Being Lara (27 page)

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?”

“I've been searching the whole room for you. Where have you been? Hello, nice to meet you,” he said, acknowledging the two men on either side of her.

“Are you about to steal this delicious creature away from us?” asked the man in the red tie.

“I'm afraid so,” said the Most Beautiful Man in the World, who at that point could also have been slightly insane.

Lara didn't say a word as he grabbed her hand and led them both away from the fray and into the hotel foyer, the two of them giggling like schoolchildren even though they hadn't even been introduced.

Upstairs in the hotel bar, with a view of most of London, Lara's savior was keeping their glasses filled to a respectable level as they chatted like old friends. He impressed her with each word he spoke, and she secretly found his American accent both uncommon and irresistible.

Tyler Jonsson was successful, handsome, and confident, everything she could desire in a man; and she tried not to engulf herself with the thrill of what could be.

My business takes up most of my time. I'm too busy for a relationship with a man. Any man.

But as they spent more time together after the event, Lara began to realize just how redundant her excuses were becoming. Tyler did not become a hindrance to her life, but a welcome addition. He understood if she needed to work late, at times even helping out with the paperwork. He understood, he encouraged, he said he cared—about her. He said he loved her.

And that was when the problems began.

Lara
felt f
or Tyler with an intensity she found hard to articulate—even if she'd wanted to.

She'd fought against her feelings in the early stages of the relationship, maintaining an armor of fear and uncertainty—just like she had in past relationships with men. But Tyler always seemed to fight back, refusing to just back down, call it a day, or simply give up. He possessed an irresistible duality of traits molded together to make a man that women's magazines could perhaps describe as
almost
perfect. He was a man's man, but with enough of a feminine side to encourage Lara to “talk things through” with him, never afraid to almost nurture her at times. Like the day she knocked her wrist against the door. Tyler constantly made sure she hadn't damaged her hand, asking if she needed treatment, offering bandages, kissing the tops of the bruised skin with such tenderness and warmth. He was also one very unapologetically tactile individual who needed to be touched, in contrast to Lara's rigid and sometimes repressed way of being.
She
didn't want to hold hands in the street or steal kisses as they walked across a park.
She
didn't want to be like that. But Tyler was insistent. He tapped into somewhat masculine traits to grab her hand when she'd least expect it and, when people were about, to kiss her cheekily on the face as they stood in line at the jazz café. Although she turned away with a “Don't do that!,” secretly she kind of liked it. He was also the type of man to insist she walk on the inside of the curb, his body a shield against anything that could potentially harm her. Tyler was constantly challenging Lara in ways she had never experienced before, and this scared her. But as time went on, something unexpected happened. She began to want his touch, feeling uncharacteristically complete when he'd finally sense her silent longing and just hold her hand, brushing his thumb against the surface of her skin. Sometimes her eyes would close involuntarily as she allowed herself to experience this sensation. The sensuality. The closeness. Only for a moment though. And then she'd pull away again—as if too much of it would somehow make it disappear, just like
that.

And then she would go to the bathroom and tap the side of a sink. Or anything with a hard surface.

When they were apart, Lara didn't allow herself to think of Tyler, but at times this was impossible. For example, if something reminded her of him, she'd be consumed by a rush of something good. But just as quickly, the feeling could turn negative, taking her to a dark, dark place intent on highlighting just how much better off Tyler Jonsson would be without her.

The more she
felt,
the more afraid she was of him slipping from her life as easily as sand from the palms of her hands.

Relationships came stamped with a sell-by date that could be weeks, months, or years—but none held a “forever” guarantee. Abandonment was only a heartbeat away, and Lara had decided a long time ago that it was best to preempt it.

It was Sandi who still teased her to this day that such beliefs on relationships stemmed from a boy named Mitch who dumped her when she was a teenager. But Lara knew her ideas had taken shape a few days after her birth.

And now Tyler, her boyfriend of over six months, was striding confidently through her door, smiling, arms outstretched, beautiful eyes sparkling, his mouth open to speak.

“It's so good to see you. I've missed you so much,” he said.

“I think we should split up,” she said.

He stopped.

And so she repeated herself. “I think we should split up.”

“What? Where is this coming from?”

“Nowhere, I just…”

“I know what this is about. It's all this craziness that's been going on, right?”

She turned away.

He said, “Do you really think I'm going to leave you during one of the craziest times of your life? Talk to me. What is going on here?” He grabbed her shoulders gently but with a hidden firmness.

“I'm sorry, Tyler.”

She broke free from his grip. “Just respect my decision. If you love me—”

“What? Of course I love you! And I would respect your decision if it wasn't for the fact that you're just confused right now.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are. Let me help you. Don't push me away like you always do. I mean, don't I have a say in this? Why do you always need to control everything?”

“We both know you're getting fed up. I haven't forgotten the night at the Wolseley. I could hear it in your voice. You're getting fed up with me. All the drama has just delayed things for you. This is obviously what you want.”

“You're speaking for me now, are you?”