Being Lara

by Lola Jaye

  “This man on the television has the same hands as my Soji, may he rest in peace. I could never marry a man with bad hands!”

  Lara had questions. Lots of them. There was so much she would need from this less than frail old lady. So many stories had been absorbed within her. And not just tales about the country of Lara’s birth, but also about members of an extended blood family Lara had never met. A grandfather, uncles, aunties, cousins, nieces, and nephews. And as she watched Granny’s mouth move in con-junction with her tongue, her hand gestures, and a sudden sparkle in her eyes, Lara knew she needed her.

  The silly “finding myself via Brixton” had been pointless. Lara had everything she needed ensconced in the mind of this eighty-plus-year-old grandmother and she couldn’t wait to hear everything she had to impart.

  They finished two whole packs of Rich Tea.

  “So have you married before?” asked Granny.

  “No.”

  “I didn’t see ring on your finger so I thought you had married before and thrown him out.”

  “No, I’ve never married.”

  “Are you courting?”

  “Sort of. Not really… I mean I’m seeing someone.”

  “Either you are courting or not.”

  “Then I suppose I am. Yes…”

  “In Nigeria you would have married by now. But you have time for that. Take your time. Don’t do as many do and marry the first man to help carry your water.”

  Lara smiled. This old lady was beginning to fill her up with sunshine. The total antithesis to Yomi, who, as soon as she appeared carrying two bags of shopping, diminished the sunshine.

  As Stella helped Yomi pack away the groceries, Lara knew it was time to head home.

  “Omolara, please come again,” said Granny as Lara leaned in to kiss her soft cheek. Yomi stood by the beaded doorway, looking on. She got a wave.

  “Try and keep me away,” said Lara.

  “Why would I try and keep you away?”

  “Oh, Granny, it’s a saying … never mind!” Lara giggled.

  “You sound just like him when you laugh,” said Yomi wistfully.

  “Like who?” said Lara and Granny in unison.

  “Just … somebody,” replied Yomi as her mouth immediately curved into a frown.

  After visiting that little house, Lara felt lighter than she had in days, pumped up with a little more knowledge about Nigeria and her extended family. The Internet was factual, but the way Granny told those stories—the feelings, smells, and colors that came alive—it was almost like being there. Tyler was right.

  She started up the engine, and an image of her parents crept into her head. The guilt walked in right behind, of course. Lara hadn’t seen them since the party, and it was time she paid them a visit, too.

  “Sweet pea, are you all right? We’ve been so worried about you,” said Mum.

  “I’m so sorry, Mum. I just needed time. I know I should have gotten in touch.” Lara handed her mother a pink-and-green paper bag containing goodies from her latest client.

  “I know, I know. I don’t think any of us have handled this very well.”

  “You did nothing wrong, Mum.”

  Lara had always walked into her old home filled with love and a huge bag of nostalgic memories. Now, instead, the memory of the last time she’d been there, frantically fleeing from Yomi, became the more dominant image.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Where do you think?”

  “Shed?”

  “In his shed,” confirmed Mum.

  Dad was on a chair, reading the back of the newspaper. He looked up, brightening when he saw her. “Hello, love.”

  “Sorry, Dad!”

  “What for?” he asked as she leaned in for a kiss.

  “Running off like that.”

  “As soon as we knew you were okay, it was all right. You just needed time to yourself.”

  “I did. I do. I needed time to digest everything, you know?” And she really hoped he understood, because out of everyone, Dad’s approval was what she craved and cherished the most.

  “It’s all right, Laralina love. It was a shock for all of us.”

  She sat on a plastic chair, still as uncomfortable as ever. Out of what looked like thin air, Dad produced a box of broken biscuits, which he offered to her dutifully.

  More biscuits, she thought guiltily. They were an instant reminder of where she’d been earlier.

  “You know, the first time we saw you, your mum fell in love with you. But me, well I was more concerned about the heat and the mosquitoes at night. I didn’t dare look at you just in case I saw what she saw. A beautiful little girl just crying out for some love.”

