Being Lara

by Lola Jaye

  She smiled mischievously.

  “You do know you’ll lose all your teeth by the time you’re eleven?” he said, playfully squeezing her nose.

  She giggled. “I don’t care, Dad, as long as I get to eat the icing!”

  He bent down to his side and retrieved his flask and two cups.

  “Get that down you. Your tummyache will be long gone.”

  Lara closed her eyes, downing the overstrong tea in one go. It was horrible.

  “Steady, Lara!” he said with a smile. “Better?”

  “Yes, Dad,” she lied.

  Mum’s comments about Lara being too old to sit on Dad’s lap echoed in her head as she placed her arms around his neck. She’d been doing this for as long as she could remember, apparently starting the day Dad had gone to fetch her from Nigeria. They’d spent days together while he sorted out “paperwork” with officials and other grown-up particulars. Lara could only imagine that rather momentous long journey to England on an airplane, sitting on Dad’s lap as the sound of the engine frightened her into rigid submission. Of course, she would never really, clearly remember that time, but the ensuing moments they spent as father and daughter—walking to school together, watching TV on his lap, smearing extra butter on his toast when Mum wasn’t looking—and the feelings they invoked were what sealed their bond. And Lara could not remember feeling any other way about her daddy.

  “Daaaad?”

  “What is it, love?”

  “You know I’m now ten…?”

  “How can I forget?”

  “And you know you and Mum told me about the woman you got me from, in Africa…?”

  “Yes…”

  “Well, I don’t want any presents—even that tape deck I asked for with the treble base. I don’t want anything but… I would very much like to meet her.”

  “Meet who, love?”

  “The lady you got me from.”

  They’d never spoken much about her over the years and Lara had always thought thrice about bringing her up or mentioning her in any form. But she was older now, and on the actual day of her tenth birthday, two days ago, she had decided on two very grown-up decisions—bin her Sindy doll and meet the Lady. Lara was ready, with Dad obviously the right person to ask. She’d always felt secure in the knowledge that Dad was on her side. Like, if Mum said it was too late in the evening for chocolate, Dad would sneak her a Funsize Maltesers or Galaxy. And sometimes when it was just the two of them, they’d stop off at Captain Gino’s for a huge knickerbocker glory and sometimes a Coke, too (another substance not allowed in the Reid household, except at party time). Lara could go to Dad with absolutely anything, and in no way at that moment, sitting on his lap, did she think she’d just asked the impossible.

  “Dad, please, can you find her for me?” she asked with a kiss.

  He turned away, swallowing something invisible. And when he turned back to his daughter, his expression looked pained.

  “Lara—”

  “The lady in Africa. Can you find her for me?”

  “Lara, do you expect me to go to Africa and bring her back?”

  “Yes,” she replied, trusting her dad could do absolutely anything. Wasn’t he the man who only yesterday had cocooned a whole spider within his hand and let it loose in the garden to roam free with all the other wildlife, while she screamed at the top of her voice? He could do absolutely anything. He was her dad.

  “Lara, I’m not sure—”

  “Promise? Do you promise? Please promise, Dad!” she demanded desperately, chest heaving and an army of tears ready to march down her cheeks as she sensed the no she so rarely heard from him.

  “Laralina. Hey … it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay,” said Dad, squeezing her so close she could smell the faint odor of cigarette and the mouthwash he’d used to conceal it. She buried her face in his chest, speech muffled by his shirt. “I just want to meet her, Dad, that’s all.”

  “And you will,” he replied hurriedly, rubbing her back. Lara secretly marveled at how easy it had been to get what she wanted. She was actually going to meet the Lady.

  “I’ll contact her in Africa and I’ll get her here, okay?”

  “In time for my birthday party?”

  He hesitated slightly, and a few lines popped up on his forehead. “But that’s today!”

  “Pleeeaaase…”

  “It won’t be easy…”

  “Please, Daddy.”

  “Yes,” he replied wearily at first and then firmly. “Yes. In time for your birthday party, Laralina love.”

