Being Lara

by Lola Jaye

“The last thing I said to him was ‘just leave.’ Can you imagine that?” Her body ached with pain. “Just leave. Get out. Go. Something like that and just as awful. Can you believe it?”

  “Baby, don’t think about that now. We’ll be there soon.” Tyler squeezed her knee affectionately, and she closed her eyes.

  She was on that bike again, wobbling from side to side and wanting to be physically sick at the thought of pedaling all the way to the door of number 65 where her dad stood with his arms held out wide.

  “I can’t do it, Daddy!” she whined, really wanting to cry and hoping Kieron from next door couldn’t see her because he’d be laughing his head off.

  She began to pedal, slowly at first.

  “Come on, Lara!” encouraged Dad.

  The more the bike moved forward and she realized she wasn’t flat on her face, the more Lara pedaled until she got into a good rhythm. She was actually moving the bike! She was in control of it all! She could do this. She could actually do this!

  “Daddy, look! Daddy, look!” she said, furiously pedaling on her new bike, shiny yellow with tassels—actually, newish, because it had been languishing in Dad’s shed for six weeks because she’d been too scared to ride it. She hadn’t been anywhere near ready for a bike without stabilizers, but Dad had promised he’d never let her fall. And when she’d made that first arduous journey from their gate to number 65’s house, she’d felt like the cleverest little girl in the whole wide world. Not least because that was exactly what Dad said when she jumped off the bike and leaped into his arms, as he showered her face with congratulatory kisses.

  “See, I said you could do it, Laralina love. I told you everything was going to be all right.”

  Lara opened her eyes as Tyler pulled into the hospital parking space.

  “Dad?”

  He looked as white as a sheet, his hair the color of fresh snow. Mum was sitting beside him red-eyed, clutching his hand, as Brian paced the floor.

  “How is he?”

  “Oh, Lara!” she cried.

  “I found him. He was in so much pain,” said Brian.

  “I can speak for myself, Bri,” said Dad as Lara sat by his bed, her eyes flooding with relief as she took his hand, the whiteness of his skin a total contrast to hers as their fingers entwined.

  “You can speak?”

  “I had an angina attack, I’m not in a coma!”

  “Why did it happen?”

  “Your dad still thinks he can sneak the odd cigarette behind my back, that’s why! Plus, I told him not to be in that shed for too long. That poxy shed!” said Mum.

  Lara turned to Dad. “What were you doing?”

  “Just clearing it out. Clean the rakes and that. Then I felt this tightness in my arms and chest.”

  “Oh, Dad, it’s all my fault!”

  Brian said, “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. Your dad’s been asking me to help clear that shed out for ages and I didn’t. So sorry, mate.”

  “I didn’t want you to anyway. That was all Pat’s idea. I’m not an old man; I didn’t need any help. It’s my shed, and I know where everything needs to go. It’s no one’s fault but mine.”

  “But stress couldn’t have helped and I—” Lara looked at her dad, his eyes telling her not to say any more. And just like he’d once reassured her over riding a bike without stabilizers, he now said, “It’s okay, Laralina love. Everything is going to be all right.”

  Chapter 27

  It had been a heavy couple of days.

  A very long week.

  A most unusual month in the life of Lara Reid.

  Her life had been turned in so many ways, her emotions twisted into every direction, at times she’d felt herself balancing on a slippery tightrope, but now for the first time, she was actually heading toward something resembling normality. No, her life would never be the same again. But that was okay. So much so, she wished to shout about it from the rooftops of her building. Or jump on a bus and nudge a random passenger to recount the whole story. Or stand in the middle of the street with a placard detailing her journey so far. Unfortunately, the “world” wasn’t interested as it trudged along as usual with its own version of normality. And neither were those who paid her wages. Understandably only interested in Lara completing the website revamp in good time and before the deadline. Of course, in the past, anything asked of her was completed with the utmost efficiency and in good time. Her “former” life, happily free from any dramas preventing her from working into the early hours on her laptop at home or staying in the office until the cleaners mopped the hardwood floors. But things had changed. Her life felt muddled and unordered but not in a way that made her feel insecure, lost, and in need of taking control.

