Being Lara (21 page)

“Sweet pea?” said Mum, walking in and startling her as the sleeve fell to the floor.

“You want to put a record on?”

“No… I…” Lara bent down to pick up the sleeve, slotting it securely among the others, disappointed not to have felt any different as she'd gazed at the picture of the man who could be her natural African father.

“Sweet pea, what makes you think the man from Boney M is your father?” said Mum in between a huge gulp of laugher fifteen minutes later.

“I heard Maria tell you.”

“Maria says things sometimes, silly things. She was just having a joke, that's all!”

“So, if he isn't then… Does that mean the man who is, is in Africa, too? Along with the Lady you got me from?”

“Oh, Lara…” said Mum, suddenly looking serious.

Mum usually had the answers to everything—a question on homework Lara couldn't work her head around, or something on the television she didn't understand. But like her explanation about hair color, Lara just wasn't satisfied with Mum's answer. And that night and for the rest of the week, Lara counted in even numbers before almost everything she did, however long it took to do.

The night of Lara's first Parents' Evening at secondary school, she couldn't help but fear the worst.

“What's wrong with you? You've been weird all day!” said Sandy as they waited in the assembly hall with the rest of the first years. When Sandy had first learned who Lara's parents were, she'd said nothing, until Lara had finally asked her what she thought. Her reply had been something she'd never forget: “Girl, who gives a shit who your folks are as long as they don't hit you across the head for no reason other than breathing and don't steal from you?”

Not quite the response she'd expected but at least a positive one. Sort of.

Parents filtered into the assembly hall as she kept a lookout for Mum and Dad, knowing their arrival could ruin everything she'd worked for at that school. Sandy's foster parents walked in behind Mum and Dad as Lara silently and regretfully said good-bye to her almost perfect run as a student at Wells Girls School.

“There she is!” said Dad a little too loudly. People would hear, put two and two together, and her life would be over. She squirmed out of Dad's accompanying embrace.

“Lara is an exceptional student. You must be very proud, Mr. and Mrs. Reid,” said Mrs. Sully, the maths teacher.

“We are,” said Mum and Dad in unison. Lara's eyes floated around the assembly hall, and a couple of the kids who'd stared at the start were now engrossed in discussing their own progress. In fact, everyone in that assembly hall appeared occupied with something other than Lara and her “different” family. Some kids were in the midst of a telling off over a bad report while some parents were bragging about how clever their offspring were.

And nobody was looking at Lara.

Nobody was looking at her family.

Elated, she caught up with Sandy in the toilets.

“How's it all going with you?” asked Lara.

“The olds don't give a damn. They just like getting paid at the end of the week an' then being told how kind they are to have taken me in. Sandra could do better, blah, blah, blah,” she said in a mocking voice.

“Sorry about that, Sand'.”

“Don't be. They can all kiss my ass. I'm gonna make more money than all of them one day!”

“How? As an actress?”

“No way. I know drama's the only subject I get a decent grade in, but I'm more for using this.” She pointed to her head, today sprouting huge curls with blond streaks, as she'd finally been allowed by her foster mum. Or she'd just gone out and done it herself. Could never tell with Sandy. “How about you and your folks?”

“They seem pleased. Do you think anyone's noticed them, you know…?”

“It's a bit obvious not to!”

Lara's heart sank.

“But no one gives a toss. It's all in your head!”

“Connie Jones was real.”

“Connie Jones is an idiot bitch! Forget it.”

They both laughed, and Lara felt the pressure ebb away.

Just then, the door to the toilets opened and a girl from another class who'd never really spoken to them before walked out and simply said, “What, are your parents, like, white? What's that about?”

Lara rolled her eyes, pushed her head back onto the graffitied wall, sighed, and whispered, “Here we go again,” as Sandy burst into a fit of laughter.

Now

L
ara's thirtieth birthday party in a little terraced house in Entwistle Way, Essex, no longer held amplified sounds of party poppers, streamers, and popping balloons. Instead, a “Happy Birthday, Lara” banner flapped pathetically with the breeze from a shut door. Dried-up cheese and pineapple on a stick. Half-drunken glass of Cava with a lipstick stain on the side. Everything on Standby, Mute, still and colored with the arrival of this mystery guest.

Lara craved the safety of her dad's shed, that tiny cramped space, the scene of many a secret chocolate biscuit feast with her dad. It was the room in which she'd finally kissed her first boyfriend and where she and Sandi had shared their innermost teenage secrets.

But there appeared to be no escape as this tall and elegant stranger standing at the door pinned her down with a shrill “OMOLARA!” Guests came out of their temporary catatonia to stare at Lara while trying to act “normal.” Agnes and Brian were agog while biting bits of rolled ham and pickled onion; Rob was sipping on a cold beer, his eyes heavy with pity; and cousin Keely was picking her nails, pretending not to peep. Everyone's expressions were vivid with sympathy, confusion, and perhaps the desire for an explanation as to why the party had suddenly been halted.

Sandi walked over in sexy heels, placing a hand protectively on Lara's shoulder. “Babe, are you okay?”

Lara could only ignore the question as breaths left her mouth in short spurts. She felt as if she was sinking into a sea of deep, salty water and couldn't hear what anyone was saying, ears locked off from humanity. Tyler now strode toward her, as her breaths got even shorter. And for the first time, that little house in Essex didn't feel safe anymore, didn't feel like home, and didn't feel like a place she could hide in. It felt alien, unfriendly, and somewhere that needed to be left, fled from.

Lara had to get out.

“I can't breathe,” she said, wriggling free from Sandi. Tyler muttered something pointless on the lines of, “Are you okay?”

Of course she wasn't okay, she thought—or said, heading toward the gate-crasher dressed in a blue head tie standing by the door with Dad. The arms of the gate-crasher moved outward as if they were about to grab and swallow Lara up whole.