  Then she felt satisfied enough to rest her head back on the safety of his chest where she stayed until Mum called out her name.

  The hours that followed passed in a haze of excitement, happiness, and expectation.

  Mum was used to the change in her daughter every year when a birthday party approached, but Lara knew differently. Never had she felt so excited or different in all her life. Not even when realizing she could ride a bike without stabilizers. Not even when she thought they were actually getting a Labrador.

  Pulling her new polka-dot dress over her head, she slid her feet into white socks and new red shoes. She wanted to look her best for her party and her very, extraspecial guest. Lara sighed, catching sight of her hair, as usual all tangled up in the middle and sticking out at the front. Mum had used all her strength to comb the strands out first before putting it in bunches, but in just half an hour, Lara looked as if she’d been running through a hedge sideways. Her hair just there. It was a look she was used to and that hadn’t bothered her until some of the girls at school started to make fun of it. Names like Afro Head and Basil Brush flowed freely from their mouths. She pretended the names didn’t hurt, but they did. All the time.

  “Lara, I have a little surprise for you,” said Mum, popping her head around the door. Lara’s heart threatened to jump out of that new dress. This was it. She was here.

  The Lady.

  “You look really pretty, sweet pea,” said Mum.

  “Thank you!” she replied with expectancy.

  “There’s someone very special here to meet you.”

  At last! “Are you serious?!” gushed Lara, placing her palm to her mouth, butterflies fluttering in her tummy. Suddenly, the seriousness of the moment began to hit her, and a wave of self-consciousness washed over her. And it was at that point she wished she’d made more of an effort with her clothes (even if the polka-dot dress did happen to be the best dress in her wardrobe). She could have stolen Mum’s lipstick at least or dabbed on some of Mum’s expensive lavender perfume that Dad always bought her on their anniversary. Lara patted her dress down and pasted on a smile, heart filling with happiness, hair all out and wild, suddenly not caring about anything else. She just wanted to see her.

  The Lady.

  Slowly, the door inched open.

  “Surprise!” said Mum. But instead of a lady from Africa, a very thin man, possibly from Kent, holding a huge gray bag, stood at the door with his hand on his hip.

  Lara’s mouth flew open.

  “Close your mouth, munchkin!” he said.

  Her mouth clamped shut.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he said breezing in and immediately grabbing hold of a clump of Lara’s hair as Mum looked on in amusement.

  “Tragic,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

  “It’s not that bad, is it?” asked Mum in mock sorrow.

  “It is. But never fear, I’m going to have to leap into my box of tricks and give you a makeover. You okay with that, Lara dear?”

  Confusion. “Who are you?”

  “I am what you call ‘hair and makeup.’ My name’s Phil and I used to work with your mum when she was a star. She’d wake up looking like a walrus, and by the time I was finished, voilà! A beauty queen—or at least a pretty walrus! Especially when I got rid of the ginger!” The grown-ups both laughed as Lara sat on the edge of her bed bathed in confusion.

  “Now then,” said Phil, reac
hing into the bag and producing a large steel instrument, which looked like a rusty pair of large scissors.

  “I know it looks weird, but it won’t hurt. I’m just going to put these tongs on the fire, warm them up, and use them on your hair. That way your mum can start to manage that bonce of yours!”

  Phil may as well have been talking another language, but Lara did manage to decipher with horror that this strange man was thinking of using that steel appliance on her hair. She’d never seen anything like it before.

  Lara followed Mum and Phil into the kitchen where Dad was sitting at the table reading a paper.

  “Dad?” she said, hoping he’d hear the potential terror in her tone as Phil placed the steel instrument on the open stove.

  “You look nice, love.”

  “Dad, Phil wants to use that on my hair!” she said, trying not to sound like a baby.

  “Not sure what they are but I’m sure it’s okay!” he said, eyes hardly moving off the page.

  Lara had no choice but to trust what Dad was saying regarding the scissor/comb/thing. She just desperately wanted to ask when her special guest was arriving. He didn’t look overly concerned, as he flicked the page of the newspaper over, so she decided to leave it. For now.

