Being Lara (31 page)

“I came to see you… Mum.”

Her mother's expression didn't seem to change, giving nothing away, while Pat's inner thoughts played across her face like a set of radio stations being switched over, again and again.

“This is your aunty Pat,” her mother said to the boy, finally.

The girl placed a hand to her mouth. “Ohmigosh, the pop star one?”

“That's her,” said Pat's mother, and for a time there, Pat thought she'd glimpsed a hint of pride in her mother's face.

“So lovely to meet you,” said the young man, reaching out to shake her hand, and immediately she knew he was her youngest brother's child. He looked exactly like him at that age. He had her father's eyes, too.

“We've heard so much about you, Pat,” gushed the girl.

“All good I hope,” said Pat automatically.

“Definitely. Gran never stops talking about you!”

Pat smiled at that. Her mother had been talking about her.

“And this is my boy, Tony. Tone, say hello to your … your great-aunty, I suppose!” The three of them laughed as Pat's mother finally took out the dish from the oven. A large Madeira cake.

The young family left after hours of reminiscing, sharing of photos on mobile phones, and the revelation that Pat's second-eldest brother was in prison and their “good-for-nothing father” had never got in touch.

“They're lovely kids,” said Pat's mother. “A lot better than your sister's lot. They hardly come and see me. But my boys' kids, good as gold.”

Pat wanted to roll her eyes at that, as she realized nothing much seemed to have changed regarding her mother's favoritism.
Her boys.

Another pot of tea and Pat acknowledged the catch-up with her nephew had been good, but now it was just the two of them and she wanted more. Not a hug or anything like that, as that wasn't her mother's way. Pat just wanted her mother to ask about Lara. To say something, anything, about her because for the last twenty-seven years, that little girl had been the biggest part of Pat's life.

Then she remembered an old picture in her wallet of Lara holding Barry's hand. She and Maria had forced her into that pose, knowing it would probably be the last time she'd ever obey anything ever again, since by that time she was almost twelve and on a fast track to teenagehood.

“This one was taken just before Lara was thirteen.” Pat carefully watched her mother scan the picture. And waited.

“It's a nice picture. She's lovely,” she said before handing it back. Pat felt slightly disappointed with that response, but it was something and it was a start. She needed to tread carefully. It had been so long. So very long.

They chatted about members of the family, ate more cake, and then she said good-bye. Pat hoped to visit her mother again and perhaps introduce her to the granddaughter she never got to meet.

For now though, it felt nice to just share a piece of cake and a cup of tea with her mum.

Lara

Now

L
ara procrastinated with mundane issues as she stared blankly at the computer screen. The little spider currently making its way up the office wall intrigued her. Its wiry body had ventured up a quarter of the way, with so much more space to conquer and no oasis en route—just acres and acres of Dulux-painted, neutral-colored wall space. It used to feel as if her own journey to “being Lara” had become arduous to say the least… Twenty-seven years of wondering about the unknown.

Until Granny.

Of course, the questions still floated around her in every form and in every aspect of her life, but thanks to this older lady who stooped when she walked yet flatly refused a walking stick, the answers too were now stacking up nicely, which ironically at times bred
new
questions. Like wondering what life may have been like if that fork in the road had led her onto a different path. Staying put in Nigeria and being brought up by Yomi and her father, the Mighty Chief. She smiled at this ludicrous detail. That she, plain old Lara Reid from Essex was a chief's daughter! She imagined herself in a feather dress and half a tiger wrapped around her shoulders. Her only reference point for such a life was courtesy of the old movie
Coming to America
. Had her kingdom been just as colorful and enchanting? What would she have been like? Her personality, her goals, her taste in clothes?

She touched the side of her face absently, thinking that even if this chief of Lagos dude was alive, he probably wouldn't have been bothered much, because according to Granny, Lara was one of many sired children. He'd married numerous women, and according to the Internet site on polygamous marriages in Nigeria, the first wife was always the special one. And as far as she knew, Yomi had been number three or four or five. Nevertheless, Lara would at least have been fluent in Yoruba and the Queen's English, words like
Nice one, pucker,
and
moron
never once entering her vocabulary. She would have learned Nigerian customs such as curtsying to elders, and knowing how to cook pepe soup would have been second nature. Some days she would probably have been seen in a wrapper and buba, complete with head tie. On the other hand, she wouldn't have known her family—Brian, Agnes, Rob, Keely, Jason, Annie—Sandi, or indeed Kieron from next door.

Or Pat and Barry.

And the thought of her parents being unknown to her like Yomi and the chief was something she found unable to imagine, the thought so horrific she had to catch her breath before answering Jean's knock.

“Lara, it's my mother. She's not been very well and her condition has worsened. I will have to go home, back to France,” said Jean.

“Of course, Jean,” she said, moving over to him and placing a hand on his stiff shoulder. He placed his head in his hands, swiped them over his face, leaving a pink film on his skin and looking as if he hadn't slept for days.

“I will finish up today, but I really must go. I'm not even sure when I'll be back.”

“No, you go now. Go home, pack, and give your mum my love.”

“Thank you, Lara. I am sorry to leave you like this.”

“Don't be silly. Just make sure she's okay.”

He looked up and with a straight smile said, “You only have one mum, right?”

After seeing Jean off, Lara sat down to the brochure of new lines being introduced to the website. She had hoped to go through each new accessory and discuss presentations with Jean, because she relied on him more than she cared to admit. But within the space of a few minutes, her workload had doubled.