Lara's breathing accelerated as she took a step forward. Dad's expression was sorrowful as the gate-crasher smiled.

Mum's voice, from somewhere: “Sweet pea?”

She didn't have the strength to search her out, eyes locked on the gate-crasher's long arms outstretched, poised to receive, as Lara took a step past her. The woman said something quickly in a thick foreign accent.

Five powerful words.

Heart beating wildly, Lara increased her pace to the front door and out to her car and into air she could breathe evenly—if only she could remember how to.

She could feel the woman behind her, perhaps catching up as Lara struggled to retrieve the key from the free sample clutch, wading through the compact, mascara, door fob, credit card holder, as she wondered why the heck she insisted on carrying so many things.
How many bloody things do I really need in my handbag?!
she thought angrily.

The woman was behind her; Lara could feel her eerie presence, but how close or how far she couldn't tell. She dared to look, slightly relieved to see her safely by the wooden gate that led to the house Lara had grown up in, had felt safe in—until tonight. And when the woman said those five incredible words again, Lara's stomach lurched as she quickly climbed into the safety of the car. The baby blue Lexus she'd once used to define her status, elevate herself in the eyes of others, at that moment served merely as a protective vessel away from unknown dangers, which now existed outside of it.

From inside the car, Lara noticed the tall, elegant gate-crasher still standing by the gate, behind her a small crowd of Tyler, Mum, Dad, Sandi, and a flabbergasted Agnes.

Perhaps they all assumed Lara just wanted to cool off and would return to the party. Perhaps they were at a loss as to what to say, do. Tyler whispered into Mum's ear, then headed urgently toward the car. Gazing through the window and loaded with questions, his beautiful features contorted into concern. Lara stared blankly at the steering wheel, mind bereft of any thought. Sandi was now inching toward her, which is the precise moment her ability to drive at last kicked in. She revved up the engine, slowly and carefully reversed the car, then put it into drive, and shot down the road, leaving Sandi on the pavement looking beautiful in her stunning jumpsuit and very high heels and Tyler throwing his hands up angrily in the air.

She drove. And drove and just drove. Her breathing returning to normal and, predictably, she ended up back in London, parked up by Embankment across the road from a bar with tacky neon lights flashing intermittently. A line of people dressed in their definition of sexy were waiting patiently to enter as bouncers checked I.D.s and chatted to overly made-up girls clutching fake Prada and Chanel.

This was the city of her life, the world in which Lara had grown up. She may not have taken her first steps or spoken those first words in England but to Lara, it was home. Her home. She couldn't recall the precise moment when England claimed her, cleverly weaving its arcs and bends into her own journey, but it had and was now a part of her. And with Mum and Dad's help, it had helped her morph into the human being she was today.

She stepped out of the car and gazed out over the horizon, immediately soothed as she took in a lungful of city air. For a Saturday night, the atmosphere felt peaceful, almost serene. Lights of the city reflected in the calmness of the waters, the old but perfect architectural structures blurred and unrecognizable in their watery reflections. Lara at last felt at ease, surrounded by the familiar. The houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, and the London Eye were all a stone's throw away from where she stood. They were the background to her life and to her story—a story that began when she was three years old.

Sitting on a bench, she stared out at the water, but she couldn't actually see the river Thames or the lights anymore, just the face of that woman and those five words. Five words spoken as Lara had tried to escape the macabre and unfamiliar scene of her thirtieth birthday party only an hour and a half earlier. Closing her eyes, those five words were there again, along with a solitary tear in the corner of her left eye. But Lara refused to cry. Those tears had dried up many moons ago and turned into a strength. She would pull herself together. A business meeting was scheduled for early Monday morning, which needed prep. She had a life to be getting on with. She'd need to tap into her store of strengths as she suddenly predicted a wave of crap heading her way.

Back inside the car, her BlackBerry flashed with nine messages. Ignoring them, she drove off in the direction of her home.

After parking the car, she strode past the cannons, crunching the gravel of Artillery Court. When she'd first considered buying the property, those cannons were just a weird but different backdrop to the luxury apartment she'd always dreamed of being able to afford. The dandruffed estate agent had prattled on about its historical significance, but Lara had only been concerned with the flat's oak paneling, quirky mezzanine bedroom, and whether the developers would chuck in the Dualit appliances. Now, she couldn't help but smile at the irony of it all as something inside reminded her that she needed to be braced for the battle ahead.

The familiarity of the flat warmed her. The strewn contents of the colorful Lulu Guinness makeup bag across the coffee table and Sandi's empty wine bottle proved that only a few hours ago, her life had been so very, very different. Almost chick-flick-like: great job, nice flat, handsome boyfriend. Her biggest concern had been whether the taxi would arrive on time.

Where was Doc Brown's time machine now?

The phone rang. It was Mum. Lara placed it on Silent, sent an “I'm OK” text to Sandi and Mum to distribute to all, fell into bed, and braced herself for an uncomfortable, sleepless night.

As predicted, her eyes remained wide open, mind alert. She felt alone, exposed, vulnerable. She pulled the duvet over her head and entered the darkness. She really wanted to call Tyler but couldn't. Wouldn't.

She tapped the edge of her side table ten times and glanced over at the clock thirteen times and then once more, because the numbers had to be even. She didn't realize that when sleep would finally arrive at 4:30 A.M., it would be an uneasy slumber mixed with blurred images of that woman from the party whispering five dangerous words, arms outstretched as Lara ran onto a large deserted field that never seemed to end. A voice surrounded her, unfamiliar yet familiar and with an eerie echo as those five words were repeated again and again in this dream/nightmare:
“Omolara, I am your mother.”