on the cusp of disaster after all. And as they sat in the cab, with Tyler jumping in his car behind, Lara knew that everything was going to work out, whatever he threw at her. Wasn’t she a survivor, who’d been through so much worse in life and come out fighting?

  The car pulled up outside Entwistle Way and Lara was immediately overcome with pleasant nostalgia. Mum’s flower beds were clearly growing nicely behind the steel gate, flung open thanks to an evening breeze. And then a flood of memories rushed into the moment.

  “Sandi, do you remember the time I fell over by what used to be the phone box over there and scraped my knee?” she asked, pointing to the spot now occupied by a bin.

  “No, but I remember getting so drunk I fell over right there by Ladbrokes, and you had to get your dad to carry me to your house and sober me up with about a pint of coffee,” replied Sandi.

  Tyler joined them after parking his car across the road.

  “What are you two talking about?” he asked, shrugging off his thin jacket to reveal a smart shirt and skinny tie as the three of them stood outside the house. Lara was so used to seeing him in casual wear, it was a rare treat to catch him like this; and she had to admit, he looked utterly amazing. And too good for her. Perhaps.

  “The past,” replied Lara, brushing an imaginary piece of fluff from his shoulder. “We’re just talking about the past.”

  “I thought it was all about the future now? Didn’t you say that?”

  “It is.”

  The door to her childhood home swung open and out came Mum.

  “Sweet peeeeeea!” sang Mum, enveloping Lara in one of her lavender-scented hugs. “Happy birthday, my love. Where’s your key?” she said coming up for air. Her hair was rounded into a newly permed bouffant, and she wore a mauve cardigan, which Lara guessed had to be a new purchase just because of the party.

  “Nice cardie, Mum.”

  “It’s Cashmilon from Marks & Spencer. A poor man’s cashmere, your dad calls it! So where’s your key? I hope you haven’t lost it. You were always losing things when you were little.”

  “I can’t use my key tonight, Mum; that would be just weird.”

  “I don’t see why!”

  Mum went on to hug Sandi and then Tyler before the four of them entered the corridor and into the lounge and absolute … nothingness.

  Lara attempted to hide any disappointment as her forehead wrinkled in confusion, all until an almighty shriek of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LARA!” punctuated the air. People leaped out from behind the sofas, the TV, the door, with Lara nodding her head with happiness and slight amusement.

  Mum’s oldest friend, Maria; Aunty Agnes, Uncle Brian, and their three adult kids Keely, Annie, and Jason; along with dad’s cousin Rob each offered hugs and oddly shaped gifts in colorful wrapping. Even Kieron who used to live next door had come with his wife and two kids. Mum had definitely kept it small, which wouldn’t have been so hard since Dad’s family consisted of a couple of siblings and an elderly uncle and Mum hadn’t spoken to her family in almost thirty years.

  “You’re wasting away,” commented Agnes.

  “I’m fine, really!” Lara protested. Agnes, as always, was overly slim and meticulously made up. Her “powerhouse” rounded perm completed her look. In contrast, Brian was portly if not a little cuddly, and they just seemed to simply adore each other.

  “And this is Tyler, right?” Agnes asked, almost poking a hole into his chest. “Fine looking he is. Just like my Brian. You better keep hold of him.”

  As soon as Agnes had said it, Lara felt her tummy muscles constrict.

  “You enjoying yourself?” asked Mum as Brian pressed Play on yet another cheesy ’80s classic.

  “It’s great, Mum, and thanks for the M & S voucher. You shouldn’t have spent that much.” Lara popped a salt and vinegar crisp into her mouth.

  “That’s nothing. Besides, it isn’t your real present.”

  “No, your real present’s a lot racier!” butted in Maria, all burgundy hair and innuendo.

  Mum led Lara through to the kitchen, a slightly chaotic scene of cheese and pineapple on sticks, trifle, and various other party foods, plus a huge yellow cake clumsily concealed in an aluminum tin. Framed pictures of Lara dotted the walls of every room except for the bathroom, which had a painting of a nameless Labrador puppy above the sink. The puppy we never had, Lara used to call it.

  “I wanted to give you this with your father but I think he’s in that shed of his, sulking.”

  “Why’s he sulking?”

  “His little girl’s thirty and has a steady boyfriend. He’s probably thinking up threats he can make toward your Tyler.”

  “Dad’s a softie.”

  “I know. Besides, he’d dealt with it all by starting to refurbish the shed. So we’ll all be okay. Anyway, here’s your real present.”