  With everything happening around her, she’d at first felt powerless, but now she was able to let things toddle along without the need for a total meltdown. Well, almost. And that had to be progress.

  Lara opened the door to her flat, which used to just be occupied by herself and the odd bunch of flowers from the local supermarket. But now with the sounds of King Sunny Adé as a backdrop, the smell of pepe soup in the air, and Granny almost screaming into the phone in Yoruba up in the bedroom, it felt totally different. Less serene, more chaotic, but not enough to rid her of the smile forming on her face as she placed her laptop on the cluttered coffee table.

  “Hello, Yomi,” said Lara, immediately noticing the company brochure wide open on top of a copy of Vogue. “Were you reading this?”

  Yomi placed a finger to her lips before answering. “I was looking through it. I hope you do not mind.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, in keeping with the new Lara. “I’m going to be working from it tonight.”

  “I know. You have been working very hard. I heard you talking about it on the phone. I… I…” Yomi hesitated, put her finger to her lips again, and then spoke. “I wrote down some ideas for you. You do not have to take notice of them.... But I thought you may like to see what I have written for you.”

  Before Lara could respond, she heard the sound of Granny slowly climbing down the awkward spiral staircase from the mezzanine bedroom

  “You are home, child!” she called out with enthusiasm, back stooped, in slight pain as she walked over and embraced Lara with one of those full hugs Lara had happily become accustomed to.

  “Thanks, Granny. I’ll just go and freshen up. Are you okay?”

  “I am well. Your bed is so hard though. Like I am lying on top of one hundred kola nuts.”

  Upstairs, Lara placed the brochure on the bed and a small wad of papers flew out, notes in Yomi’s handwriting accompanied by sketches of some of the pieces. Lara sat on the bed with the brochure and studied each product, starting with the new gold-plated Brazilian charm bracelets. To Yomi, they looked very similar to ones she’d bought and sold in Nigeria, and she’d written a small description to explain their meaning and where they had originated. And there were lots more to accompany various other pieces, like the Cuban-inspired wooden hooped necklace, which again, Yomi described in relation to what she knew of them. Lara would have to change things around a bit, but what Yomi had written so far sounded brilliant and gave a good sense of time and place, something her customers would appreciate because it would allow them to feel as if they were wearing a part of history and culture. Reading on, she noticed Yomi’s words were a bit old English and “out there,” but with a bit of research and a lot of tweaking, it could work.

  In fact, a whole set of ideas began to surface in Lara’s mind, and she immediately logged online to check a bit of history about the necklace Yomi had written about.

  Bingo!

  Apparently, shared common ancestries as a direct result of the transatlantic slave trade of the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries would account for some of the similarities between Nigerian, Cuban, and Brazilian pieces, something that Yomi had inadvertently touched on.

  Lara felt she was on to something.

  The whole “ethnic” theme w
as exploding, and she and Jean could research each piece and try and put a story to key items. It was an approach the site had never used before and would be a lot of work, but they could do it. And then she remembered… Jean was still in France and likely to be there for some time. Lara let out a puff of air, knowing that without the help, a great idea would have no way of emerging in time for the deadline.

  “Omolara,” said Yomi’s voice as she walked up the staircase. “I forgot to remove the notes I made in your book. May I take them now? I will throw them away.”

  “No, don’t do that…”

  “Why ever not?”

  “I think… I think they’re not bad.”

  The expression on Yomi’s face softened into a smile as Lara beckoned her into the bedroom. Yomi sat on the bed.

  “I like this whole thing about each piece telling a story. A belt, a bracelet, a bag, even the hair bands. Just the key pieces. In fact, I love the concept!”

  “Then you must do it!” declared Yomi.

  “I have about three days to put something together.”

  “And I will help you,” said Yomi.

