Being Lara (15 page)

“I've been … you know, busy … what with Barry and the house.”

“Oh really? Busy doing what? You've got no kids!”

“Think you're better than us. Always have, since the day you made that record.”

“You even speak different now. All proper!”

“Stop it, kids, will you?!”

“No, she needs to hear it! She never even wants to help us out with a few measly quid, either.”

“I just don't know you anymore, Pat! Not sure I want to!”

“I said stop it! I won't have this in my house!”

Under the table, still unseen, Pat placed the checks firmly back into her handbag and clasped it shut, blocking out the verbal lynch mob made out of her siblings. She turned to her mother, wanting to tell her about the loss of her much wanted, already loved, beloved baby almost three years ago. Her fears. She just wanted a hug from her mum, really. That's what she'd always wanted every time she set foot in her childhood home, which is probably why she never hardly visited anymore—it was all just so hard.

“Remember, Maria's coming round and I said we'd go out… I can tell her not to come if you like?” Pat felt excitement at the prospect of seeing her friend again, but mostly she was content to just snuggle up with Barry for the evening. But Barry had insisted she “go and enjoy herself,” and she suspected he was looking forward to a few cigarettes in front of the telly. So off she went to relive the old days with Maria.

“I haven't fit into this dress since my singing days!” she complained to Maria, who pulled on a cigarette as they sat on Pat's bed.

“What, three years ago? It wasn't that long ago!” replied Maria, bright orange hair and a fresh tan from touring the Far East with an up-and-coming band. But to Pat it did feel like a long time ago. An eternity, in fact, because so much had happened since. So much had changed.

“Your figure's as good as it's ever been. And we're going to show it all off tonight!”

Pat felt her insides double over at this statement, her eyes perhaps pleading with Barry to suddenly become the macho husband and demand she stay put. In reality, she probably needed the night out, especially with everything with her family; she was still undecided about whether to give them the money or not, their behavior still hurtful and fresh in her mind.

The inside of the pub immediately reminded Pat of her singing days in Old Compton Street, with fond memories fading away as soon as Maria air kissed one of two men sitting at the bar. Travis was a thing of the past, and Maria had embraced singlehood with gusto.

“This is Kayo,” she said, introducing the tallest of the two. He had the most piercing dark eyes Pat had ever seen.

“Hello,” he said with a shake of her hand. Pat couldn't help flinching as Maria expertly stuck her tongue into the mouth of the shorter man. So, with no choice but to look at Kayo, Pat hoped he wasn't expecting her to do the same. Of course he wasn't. And why would he? Under a full cloud of embarrassment, Pat sat down at the table waiting for Maria to complete her tongue probe. This wasn't part of her life anymore, thought Pat. She was an Essex housewife who actually enjoyed being an Essex housewife.

“And this is Raphael. Raphael, this is my pop star friend who is slowly turning into a middle-aged suburban housewife. Meet Trish!” Maria said with a laugh.

“A pleasure to meet you,” said Raphael as Pat pinched Maria's arm playfully.

The four of them sat down to bar snacks as Pat tried to resist the further pull of embarrassment as her best friend and a man named Raphael smooched at the table like teenagers.

“Are they always like this?” asked Pat, turning to Kayo.

“This is my first meeting with Maria. But I suspect they are!” Kayo had a slight accent. Jamaican, maybe.

“I suppose it's going to be a long night.”

Half an hour later, Maria and Raphael remained in a lip-lock.

“And my sister has five children,” continued Pat, unable to tell if she was boring poor Kayo to death as she described the entire lineup of her family.

“You seem very into your family—this is good. Family is very important.”

“It is … and I am…” Pat replied tentatively, tempted to give him the lowdown on her current family strife, before reminding herself he was indeed a stranger. Her mother had brought her up never to reveal too much in the presence of strangers or, put her way, “No one needs to know the ins and outs of a cat's arse, Pat.”

“In my country, family is very important, too,” said Kayo.

“Where's that?” she asked, thankful for the diversion of the conversation.

“Nigeria.”

Pat had never knowingly met a Nigerian before. She'd assumed most of her contacts in the music business had been from the Caribbean, so she suddenly saw Kayo as someone with a vast knowledge of a world she knew absolutely nothing about and this excited her.

“That's so great,” she enthused.

“It is? You're the pop star!” he countered, playfully.

“Not anymore, Kayo!” she replied, knowing she was probably pronouncing his exotic name all wrong.

“So if I study law, try one case, am I not still a lawyer?”

“Good point.”

“But you are right, Nigeria is a fantastic place. It is Africa's most populous country and I am very proud of it. But”—Kayo leaned in closer and she could smell the muskiness of his aftershave—“Nigeria is also the world's eighth-largest provider of oil in the world and yet there is so much poverty.”

“I guess we can't change the world,” said Pat, who as soon as she heard her own words immediately wanted to backtrack, because they were words her brothers would probably spit out over a pint of beer.

“But we can all do our little bit, Pat.”

“Oh, I agree,” she replied sheepishly.

Pat and Kayo were immersed in deep conversation as the love-birds, Maria and Raphael, went for more drinks.

Pat and Kayo discussed the political issues of Nigeria, the effect of colonization, and even the psychology of its people, with Pat deciding she could listen to this man all night.