  “Why were you like that, Dad?”

  “I was worried it might not happen. Your adoption. We’d already lost one child and the authorities were being a little difficult with all the paperwork. It wasn’t until I had you in my arms that I allowed myself to believe you were really ours.”

  Lara chewed on a broken biscuit.

  “For a time there it was just you and me, living in Nigeria for those days while the bureaucracy got sorted. And very quickly, it was too late. I knew you’d already got me. Captured my heart so to speak, not that there’s much left of it now … it’s not in the greatest condition, all the cigarettes I’ve smoked! Anyway, you know what I’m trying to say…”

  “I think so…” She couldn’t speak or she just might lose it.

  “Having you was like … the most exhilarating elation. And it probably had something to do with how we came to have you. You choosing us like that.”

  “I chose you?”

  “Definitely. Without a doubt. And it’s because of that we always felt we were only allowed to have you for a short time and that you could slip out of our fingers at any given moment.”

  “I think I know what you mean.”

  “I remember thinking, if this girl ever decides to leave us and go in search of her real parents—it would devastate me. Absolutely kill me. And as the years passed it seemed less and less of a possibility, and you know what? I know this sounds selfish, but I preferred it that way.”

  “Oh, Dad.”

  “I just hadn’t banked on them coming to find you.” He turned away then, and Lara knew there was nothing she could say to make him feel better. Yomi and Granny were not going anywhere for now, and Lara didn’t have the power to send them away even if she wanted to. And she wasn’t sure she did anymore. Well, certainly not Granny, anyway. She was officially torn between the family she knew and loved and the one she’d yet to know.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

  “Nothing for you to be sorry about. Now let’s go inside and make a cuppa.”

  Lara spent the whole day in Essex eating Mum’s experimental red velvet cake and just being a kid again. It was a bit like old times.

  “So what did you think of the cake? First time I’ve ever tried red velvet; apparently it’s become really popular.”

  “Delicious, Mum. You know you’re the best cook ever.”

  “I try…” she said with a jokey wink.

  As Mum walked Lara to the car, arms laden with rectangular Tupperware full of food, she asked another question.

  “What do you think of your new grandmother?”

  “She’s okay. I mean she seems all right…” she replied, unable to look Mum in the eye.

  “It’s all right, you know. I mean, it would be nice for you to have a grandma. I always felt guilty for you not knowing my mum.”

  “What happened with her?”

  “A long story.”

  “That’s what you’ve always said. But you never really talk about her or your brothers and sister.”

  “Because there is nothing much to talk about. We lost touch, and that was that, you know? Never mind all that; I’ve got Agnes and Maria, and they are like sisters to me. You and I both know that love’s not determined by blood. Those closest to you sometimes have no blood connection whatsoever. Just lo
ok at you and Sandi.”

  Lara belted up and wound down the window. “Thanks for the food, Mum. I shouldn’t need to cook for a week.”

  “Not that you’d ever try! Thanks for the scarf and silver earrings. They are beautiful!!” enthused Mum as Lara put the car into gear.

  “No problem, Mum.”

  “Reminds me of my pop days, all these freebies. We have that in common at least!

  “See ya later, sweet pea,” she sang as Lara switched on the air conditioner, the window sliding upward and the tones of Tuface sweeping through the speakers.

  “Ohmigosh, what have you done?” asked Sandi.

  “My hair’s a little different but—”

  “Oh, come on, this is even more clichéd than going to Brixton! Is having braids in your hair supposed to make you more African or something?”

  “If you let me finish… I’ve always wanted to get them done,” said Lara, twirling a long thin braid with her fingers.

  “So did you go back to Brixton to get them done?”

  “N … no.... I went to a really nice salon on…”

  “Where?” Sandi raised an eyebrow.