  Mum handed over a huge beautifully wrapped square, which looked a lot like a painting.

  “Go on, open it up!”

  The paper was fine and came away easily in Lara’s hand. The first image was of herself, then others of her with Mum, Dad, Sandi, aunts and uncles and their children, all in various guises and scenarios: on the beach in Peru five years ago; attempting to stay on the seat of a tasseled bike for the very first time; blowing bubbles with Jason, aged four; hiding under an umbrella with Sandi and Kieron as teenagers; sleeping on Dad’s lap and Lara’s raised ankle with its baggy white sock; a closeup of Lara, Keely, and Brian sticking out green tongues to the camera; the Reid family in a cheesy family shot on Blackpool beach. Stages of Lara’s life were displayed as a collage on an “easy to use” adhesive board, perhaps the most thoughtful and beautiful present she had ever received.

  “Thanks, Mum,” she said understatedly, unable to marry the rising emotion with her physicality.

  “Oh, and there’s one row left at the bottom. I left it blank.”

  “For the grandkids, right?”

  “For whatever my daughter has planned for the next phase of her life. I’ll leave that for you to complete.”

  She hugged her mum tightly, slightly embarrassed she may just need a tissue for her nose and clumpy mascara at any moment.

  A bit later, en route from the bathroom, and after dabbing her eyes, Lara soon found herself inside a chaotic garden shed looking toward her dad.

  “There you are,” said Lara, sitting beside him on one of the white plastic chairs. A ladder was propped up against a wall with various empty plant pots and boxes blocking the passageway. Beside that sat a tall rake, an orange lawn mower, and three old gnomes. Once colorless when they arrived twenty years ago, Lara had one day sat down and painstakingly and artistically painted tribal masks onto each of their faces.

  “Hello, Laralina, love,” said Dad with that term of endearment he still held on to despite her age.

  “Not looking so good in here,” said Lara, running her finger over the windowpane.

  “Just needs a quick clean and a lick of paint. Nothing much.”

  “Everything all right, Dad?”

  “Bit overcome, that’s all, what with it being your birthday. You’ve come a long way, my girl.”

  Dad never said much, but sometimes when he did, he had the power to just catch her right in the middle of her heart.

  “Aww, Dad…”

  “I can’t believe my baby girl is thirty years old… I remember when you were a toddler, holding you in my arms, you know? And now look at you.”

  “It’s still me, Dad.”

  He smiled broadly, squeezing her hand back. “I know, love.”

&
nbsp; The smile then morphed into something stern. “And that Tyler, the American, he better take good care of you, or else!”

  “Dad, I can take care of myself,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully. “But you’re just a call away…”

  “Too right!” he said, balling his fists jokily.

  “And thanks for the present. It was lovely.”

  He smiled knowingly and Lara was just about to give his hand a gentle squeeze when the sound of a commotion erupted from inside the house.

  She went to investigate and saw Brian colliding with a trifle and Mum screaming in absolute horror.

  “Nice party,” said Sandi without one hint of sarcasm just as someone had to go and do “it”—move the needle on the old record player and belt out that song.

  “Brian, I’ll swing for you!” shouted Mum playfully as out came Mum’s dulcet tones. Brian launched into a sort of chicken dance complete with triangular arms flapping about for effect as the song continued. Although Mum’s singing career had ended a long time ago, her hit song “Do You Want This?” was and would always be the family joke. Mum, as usual, took the sudden invasion quite well, as she mock threatened Brian with her wooden spoon.

  The somewhat cheesy tune came to an end and whispers of a huge cake began. Lara looked around for her dad, bracing herself for the “surprise.” Mum had baked a cake with candles every year since her fourth birthday (except her twenty-fifth when she’d traveled to Peru). But she enjoyed the yearly pretense, the bad singing, the clapping and the attention that would always follow. The ritual allowed her to regress and be a little girl again for a few short seconds, embracing a time when acting like an adult just wasn’t required.

  “You have to close your eyes, before you blow them out!” commands Agnes. So Lara squeezes them shut. She thinks she can hear the doorbell. The inside of her lids darken. Someone switches off the lights. She’s tingling with excitement, thinking of a birthday wish.

  “Not yet! Open ’em up!” Jason says. She opens her eyes. There’s singing. The cake, in the shape of a Chanel bag, is plonked in front of her. She can’t wait to taste the smooth butter icing. She closes her eyes again. She can feel the heat of the candles.