“When people have been held down and made powerless for so long, it has a detrimental effect that can last generations,” he enthused to Pat's robust nods. She wasn't quite sure what he meant, but her ears did prick up when he spoke about a children's home he was affiliated with. He reeled things off with a wondrous passion that she just couldn't help but admire and could only wish her brothers possessed an ounce of.

“We started that place with a shack full of rubble, and now it is going from strength to strength.”

Much to Maria's delight, Raphael allowed himself to be dragged off to a hotel, leaving Pat alone with Kayo in the pub. She didn't mind though, since she was enjoying their conversation so much.

By the end of the evening, she'd been captivated by Kayo's hypnotic energy. And they hurriedly arranged to meet again, this time at Pat's house when Barry was working late and where they would not be disturbed by anyone.

Over a pot of tea they discussed life-changing issues. She felt guilt at what others had done in her name. She made promises she was determined to keep. And there were moments when she knew her emotions were ruling her head, bypassing what was normal or sensible or in fact anything she'd ever done before in her life. But so what? Why not?

What harm could it do, just this once? Life was short and it was time she did … something.

Pat

1983

T
rish Invests in an African Village!” read the rather inaccurate and tiny newspaper headline. Pat was hoping it was small enough to bypass her brothers en route to the back page, via page 3—a hope that faded as soon as she entered her mother's kitchen.

“I see you've been giving your money away,” said her mother as she kneaded a tough lump of dough on the wooden table. The heat from the oven felt comforting and familiar as Pat sat down.

“Just a bit, Mum … to a charity.”

“Granna!” squealed one of her brother's little boys as he ran into the kitchen, arms outstretched.

“'Ello boy,” replied Pat's mother as she kneaded the dough. “You think I was born yesterday, dontcha?”

“No, I don't! And neither was I. I trust Kayo; he's put his heart into this project and I wanted to help him. Do you know the part the Western world has played in the destruction of the African continent?” replied Pat, defensively.

“No, I don't, but I do know I was talking to our boy here. He just wants to come to me so he can make his way round to my oven and he thinks I don't know that.”

“Oh,” Pat replied sheepishly as she patted her lap, beckoning her little nephew over.

“But if you have things on your mind, then that's nothing to do with me.”

Pat's cheeks colored as she produced a lollipop from her bag and gave it to her nephew.

Pat's brother came into the kitchen and tickled his son weakly on his neck. “'Ello there,” he said before turning to the fridge. “You are such a mug!” he then said derisively.

“And why is that?” asked Pat with a sigh, aware that if his son wasn't about, her brother probably would have called her something a lot stronger.

“My mate showed me that article about you giving money away to some African village!”

“It is for charity.”

“What does Barry say about it?”

“Behind me a hundred percent.”

“Always a sap, that one.”

“Don't speak about Barry like that,” she replied, close to tears.

“Charity begins at 'ome in my book. And how can you trust them Nigerians anyway? You should be at home having a kid. What's taking you so long, anyway? Old man Barry not up to it?!”

That stung, especially as Pat and Barry had finally decided to be at peace with the fact it was probably never going to happen, that perhaps she was not as fertile as her sister. They'd sat in the garden, held each other close, and decided to focus on the possibility that this happy life they lived was probably their lot and, if so, that was more than okay. They had each other. An unbreakable bond, which was a lot more than some people had. A lot more than what her own mother and father had.

However, her brother's comments, as usual, hurt. Not to mention the “them Nigerians” bit. Time had clearly not evolved any of her siblings into decent human beings, and she was sick of them.

He continued. “There's probably no school anyway. Just a load of natives having a laugh at your expense. As I said—mug!”

Pat held on to her nephew tightly, as if feeling him would prevent her from saying something she may or may not regret or from bursting into tears.

“Your sister's not stupid,” said her mother in a rare show of support. Pat quickly glanced over to her, as if to offer silent thanks, but her mother resisted any eye contact as she continued to knead that lump of dough.

On the way home, Pat acknowledged that her brother's words had stuck to her like watery leeches. She was due to hand over the remainder of the money to Kayo—ten thousand pounds—but hadn't actually seen the building in question. There were shots of building work that could have been taken anywhere and at any time and staff who could actually be Kayo's family members posing for the “stupid English woman with all the money.” A strong wave of doubt began to surge through Pat's body, making her feel as stupid as her brother had implied. She'd trusted the friend of a man Maria had known for about five minutes and pledged money on the basis of an evening's chatter! A sickening feeling of dread followed her as she made her way home.

“You're back!” she exclaimed, running into her husband's arms as soon as he walked through the door five minutes after she had. Pat had been craving the security of his presence, the reassurance of his voice, and yet now, that just didn't seem enough.

“Am I an idiot?” she asked, finally slipping out of her coat. The night had turned blisteringly cold, yet strangely enough, Pat was sweating.

“Who have you been talking to, love?”

“Please answer me, Barry. Am I some guilty fool trying to make up for the actions of some faceless ancestors by wanting to give this money to Kayo?”

“You,” he said, cupping her face in his hands, “are the most loving and generous woman I have ever met. You love children and simply want to help them out. If that's being a fool, then sign me up, Trish, because you're one in a million and I love you for it.”

She could always count on Barry to say the right words, even if her doubts weren't immediately erased.

“Besides, you're not giving it to Kayo, it's for the children!”

She kissed his forehead playfully and suddenly became breathless. Giddy even. “I want to go.”

“Where to? I've just got in, love!”