  “No offense, but what do you know about the Internet?” Lara felt instant guilt as Yomi’s eyes narrowed.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. What I meant was, I’m going to need lots of research to get this right.”

  “I know about Goggles,” replied Yomi.

  As Granny snoozed and sometimes watched over them, Lara and Yomi worked solidly on the plans. Luckily it wasn’t necessary to teach Yomi the finer points of the Internet because she’d had some experience of Google in Nigeria and knew how to “search.” They cut out pictures and printed text onto a huge piece of poster board to illustrate how the site would look. This was easier for Yomi, not being used to websites, and it made everything more fun as they stuck things on and stopped for tea, biscuits, or ground rice and shaki. Both were working toward a common goal, while simultaneously getting to know each other a little bit more.

  Each key piece was highlighted with a small introduction about it or about something that could be passed off as similar, like the sharply colored hair band made from a pattern similar to a Cameroonian cloth. To anyone else, it was just a hair band made of material. To someone in a far-flung land—perhaps something so special, so precious it would never leave their sight.

  “We did it!” screeched Lara as she poured Yomi a well-earned glass of white wine. They had worked night and day, completed everything before the deadline, and now sat tired, weary, happy, and definitely closer … but something still wasn’t right from Lara’s point of view.

  There was something more that needed doing.

  With his mother firmly on the mend, Jean returned to work immediately, assuming he’d been replaced due to the lack of panic regarding deadlines. It took a few minutes for Lara to convince him of Yomi’s contribution.

  “You and Mrs. Reid did all this?”

  “No … it was Yomi.”

  Jean’s eyes widened, adding to the guilt Lara had been feeling regarding Mum. Lara hadn’t told her about Yomi’s help or even that she was staying at the flat. She hadn’t told anyone.

  “Well, it looks wonderful, Lara. You have both done a fantastic job!”

  Chapter 28

  I don’t feel right leaving you like this,” said Mum.

  “You’re going to Bournemouth for a break, not the South Pole!” said Lara as Sandi helped Dad place the last of the luggage into the car.

  “Dad, how heavy is that?”

  “Stop nagging; a child could carry it,” he said, smiling only slightly. Dad was recovering well, but he still behaved a little warily around her. Minimal eye contact and low voices. But she’d had a lot of time to think things over—Dad’s attack had defused the explosion of pure anger that had surfaced the moment he’d told her the truth. But after really thinking it through—and after multiple chats with Sandi and Granny—she knew that forgiveness was the only answer. As Granny had put it, “To love and nurture a child is the greatest gift. To see that child taken from you is the most painful.” Dad had acted in total and utter love for her and she knew the reason why: because he was her dad.

  “Okay, loves, we’ll see you both when we get back,” he said.

  “Take care, Dad.”

  “If you need anything, you call us,” said Mum unnecessarily.

  “No, I won’t. I want you and Dad to totally relax. It’s all about being stress-free now, Dad. I don’t want you ending up in hospital again!”

  “I will check myself back in hospital if your mum doesn’t stop nagging me. Even Maria came by and guess what she brought me?”

  Lara nodded her head.

  “Fruit! Has the world gone mad?”

  Lara shut the car door, and Mum wound down her window. “You know, with Yumi around and everything—”

  “Love the way your mum calls her ‘Yumi,’” whispered Sandi.

  “Everything will be fine, Pat. Don’t bombard the girl,” said Dad, whose expression said he felt otherwise.

  “Bye, Mr. and Mrs. Reid!” said Sandi in her sweetest voice.

  “Bye-bye!” sang Dad.

  “When we get back, I may have a little surprise for you, Lara.”

  “Rock?”

  “No, I mean something bigger than that. But just wait until we get back and all will be revealed!” said Mum mysteriously.

  “I can’t wait,” said Lara hurriedly. They waved them off with promises to keep an eye on the house. Feed the plants, no parties.

  “Right, the olds have gone. Time to get that party going!” joked Sandi.