  “Knightsbridge—”

  “You did what? They must have cost you a fortune! I know a girl who knows a girl who would have done that for fifty quid!”

  “Do you? How?”

  “Hello!? I may be different now, but I’m still friends with some good people who looked out for me when I had nothing. You know that!”

  “I thought you’d left that all behind.”

  “Please, I’d go mad if I had. I still know a few people from the old neighborhoods I used to live in. I’m not just Chanel and Muswell Hill. I have a past, Lara, and it’s a part of me. I wouldn’t just abandon it!” she tooted. Sandi’s words struck a chord. “Next time, I’ll get Nikki to sort you out. Damn, I can’t believe you’re my friend sometimes!”

  “Neither can I,” Lara said ironically.

  “So this is all to impress this new family?”

  “I don’t need to impress anyone. No, it’s all for me,” said Lara, pumped with false bravado, what Sandi had said about the past ringing in her ears.

  “Well, I know who won’t be impressed… Tyler. He might not go for your new look. Seems like a creature of habit to me!”

  “He’ll be okay,” she replied unconfidently, twisting another braid with the tips of her fingers, not quite used to the feeling of heaviness on her head.

  “You know nothing about men, do you?”

  Indeed, what Lara knew about men she could fit on a postage stamp.

  She remembered once, at fifteen, Sandy referred to her as a “late bloomer.”

  “Guess what?” said Lara as they sat in the garden one evening after school, Sandy kicking at one of Dad’s gnomes.

  Sandy looked deep into Lara’s eyes, a smile slowly creeping across her face. “Ohmigosh, me, too!” she squealed.

  “How do you know?” asked Lara, a little confused, recalling the trip to the chemist and Mum buying a jumbo-sized pack of towels, the look of pride on her face as if she’d just won an award.

  “I can tell by your face. Who is it, Lara?”

  “Who is what?”

  “Who’s asked you out?”

  “No one. I started my period!” she said, feeling rather deflated with the lack of impact that announcement now had.

  “Oh, that! I started mine ages ago, as you know.”

  She shuffled close, her mouth brushing Lara’s ear as she whispered, “I have a boyfriend.”

  “You always have boyfriends!” Actually, that made her sound like a slag. No, Sandy was very choosy when it came to picking from the hundreds of guys who followed her around (which embarrassingly now included Kieron and even Lara’s cousin Jason!). Sandy rarely gave any of them the time of day and had only been out with a couple of boys.

  “I hate to say it, but he may be ‘the one,’ kiddo.”

  And that’s when Lara wanted to die.

  From the moment Sandy introduced Lara to James Morris, Lara hated him—and his silly thin mustache he was proud to have been able to grow, skinny legs, and huge trainers. Sandy began to behave as if he were the only boy on earth, spending less time with Lara in the process. So Lara began to withdraw into herself more, spending extra alone time in the bedroom, listening to her tape deck, reading, talking to herself, and tapping the edge of things a lot more than usual.

  When Lara finally got asked out on a date by one of Kieron’s football mates, she at last was able to experience what Sandy had been gabbling on about for so long.

  And his name was Mitchell Simons.

  Sandy said he sounded like a newsreader, but to Lara “Mitch” had to be the sexiest, smartest name she’d ever heard. He was taller than Lara by about a centimeter (as long as she stooped a bit when they walked), and he wore a brilliant pair of multicolored Nike trainers from America that every boy in the area was after. Being with Mitch was great because it meant not feeling so alone anymore. Even Mum noticed the change and kept asking if she had a “boyfriend.”

  “Of course not!” she’d reply as Dad would add, “Leave her alone. Of course she hasn’t got a boyfriend.”

  But only Lara and Sandy knew the truth. Mitch Simons became their little secret, and for the first time in ages, Lara began to feel human again.

  “I know you’re seeing Mitch,” said Kieron from over the garden fence as she sat out in the sun, fan in one hand, glass of lemonade in the other.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “He’s an idiot, I hope you know that.”

