Being Lara (32 page)

Dad's face reddened passionately. She rarely saw him like this. But then again, she was rarely told her whole life had been a lie.

“Where are the letters now, Dad?” she said, urgently, the need to see the evidence so strong she would probably turn the house upside down just to get to them, hold them. Read them. The letters.
Her letters
. This couldn't be true, none of it. Her daddy never did things like this. He was her dad. Her hero. The first man she'd ever loved. What was he saying? Why was he saying it?
Who was he?

“The letters are gone, love.”

Fact.

“You destroyed them?” She scrunched her eyes in disbelief, wondering when these onslaughts would end. When her face would stop feeling the sting from each verbal slap. When she would be able to focus properly without the blur of rising bewilderment.

“I didn't want you to see them, so I thought it best to send them back to her. Return to sender.”

Lara sat in her office with a seventy-year-old man whose eyes glistened with pleas for forgiveness. She knew it couldn't feel right to chastise him but she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. She wanted to scream, shout, and ask him why? WHY HAD HE DONE THIS?

Her arms trembled.

“Dad, I have a meeting in a minute,” she lied.

“I thought we could go to lunch. Talk more about this.”

“I can't,” she replied robotically.

Dad said something else, but she wasn't listening.

Clearly he was in pain, but Lara didn't possess the strength to embrace him or to tell him anything. All she could feel was an onset of absolute rage she hadn't prepared for.

“Dad?”

“Yes … love?”

“Please go.” She said this evenly and with all the control she had left.

“But, Lara… I… I did it to protect you. That's what you do as a parent.”

“No, you did it to protect YOU.”

“Lara—”

“DAD, PLEASE GO! JUST GO!!” she screamed madly, her hands balled into fists, her mind reduced to a fuzzy red mist. Dad stood up abruptly, banging his leg against the desk, mumbling something she couldn't hear. He held on to her arm, and she looked at it—rigid in his hand, her whole body unresponsive to Dad's touch except for her trembling.

“Laralina? Love?”

She looked at him and couldn't place him. He was like a stranger who had just stopped by to say hello for absolutely no reason at all.

“Lara?”

“Just go, Dad!! Please JUST GO! I'M BEGGING YOU!”

And then she was alone again. She needed Tyler. She needed Sandi. She needed no one. Her breath came in gasps, as she hunched over the desk, every ounce of strength taken from her body. A batch of nausea hit the back of her throat. She was still trembling, refusing to shed a tear, pent-up emotion with no place to go. She had no idea of what to do, who to call. Even if she did, what would she say? That in the space of a quarter of an hour, her past had been completely rewritten?

What would she say?

I
t took a while for Lara to piece her thoughts together or even regain the ability to put one foot in front of the other. But when she did, she found herself engulfed with a need to connect with a certain someone. Talk, share, perhaps even be comforted by her. It was an urge so strong it wasn't until she stood outside the door of that little house that she actually realized just how significant a turning point this would be.

“Hello, Aunty,” said Stella, opening the door. As Lara sat down beside her grandmother, Stella left, then reappeared with a tray of Rich Tea biscuits and two steaming teacups decorated with the Union Jack.

“Thank you, Stella,” said Lara, taking a cup as Granny reached for a biscuit.

“All they know in this country is tea. Everything is tea,” said Granny with a smile.

“Now, tell me, what is bothering you so?”

“How do you know?”

“Ah ah, you are an Ogunlade, but also a Komolafe. Your grandfather Soji, God rest his soul, would always do like this when he wanted to tell me something he knew would make me think of why I did not marry Solomon Ajayi.”

“Who is Solomon Ajayi?”

“One of the suitors who wanted my hand. He was a handsome man but not like my Soji, who was fresh and nice. Solomon was like a wise old man, who has suffered, who has lived.”

“So what happened?”

“Soji was from a good family but Solomon … well, Solomon was a little bit wayward, you know. Always in the streets trying to make a living. Mama said he would bring me trouble. And she was right… Soji was for me…”

Granny trailed off into the distance and Lara waited until her “return” to the moment.

“That is the past. Today, you have been scratching your nose like your mother and her father. You want to discuss something with me, child?”

“Stella, more tea, please!” said Granny ten minutes later, before turning back to Lara.

“Granny, I thought you'd be more angry.”

“My anger was shown to my dotter, time ago. But as I became an old woman I know that the past has happened and we cannot change it. Ah ah, where is my tea, Stella! I have you now and this is my joy.”

“But the letters…” said Lara.

“Child, you do not know what would have happened if you would have received those letters,” she continued, matter-of-factly. “We cannot see into what could have been.”

“I understand, Granny, but—”

“I am thinking you do not. You are thinking things would have been like this. Or like this. But you do not really know.”

Granny placed a hand on Lara's rigid arm. “If I cook some
ẹ
bà and good soup and good meat and you eat it—how can you be sure the same meal cooked by Yomi would be as flavorsome?”

“I don't understand, Granny,” Lara replied, shaking her head manically.

“Have you thought that if you had stayed with us your life would not be as flavorsome as it now is?”

Lara shook her head slowly.

“You could be married to Tunge Ogisaye and selling pepe on Iju Road. Never to ride in a car like you have, instead carrying a heavy load in a steel pan on your head. You are a clever woman. An intellect.”

“Not really, Granny. I got a 2.2,” she replied jokily, attempting to lighten the moment.