  “I think we’ve had enough of those. Remember the last one?”

  “Oh yes, your fifteenth birthday party.”

  “Don’t you mean your fifteenth birthday party? Your rowdy mates, your booze? Mum went mad when she found out.”

  “And I begged her not to tell social services.”

  They both sighed with the memories of their childhood.

  “I was referring to my thirtieth birthday party, actually.”

  Sandi squeezed Lara’s hand, a silent acknowledgment that she would always be there for her.

  “Now, let’s split. Essex gives me goose bumps and not in a good way.”

  “I’m staying here the night.”

  “What for? You can come back and feed the plants in a few days.”

  “Just some things I need to do.”

  “Okay, well, I’m out of here.”

  “Before you go, Sandi… I need your help with something.”

  “What now?”

  “I need you to help me open the attic,” said Lara.

  “You want to go inside a smelly, dusty attic?” she asked.

  “That’s the idea, Sandi. I want to look up some stuff about me. You know, when I was adopted.” Lara swallowed after saying the word adopted—not a word she’d used very often.

  “Any living creatures up there?”

  “Rats, the size of tomcats!”

  “Let’s do it.”

  They went back inside and Sandi fetched a ladder.

  Inside the attic, Lara shone one of Dad’s torches as they took on the arduous task of searching old boxes covered in films of dust. Opening the top of one marked “The Pop Years,” they coughed as the dust flew into the atmosphere like powder from a puff. Inside were old posters from Mum’s chart-topping days, programs for a venue in Old Compton Street and Manchester, as well as contracts and ticket stubs. Other boxes were marked “Lara Aged 3–6,” and so on, in which Mum seemed to have kept everything to do with Lara, including school reports, certificates, and awards.

  “This was all very Angelina Jolie et al., you know. Your adoption and everything,” said Sandi.

  “I just never knew Mum was so anal!” said Lara, ignoring Sandi’s quip.

  “Remember this?” Sandi held up a teddy bear with a blue bow, which Lara suspected had a hundred different species of dust mite living within it.

  “I didn’t k
now you when I had that.”

  “You still had that teddy at eleven, Lara!”

  “No, I didn’t!” replied Lara, playfully snatching it away from her.

  “Anyway, I think it’s sweet your mum kept all this stuff. Such a loving thing to do, really. When we were growing up, you really had no idea how lucky you were.”

  “You were the coolest chick in school! Everyone loved you! You were friends with fifth years when you were a first year! If it wasn’t for you, I’d be a geek.”

  “You are a geek.”

  Lara playfully flung the bear back at Sandi.

  “I’d have traded all that notoriety and coolness to have a stable family like yours.”

  “Oh, Sandi…” said Lara, moving closer to her friend.

  “Don’t let’s get all touchy-feely, I’m just saying. You had it all, really, and I just used to collude with your self-pitying way of seeing things.”

  “Self-pitying way of seeing things?”

  “Yes! Even now, you fail to see how special it is that Yomi has traveled all this way to see you.”

  “I do get it. Now.”

  “It took you long enough! Anyway, back then when we were at school, you had this way about you and it just seemed easier at the time to agree with you, when the truth was, I was just jealous of you. Full stop.”

  “You, jealous of me? At school?”

  “Don’t get excited about it; it was a moment in time. All over now. I do now earn more money than you and could probably cook lasagna without burning half the kitchen down! Seriously, I’m proud of you, kiddo. The way you’re now handling all this,” said Sandi, with a firm smile.

  “I haven’t quite got to grips with it all, Sand’, but soon I will. Just need to do this one last thing, don’t I?”

  And then finally.

  “Here it is, I think. A box just marked ‘Lara.’ Gotta be the one as it hasn’t got any years written on it,” said Sandi.

  “Okay, take that one and the ‘Lara 3–6’ box.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replied with a salute, and Lara was instantly reminded of Tyler. Tyler, who she’d yet to tell how she really felt. One step at a time.