  She exhaled and squeezed her eyes shut as Phil got to work on her hair.

  Lara opened her eyes a few minutes later, to a full head of hair now beginning to resemble spinach after it had been in water for a few seconds—but in a good way.

  “Thanks,” she said some time later to the strange thin man in tight jeans and Doc Martens, who’d somehow waved a magic wand and transformed her hair into something Lara wasn’t yet sure she overly liked but that may do in the future.

  “You can keep the tongs,” said Phil.

  “At last I’ll be able to manage her hair now. Thank you, Phil. Mwah,” said Mum, planting a kiss on his cheek and sounding so different from how she usually did.

  Mum stuck a bow into the side of Lara’s “new” hair, and of course as soon as Kieron from next door saw her, he poked fun at the new look. But that was to be expected—he was a boy. His teasing basically meant she’d grow to love it sooner than she’d thought.

  The guests started to arrive, with the girls loving her new look. Lara glanced at the new Swatch watch Mum and Dad had bought her as a birthday gift, knowing the Lady would soon arrive, although Dad hadn’t said at what time.

  “Make a wish!” said Mum as Lara squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. The heat of ten candles diminished as a quick scene flashed inside her head. Gone were wishes of the past, which had once included a Sindy house or a Michael Jackson Bad album, things she didn’t care for anymore. All she now wanted was to meet the Lady.

  She imagined the two of them popping out to Captain Gino’s to eat ice cream and chocolates and have a chat. Lara really hoped she spoke English because she didn’t know a word of African. And if she did, Lara would ask her questions like: What was it like living in a faraway country like Africa? Did it ever snow? Did she see elephants and tigers? Had she ever met Nelson Mandela? The questions were plentiful and well thought out and perhaps at the end of their day together, as they sat eating ice cream sundaes in Captain Gino’s—she’d ask the Lady: Why?

  “Did you make that wish, sweet pea?” asked Mum.

  Lara almost revealed her wish, but Mum believed that if said out loud, it would never come true. And while Lara felt she was old enough to know that was rubbish, she wouldn’t be risking it.

  Three hours passed. The party was almost over, and only a few guests remained, consisting of Keely, Annie, and Jason plus Kieron from next door. Dad was nowhere to be seen.

  “Did you enjoy your party?” asked Mum, gently touching Lara’s shoulders.

  “Yes, it was lovely, Mum!”

  “Did you like the tape deck? It is the one you wanted?”

  “Yes, Mum.” It was the one Lara had once drooled over in the catalog. A double tape deck with triple, not double, bass. But she knew that pressing “Play” on a new toy would feel hollow and pointless without the one thing she yearned for.

  “And you finally get to have the Bad album all to yourself instead of fighting over Jason’s, thanks to Agnes and Brian.”

  “Yes, Mum,” she replied robotically.

  Everyone had left and Mum was vacuuming up the remnants of cake and deflated balloons as Lara stared at her watch once again.

  “You’ve been doing that for most of the day. Who are you waiting for?” asked Mum. Lara wasn’t sure what Dad had told her, so she shrugged her shoulders noncommittally.

  “Suit yourself,” said Mum.

  Lara peered out the kitchen window, her tummy flipping every time a car pulled up. Soon it would be getting dark.

  “Who are you looking for, sweet pea?” asked Mum, with a mouthful of birthday cake.

  “Mum, it’s rude to speak with your mouth full, you told me that!”

  “That’s true,” she said, standing beside Lara and following her stare through the net curtain and out to the street.

  7:45.

  “Time to get into your pajamas,” said Mum. Lara thought there was no way she could go to bed. Go to bed? The Lady was coming, and she needed to look her best. She had her polka-dot dress, shoes, and new hair to show her.

  “Can’t I stay up a bit longer, Mum? It is my birthday.”

  “Okay,” she replied, much to Lara’s immediate relief. Dad hadn’t been seen for much of the last hour and Lara wondered if he was thinking about where the Lady was, too.

  9:00.

