Being Lara (5 page)

“Thirty is nothing but a number,” she said, dabbing at her lips.

“I agree, but doesn't it make you feel all grown up?”

“You tell me, you were there a few years ago.”

“Hey, not that long ago!”

They both laughed as people buzzed around them. As always, the place was packed with chatter, laughter, and general merriment, but also as always, to Lara it felt as if they were the only two people in the room.

“Mum's having a sort of party for me on Saturday. You're welcome to come,” she threw in casually.

“And you're only just letting me in on it now?”

“I only just found out. Tyler, you know me, I'm not into fuss. I would have told you…” But Lara wasn't wildly confident she actually would have. Not for any malicious reasons at all … more the reality of looking back at pictures of her thirtieth birthday and seeing Tyler “her lost love” staring back at her—because to think they would still be together so far into the future was a fallacy. A total impossibility. So it would be better to limit the pain now by not creating too many reminders for her to cringe at later. Of course, she was old enough to know if she'd ever said any of what she was thinking out loud, she'd be laughed at. But
she
understood.

Lara had always understood.

She'd understood and known it ever since the first day Tyler had chatted her up at a networking event six months ago. She'd known it as soon as his beautiful eyes had held her gaze for longer than was necessary and she'd wanted to run and hide because of the intensity of it all. She'd known it the first time they'd held hands walking along the South Bank and they'd stopped to look at each other. And she'd known it the first time they'd kissed. She'd experienced an almost out-of-body experience as she allowed herself to be transported into a beautiful, peaceful, and floaty world where only she and Tyler existed. Happiness and fear fought for supremacy there—happiness that she had found something so beautiful in Tyler but fear that it would somehow, and very soon, be taken away from her.

They drank coffee as the evening edged to a close.

“For your next birthday, we're going to Paris, have lunch, a long walk along the river. A bit like what we got up to on our first date, huh?”

“That would be okay, yes,” she replied quietly.

“We could jump on the Eurostar, just me and you,” he continued as Lara imagined what that would feel like. To just jump on a train to a foreign land, away from everything. Just the two of them together. One year from now. It sounded amazing. It sounded scary, because being Lara meant a cold sweat at the thought of such spontaneity. She only felt a semblance of being human if her life was planned daily, because in her thirty years of experience, it paid to be prepared, to make sure all bases were covered—catch the shit
before
it hit the fan, if you like.

Back at the flat, Tyler pulled her into his arms as her mind wondered about those sales figures or whether she should prepare for that conference call in the morning. But as he moved in for a kiss, she felt the pages of her internal itinerary just melt away, albeit temporarily, as she allowed herself to surrender to the robustness of his arms. In contrast, his kisses felt soft and buttery against her skin, his tongue probing and wanting as her mind switched to the blank canvas it was rarely allowed to be.

He stopped to look at her, his blazing blue eyes—a legacy from his Danish father—alert and questioning.

“What?” she asked with a smile.

“I love you, Lara Reid,” he whispered hoarsely. And very quickly, her smile stiffened.

Oh, how she wished he hadn't said that.

The first time he'd uttered those words was around three months ago, after which she'd shifted uncomfortably in the chair with a false smile, eyes cast downward. Part of her was a little grateful he'd said it; another part did not truly believe him. She'd even assumed that by now Tyler would have stopped feeling it, stopped saying it, but no, he'd pressed on. Tyler Jonsson had said those words whenever the mood seemed to grip him—in the car, during a meal, on the telephone—and yet she'd never uttered them back. Even though during his absence, her mouth would always curve into a smile whenever she was reminded of him—by someone with the same name or hearing a favorite song of his. Even though she'd at times imagine the contours of his face outlined on the screen of her computer. Even though she could never imagine kissing another man, ever again, in her entire life. Even though the mere thought of him would flood her entire body with warmth. Even after so much more, all she could reply was a muted, “Me, too.”

“Me, too,” she replied on autopilot, turning her gaze away from him. “I'm sorry, I'm… I'm a bit tired, Tyler.”

“That's okay,” he said, stroking her hair. “I'll spend the night with you, holding you and watching you sleep.”

Lara released herself from him and reached into the fridge for some water. As she sipped he slipped out of his jacket to reveal a familiar slim frame dressed in a French Connection shirt, with his slightly upturned bum in loose Levi's and a hint of boxer short teasing out at the top. How she wanted to run over and trace a finger over the contour of his birthmark, a mark in the shape of the map of Britain, passed down from his American mother. How she wished she could feel featherlike wisps of his breath on the tip of her nose. How she wished she could pour out a selection of loving words and sentences just as he was able to do and, with his gorgeous face in her hands, tell him how she felt about him.

But she couldn't.

And she never would.

Two days before the party, Lara and Tyler were on their way to a “birthday drinks” session organized by Sandi and a few of her friends from Essex.

“Does getting to thirty, you know, make you think about the future?” said Tyler as he drove to the venue.

“Up until a few days ago, I think I was more fixated on the past.”

“So what's changed?”

“I'm not sure. I just think it's time I moved on and stopped focusing on the past. Look ahead. Onwards and upwards. Why the deep questions…?” she said with a smile, feeling uncharacteristically relaxed.

“I dunno… I've been thinking … that…”

Tyler didn't do hesitant sentences, and suddenly she was aware that something must be up.

“What is it, Tyler?”

“Oh, this is hard…” He sighed, turning a corner as Lara thought that perhaps now wasn't the time for this.