She rang the temping agency, then phoned her own mum, needing to hear her voice, especially with what Jean was going through.

“I can help out if you like, sweet pea.”

“Don't be silly, Mum; I'll be fine.”

“I used to be quite good at putting things together in my old singing days. I didn't have a stylist like all those youngsters like Kylie do. Your dad and I were it!”

“And Phil!” said Lara.

“Oh, sometimes, Phil!”

Mum rarely spoke about her pop star days anymore, and although Lara would have loved to have heard more, she really had to press on with work.

“Sorry, Mum, I have to go,” she said guiltily.

“Okay, sweet pea, but remember the offer's still there.”

The next morning, the temp arrived. A busy day lay ahead but Lara's pen, for some reason, hovered over a contract, unsure of how to sign her name. It was a silly, irrational moment, which seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Lara Reid or Omolara Ogunlade?

The desk phone beeped.

“Ms. Reid?”

“Cally, call me Lara, please.”
Or Omolara,
she thought.

“Your father is here to see you.”

She felt a prickle of alarm as the door opened.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, surprised, elated, and relieved it wasn't another blast from the past—an undead chief, perhaps, and his leopard/feather-clad entourage barging into her office. She was clearly losing her mind.

“It's not a crime to come in to see my little girl, is it?”

“Mum let you out?”

“Something like that.”

They embraced heartily.

“Sorry I haven't been over much since my visit. Not much of a daughter, am I?”

“Never say that Laralina love. You're the best daughter a man could have.”

Dad was looking a little intense, clearly with something to say. The only time he'd ever visited Lara's office was just after her first week of work was coming to an end and she'd invited her parents to view her “posh” new office. Dad had made an impromptu speech and shed hard tears, blubbing about how proud he was of her, Mum calming him down with a peppermint and cries of “you big softy.”

“Sit down, Dad. I'll get Cally to fetch in a cup of tea,” she said.

“No, that's all right, love. I need to say this first. It's important and you'd better sit down.”

“Dad, what's this about?”

“I need to say, first, that all I have ever wanted for you was the best.”

“Dad, you're scaring me. Are you okay?”

“Just remember that when I tell you I'm sorry, I truly am…”

“What are you sorry about? Dad, you're being daft!”

“For what I did a very long time ago. The day … the day of your tenth birthday. Do you remember that day?”

She'd never forgotten it. The polka-dot dress. Sitting on her bed, trying not to fall asleep just in case her special visitor arrived. The night of misery, pain, and rejection that followed. It was a place she'd often visit during some of her more negative moments as an adult. Of course she would never, ever forget that day.

“I vaguely remember it, Dad!”

He continued. “That night, I lied to you, Laralina. Told you I'd contacted Yomi and that she was coming. But I never did… I let you think she was on her way when really … she wasn't. She never was, love. I never contacted her then … or ever.”

Dad gazed at her, like a naughty child waiting for his punishment.

“I don't… I don't think I understand, Dad.”

“I lied, Lara.”

Dad had lied about Yomi.

Lara nodded her head, unable to focus, unable to really understand what her dad was telling her. “It's fine, Dad, I … don't worry about it … it's nothing, and it was a long time ago. I don't even think about it anymore.” She turned her face away, eyes widening in disbelief as the truth began to seep in.

Dad lied?

But this
was
okay. It didn't change anything. The fact still remained that Yomi had left her at the Motherless Children's Home almost thirty years before. Nothing changed the facts.
And the facts were the facts.

“Thanks for letting me know, Dad. It's all right. Really. I guess a part of me has always known.”

“I'm so sorry, love. Are … are you all right, love?”

In all honesty, Lara wasn't sure how she felt, perhaps still a bit shell-shocked and unsure but able to cling to the facts: Yomi had still left her at the Motherless Children's Home and never bothered to get in touch until now. FACTS.

“Dad, let me treat you to lunch, okay,” she said with a smile.

“I haven't finished yet, Laralina love.”

“Dad, it's okay we'll … we'll get through this… It's okay.”

“Please listen. I haven't finished.”

Oh, how she wished he had finished. How she wished his confessional had ended there and they'd trotted off arm in arm to the sports bar just opened up beside WH Smith only last year. As soon as Lara had seen it she knew Dad would love the wall-to-wall plasma televisions covering every sporting event around the world—tennis, football, hockey—and men discussing the offside rule and whatever else. She had imagined Dad with the biggest steak and renowned potato wedges as she looked on adoringly at fab old Dad, nicking wedges to place among the greenery of Greek salad, knowing he'd share with her anyway because he's Dad—he is. He's her dad, the best dad in the world.

How she wished they'd just gone to that poxy sports bar.

Instead, her daddy sat in that office and told her he'd been lying for years. Yomi
had
tried on three occasions to contact Lara, by letter, finally giving up just before she was nine, a good year before that tenth birthday party when everything had fallen apart.

A WHOLE YEAR.

“W … why…?” asked Lara hoarsely, her throat feeling like sandpaper, eyes unable to connect with her dad.

“I d … don't know…” he replied.

“You must know.”

“It's like I've said before; you were ours. We loved you.
I
loved you. I couldn't bear for anyone to take you away from us. Not after everything we'd been through. Not after everything
you'd
been through. You were settled in school, made good friends, you were and are a Reid. I wasn't going to let anyone take my little Laralina away from me. Never!”