  Lara sat on top of her own bed waiting, still dressed in her polka-dot dress, even though Mum had ordered her to get into her pajamas. But Lara didn’t see the point in having to get dressed again when the Lady came, so she thought it better to keep the dress on. The polka-dot dress that now had a tiny circular chocolate stain on the side.

  9:30.

  Lara rubbed at her eyes with tiredness, determined to stay up. Her head betrayed her as it swung back in quick slumber, only to jerk up once the balance was lost. She was determined to stay awake until the Lady arrived. Perhaps her plane had come in late. Or perhaps the Lady was stuck in traffic and she couldn’t get to a phone box.

  “Why aren’t you undressed?” asked Mum, peering into the room.

  “I’m waiting for the Lady from Africa,” replied Lara with a tight yawn, now too tired to care that she was giving away such a big secret.

  With a strained, sad look on her face, Mum simply said, “Lara, sweet pea, come downstairs. I think… I think your dad needs to have a word with you.”

  Stifling a potentially hearty yawn, Lara followed her mum down the stairs, still dressed in a polka-dot dress, a slight stain on the side, feet in slippers, hair meticulous with a bow, not a strand out of place, as she’d been combing it every ten or so minutes.

  Dad was sitting on the sofa.

  “Is she coming?” asked Lara as Mum closed the door behind her, leaving Lara and her Dad alone in the lounge. It was at that moment Lara began to sense this was serious.

  “No, she isn’t coming,” replied Dad, simply.

  “But … but I’ve been waiting all day for her!”

  “She got held up.”

  Another yawn. “So will she come tomorrow then?”

  “Lara, love—”

  “I’ll wait then. I can wait. Mum will put my dress in the washing machine and I’ll wear it again for her tomorrow. I’ll go and ask Mum now.”

  Dad took her arm gently. “Lara, listen, your mum is very cross with me at the moment, and she has good reason.”

  “Why is she cross?”

  “You’re a big girl now, and I should have been straight with you. I should have told you the truth.”

  “I better go and put the dress in the wash.” Dad’s hand caught her arm.

  “She isn’t coming, Lara.”

  “What do you mean she isn’t coming?”

  “She isn’t coming … because she can’t.”
/>   “Why?”

  “I don’t know; she just can’t today.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  “No, Lara. Not tomorrow.”

  “The next day?”

  “Lara, listen, you must do as your mum says and go to bed or you’ll be very tired tomorrow.”

  “But why isn’t she coming?” she persisted, unable to fathom what Dad was saying. He just sat there staring at her, unable to come up with an answer that made any semblance of sense.

  “Lara…”

  “Dad?”

  “I’m sorry, but she isn’t coming. Now, you must go to bed.”

  Exhaustion plus sorrow made it harder to fight, so Lara walked slowly to her room, body limp with exhaustion and disappointment. And as she climbed into her bed that night and just before she closed her eyes, Lara’s very own conclusions were the only ones to make any sense at that moment.

  The Lady didn’t want to come because of me.

  She didn’t want me.

  She didn’t care about me.

  Lara sat up and pulled out a picture of a three-year-old with huge plaits sticking out from her head and sitting on a strange bed. Ever since Mum and Dad had given it to her, she’d kept it close, had even taken it to school sometimes when the bullying got a bit too much. Even though the Lady wasn’t actually in the picture, Lara had always assumed she may have taken the picture or indeed was actually behind the person holding the camera. Either way, just having the picture near allowed her to feel close to the Lady, allowed her to feel that someone somewhere really far away was looking out for her and protecting her.

  Now, the picture crumpled easily in the palm of her hand as anger fought with tiredness.

  The damaged photo remained on the floor beside the bed, as Lara laid her head against the pillow, wiping away tears with the frilled sleeve of the polka-dot dress she wasn’t quite ready to change out of, just in case the Lady decided to come, after all.

  Chapter 15

  When Lara was hurt, angry, or frustrated, she lurched from upset to acceptance in the space of a few short minutes, a bit of rebellion thrown in between and then a quick shrug of the shoulders as she toddled off to her room, soon forgetting what had upset her in the first place.