Thoughts began to dance about in her head. Was he about to leave her after almost six months together? Had he finally gotten fed up with her?

Tyler sighed again as a stream of negative thoughts ran in Lara's head on a continual loop.

I knew this would happen.

He was leaving, just as I always knew he would.

I feel sick
.

“Lara? Did you hear what I just said?”

She nodded her head as he pulled over and stopped in a random spot.

“There's something missing with us, and I just feel that … that we should be going further than we have been… I'm not going to get heavy with you, I know it's only been six months and it's your birthday week and all … but sometimes it feels as if we've just met.”

“That's good, isn't it?”

“Not when I feel like I don't know you or that you're not opening up to me.... I just wanted to say, I need to say, that we have, that I—”

“Tyler, we're on our way to see my friends.” she said, quickly interrupting as her feelings of dread refused to subside. “And you know how Sandi gets when I'm late. Plus some of my friends are traveling down from Essex. We should think about making a move.”

“Sure, we'll leave it for now. You know how I am, I go with the flow, so when I feel something has to be said—”

“I know.”

They drove off again as Lara sighed inwardly, knowing the evening was sure to be marred by the lurking
certainty
that she was going to be left again. And very soon. Her middle finger tapped the side of the car seat. Eight times. And then another eight.

As the two of them walked the short distance to Oxford Circus from the car park, Tyler holding her hand, she decided that if Tyler was about to leave her, she'd be ready, armor on, weapons loaded and pointed—just like the cannons in her courtyard.

They arrived at Cocoon, where Sandi was waiting at the dimly lit bar, “funky house” music pulsating from invisible speakers.

“About time! I look like a right desperado sitting here!” joked Sandi. Tyler kissed her on each cheek and Lara went to do the same, but suddenly Sandi grabbed her and wrapped her in a hug.

“What's that for?” asked Lara, a little stunned, as Tyler ordered some drinks.

“It's called a hug. I know we don't do it very often, but it's not every day you reach fifty. Just don't expect any more. Not at least until you're sixty!”

“Thank you,” said Lara to her oldest friend, the closest to a sister she was ever likely to have. Sandi had long since dropped the Y in her name—but luckily, she'd never altered from the beautiful, funny, and glamorous human being Lara had met all those years ago. Lara often wondered why she was still around and hoped she'd never wake up one morning, question their friendship, and get rid of her, just as Tyler was about to.

Ever since that infamous afternoon in the school dining room many years ago, when Sandi had tapped into very efficient negotiating skills to prevent Lara's potential beating from a group of girls who'd pushed in at the dinner queue, they'd sustained a friendship that Lara adored. Needed. In fact, she probably even loved Sandi—not that she'd ever reveal this. Therein lay the “thing” about Sandi and Lara; the sisterly love and closeness they shared remained relatively unspoken at their insistence. Both were aware of its existence and how it floated around the ether ready to be claimed at any time; they just didn't need for it to be defined, because to do so would suddenly deem it invalid in some way.

The night progressed and the group of friends enjoyed a pleasant enough time. But Lara's mind was often elsewhere, sometimes fixated on Tyler and what he was about to do and sometimes on the upcoming weekend and that bloody birthday party, which she hadn't even asked for but was getting closer with each passing day.

When the day of the party finally arrived, Lara's feeling of dread had yet to subside. As she slipped into black-and-red stilettos, she was totally unconvinced of her bold choice of sparkly silver minidress, which skimmed her waist deliciously. Hair still needed to be straightened, makeup had yet to be applied, and she and Sandi were officially running fifteen minutes behind schedule. Hence the third part to her birthday celebrations had begun quite stressfully.

“If it's the cab, it's early!” she huffed after the doorbell rang.

“Still avoiding Tyler?” asked Sandi as she pressed the intercom button.

“Definitely. Why?”

“He's on his way up.”

Tyler strolled in and immediately appraised Lara's dress. “You look amazing!”

“Thanks,” she replied, walking up the stairs to search her jewelry box for the beautiful Swarovski crystal teardrop necklace and matching bracelet (a free sample, a constant perk of her job) she was hoping to wear to the party.

“Sandi says you've booked a cab… I could have taken you, no problem,” he called up.

“It's done now.”

“You can cancel.”

“No, it's fine. We'll take a cab and meet you at my parents.” She located her bag, a sweet lambskin number with a woven top handle. Another free sample.

“Okay,” he replied with what sounded to Lara like disappointment. Ever since his statement in the car, she'd felt so cautious around Tyler. His desire to talk about their relationship scared her as she was all too aware he'd be highlighting all her inadequacies. She wasn't the best girlfriend in the world, she knew that. She liked to plan and only felt comfortable seeing him on designated days. He, however, was the embodiment of a living, breathing, walking list of stereotypically “good on paper” attributes and was someone who could do so much better than her—a sock-in-the-gut realization that occurred to Lara each and every time they were together or apart.

That feeling of just not being good enough.

Lara gazed at herself in the mirror, deciding she did at least
look
good enough. The shoes were a little high and the dress a bit shorter than she'd have liked, but purchased with Sandi's encouragement, she now appreciated the risk-taking challenge it represented.
Challenge
was another word for new beginnings and fresh starts, she hoped, and so very apt for the night of her thirtieth birthday party.

“Lara, are you ready or do you need more time? You know, what with you being ancient and everything?” asked Sandi, herself looking effortlessly beautiful and confident, dressed in a metallic blue playsuit and tall stilettos with a platform front, with her hair tied up in a loose bun, curly brunette tendrils brushing against long eyelashes.