  “Go away, Kieron,” she said, using her fan to “shoo” him off.

  “Even you are capable of doing so much better than him!”

  “Whatever you say.” She sighed, unable to hear anything negative about Mitch, the kindest and most considerate and generous boyfriend she could ever hope for. They held hands in the movies, he bought her chocolates. And when he leaned in for her first kiss in Dad’s shed, Lara floated off someplace. It bore no resemblance to anything Sandy had disclosed regarding first kisses. Any thoughts of colliding noses, opened eyes, and smelly breath were completely forgotten. The moment was heart-stoppingly beautiful, romantic (and they’d even swapped gum), and just like everything she’d ever dissected in a magazine. She loved hearing Mitch say how much he cared and that he’d always look after her. She never tired of hearing him say, “I missed you.” Of course deep down, she didn’t fully believe the words. But just to hear them was enough. And very much needed at a time when the world seemed such a scary place.

  And then he went and dumped her.

  Of course.

  As Lara’s relationship CV slowly grew over the years, the themes stayed the same. That first burst of excitement, lots of fun, then the mind-numbing fear that it would all be stripped away from her. She preferred the effort involved in planning for something that was tangible and was hers, like a career. Not a man.

  But then she met Tyler Jonsson, and her belief system shifted temporarily for the very first time.

  The event at the five-star Carlton Hotel was billed as a networking evening for online businesses. Lara would usually avoid such events but attended because she recognized the pluses involved in mixing with other entrepreneurs. Still, she merely expected to walk away with a couple of business cards and a full tummy. What she hadn’t bargained for was the sheer opulence of the event, suddenly wishing she’d searched through her wardrobe and chosen something dressier than a trouser suit, as women floated about in sparkly dresses and shiny shoes. Lara, now hit by waves of self-consciousness, scanned the area, hoping to spot an acquaintance, anyone to tag along with. But the elegantly decorated space was full of strangers milling around champagne flutes spread out on silver tablecloths, adorned with bone china plates. Foie gras, spring rolls, and tempura vegetables were served on small trays by smartly clothed staff dressed a lot like she was.

  She moved her feet to the jazz band belting out
modern chart music as huge plasma televisions showcased the latest online businesses to hit the Net. The hall filled up with even more sparkly dresses. A Mongolian chef flipped squid and green peppers in front of a line of hungry guests.

  “Impressive!” enthused a silver-haired man dressed impeccably in a gray suit and red tie.

  “I agree, it is very good. Someone has worked really hard,” Lara replied in her best “business voice.”

  “I meant you,” he said as she almost choked on a canapé. As feared, for the next twenty minutes Lara was hemmed into a boring threesome, which included a “know it all” businessman from Virginia who made a million selling custom-made socks online and the man with the red tie who also had the skill of spitting out his words along with whatever delicacy happened to be in his mouth.

  “So where are you from?” asked one.

  “Essex,” replied Lara, her eyes searching the room for an excuse, trying hard not to allow the familiar and rather annoying question to niggle at her.

  “I think he means, what country,” said the other.

  “England,” replied Lara flatly. She couldn’t even get angry anymore, just rather fatigued with the whole process of having to explain her origins. It didn’t happen very often and was usually confined to highbrow events, yet still, it happened. And sometimes she would spill out some of the intricacies of her adoption but mostly, she didn’t.

  “I’m from England. Essex. And I grew up in a house in Entwistle Way.”

  Borderline sarcasm dripped from her words.

  “You’re hardly a typical Essex girl though, are you?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Borderline defensive.

  “For a start, you’re classy…”

  “And that’s a compliment you must be glad to hear,” said the other. Lara decided to stop listening, acutely aware she was very much offended at not being regarded as a “typical Essex girl” even though people from London often saw such a term as a negative. She discreetly glanced at her watch for the one hundredth time, only to look up and notice the Most Beautiful Man in the World, heading toward her.

  “There you are!” he enthused.

  “Me?”