Being Lara Read Free Page B

that people just liked to look at her once-famous mum sadly began to ebb away. The lady with the hat wasn’t even pretending anymore as her beady eyes studied Lara, making her feel like a specimen in a lab—not that she knew what that felt like (Lara had simply been dozing on Dad’s lap as he avidly watched a documentary about it). So yes, she was now a specimen.
    When a policeman walked in, the lady in the hat didn’t even try to hide her nosiness.
    â€œHello there,” said the policeman to Dad as they stood in line to pay for the newspaper, cigarettes, and the bag of secret sweets costing well over a pound, which Lara promised not to tell Mum about.
    Dad nodded cautiously back to the policeman, who turned his attention to Lara.
    â€œAre you okay, lass?” asked the officer, who Lara realized had a funny accent. She wanted to laugh but was overcome with a tinge of fear since the only time she’d ever spoken to a real-life policeman was during a visit to her school by the local constabulary regarding “stranger danger.”
    She looked to Dad for help or guidance and he simply turned to the policeman and said, “Why are you asking my daughter questions?”
    â€œYour daughter?” The policeman stared at her—from her hair right down to the tips of her scuffed white plimsolls—with a blank look on his face. Lara wondered if he was going to make an arrest right there and then in the sweetshop. The woman with the hat slid in closer for a better view.
    â€œDad, I want to go home,” said Lara, feeling a sudden urgency but determined not to cry.
    â€œShe looks very distressed,” said the policeman with the funny accent.
    â€œOf course she’s distressed !” said Dad. Lara noticed how red his face was turning. She’d never seen him like this. Well, not since the sunburn incident in Blackpool.
    Mr. Maharajah finished serving a customer and joined Dad and the policeman as Lara placed her face in her hands, shoulders shaking slightly. She wanted her mum. She wanted to take Dad’s hand and lead him out of the shop. Were they about to be arrested?
    Lara managed to slip in and out of the adult’s conversation: Mr. Maharajah said something about “vouching for them”; Dad said something about a “complaints procedure.” The woman in the hat looked on as if banana-flavored ice cream had just fallen from the sky.
    Lara stayed put, but nervously shifted her weight to each foot impatiently, while the grown-ups whispered in the corner by the milk and cheese. It went on for ages—at least five minutes—ending with Mr. Maharajah shaking his head as he patted Dad on the back.
    With his face the color of one of Mum’s tomatoes, Dad grabbed Lara’s hand and they walked out of the shop. She was so relieved to be on her way home, Lara decided not to ask about what had gone on, her mind a jumble—she even managed to forget about the lonely pack of sweets nestling on top of Mr. Maharajah’s shop counter.
    The weekend after the shop incident, Mum and Dad refused an invitation from Agnes and Brian even though they knew how much she enjoyed spending time with her cousins, especially Jason—as well as their beautiful Labrador named Goldie; not to mention there was a fully stocked toy shop nestling in the next street, which they’d often venture into just to “look around,” always leaving with a gift from Brian.
    So of course this exclusion felt like a punishment. Lara quickly began to suspect Mum and Dad had said no for other reasons. She wasn’t stupid. She was almost eight after all.
    It was time.
    She sat on the edge of the sofa, hands resting on her lap, heart full of expectation. Dad had been up in the attic, and as he carefully climbed down the thin ladder, dust in his light brown/gray hair, Lara noticed a dirty blue file box under his arm. He handed the box to Mum, who wiped it free of dust before giving