“Mrs. Apampa's granddaughter did not finish her schooling! Anyway, what I am trying to say is this: I know you are thinking about what your life could have been like if you stayed with us, or if your daddy didn't hide the letters, but as I have said to you before and I will say again, look,” she said, pointing to her eyes. “And really see the life you DO have, eh? Here in England. Your life is a good life, and that is what you should be thankful for and not what you think you could have had, because like the eel in the water swimming happily just before it is caught, you will never know what could have been.

“Those moments are no more. Like many things, you must let them and any thoughts of them go. What you need to know from this was that Yomi cared enough to contact you, her dotter.”

“She cared…” managed Lara. It was hard to say the rest. “What about Dad?”

“What about him?”

“I trusted him, Gran.”

“And there, child, you repeat yourself. Let it go. It serves no purpose in your life! You are merely holding yourself in shackles when you should just be seeing what is good in it and—”

“Move on. I get it, Granny. But … but my dad … he lied to me and to Mum. He made me think…”

“Are you going to forgive him?”

“As I told Mum, I can't right now.”

“One forgiveness at a time then. And I think Yomi has waited long enough. You must get to know her. Find out about her. There is an old African saying; ‘When you are not aware of someone's goodness, why should you be moved by her sadness?'”

Lara sat back on the chair and blew out a puff of quick air. “I get it, Gran. I do, I really do.” And she did. Her anger at Dad and his recent revelation had diffused a lot of the heat toward Yomi. Lara thought now she could get to know her, give her a chance, believe she wasn't after her money after all. But she didn't know where to start. And that's why she had come to Granny. “Any suggestions?”

“You and my dotter are alike in many ways. Like you, she is, how do you call it … quiet? Lonely?”

“I think I know what you mean.”

“But the light in your eyes, they shine when you are at your work.”

Lara suddenly felt embarrassed.

“Do not be ashamed of this. Not many people can say they are happy in their work. It is the place that you will spend most of your time, so why not?! What I am saying is this; my Yomi has things that make her look happy. She used to like to read books, but she don't do that anymore. She used to really enjoy it. She would also like to cook. Before she married, she was almost better than me at cooking soup. Ah, you have given me an idea....”

Lara didn't have the heart to tell Granny that cooking had never been her strong point. She was just happy to try anything to break the ice with Yomi. Besides, saying no to her grandmother was probably not something anyone could do!

So Lara found herself wrapping an apron around Granny's waist as Yomi laid out Lara's rarely used orange chopping board on the worktop. Lara sliced up onions, tomatoes, and peppers; and Yomi placed them in the retro blender Lara had only used once for a smoothie before discovering the juice bar across the road.

Granny conducted surgery on a chicken under the tap. “We will be needing more onions than that!” she said passionately. Lara placed the knife into a fresh onion, the end catching the tip of her finger as she pushed down.

“Ouch!” she protested as a droplet of blood seeped from torn skin.

“Here we are,” said Yomi, grabbing Lara's arm quickly and carefully leading her to the sink. Lara's first instinct was to recoil from her touch, but instead and for the very first time in Yomi's presence, she allowed herself to relax, shoulders descending as the cold tap ran over her injured finger. Lara pointed to the little green First Aid box on top of the crockery cupboard.

Yomi's forehead creased with concentration as she carefully wrapped the plaster around Lara's finger.

“Is this okay for you, Omolara? Is it tight enough?”

“Yes, yes it is, thank you.” Lara weakly attempted to pull her hand away, but Yomi held on to it, stroking the tip of the nail, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Come on now!” said Granny, stooping down to retrieve a large pot. “We have to begin frying. Come on, what are you waiting for, woman?”

Lara and Yomi shared a short giggle as Lara pulled her hand from Yomi's grip, gently, careful not to offend her. She was having a good time and wanted, no, needed, this feeling of being a part of two human beings who, up until a few weeks ago, she'd never actually met.

The white fluffy rice cooked beautifully, and the glaring red stew bubbled in a large dish on Lara's rarely used dining table. There was a proud collective sense of achievement at what they had produced.

“I never thought I'd see this day. Three generations of Komolafe women standing here in London, cooking a feast. It is an utter joy and privilege.” Granny placed an arm around Lara's waist. “You are my darling, do you know that? I have many grandchildren who I love dearly, but none as special as you. Sons can sire many children, but the child of a dotter—nothing compares to it.”

Lara shook with the intensity of Granny's words. To be thought of as part of her family—the Komolafes—overwhelmed her in a good way. Did she actually
belong
? Was she actually
wanted
?

“The onions are making my eyes water,” Lara said quickly, hurrying to the bathroom, knowing Granny had already noticed her tears.

They ate, heartily. They talked a little—small talk admittedly, but a dialogue nevertheless. Granny discreetly removed herself from the dining table and onto the sofa, insisting she wanted to catch the handsomest, freshest man she'd ever seen apart from Soji—Dale Winton—on one of his advertisements. So for the most part it was just Lara and Yomi. And it felt good.
Really good.

After dinner, Granny lay snoozing on the sofa as Yomi placed her phone and lipstick into her bag.

“We should be getting back to the house soon. It is getting late and a little bit chilly for Mama.”

“She looks so peaceful on the sofa … why don't you stay here until tomorrow morning? Or for a few days in fact? I mean, it makes better sense.”

“That would be wonderful! But where would we sleep?”

“Granny can take my bed, and I have a blow-up bed you can use.”

“What of you?”

“I'll just sleep on the couch.”

“Down here with me?” said Yomi.