Being Lara by Lola Jaye

knowing that, in some way, she was touching others with her music.
    And perhaps an unexpected reward would be her father turning up on the doorstep wanting to see her.
    That would be nice, she thought, puffing up her hair as Barry opened the door to her small dressing room.
    â€œYou’re on, Trish!” he said excitedly. She smiled, touched his face tenderly, then went out to meet her audience.
    Determined to secure another number one slot, Robin, Barry, and Maria painstakingly pieced together an amazing LP full of soulful songs about love, fun, and life. One of Pat’s favorites, “Your Name,” was picked as a worthy second single, and Pat and her team couldn’t wait to see where it would chart.
    In the meantime, her life continued to change considerably. Her mother’s house was regularly besieged by fans desperate for a glimpse of their idol Trish, or to at least touch a place she’d once touched. Her mother hated the nuisance of it all, complaining about it on the rare occasions they were able to spend time together. Pat was sorry her mother had to put up with the noise and inconvenience of fans standing around outside chanting “Trish!” but secretly hoped her mum was proud of her, if only a little bit.
    On the day “Do You Want This?” finally slipped out of the top forty, Pat opened her mother’s back door into the kitchen, where her brothers, sister, and their assortment of children were seated and standing around the table. Pat had been desperate for a bit of normality, a chat with her mother and perhaps some home cooking, but she hadn’t expected to find the whole brood. The kids immediately ran to their “famous Aunty Trish,” plastering her with kisses and questions as the adults remained seated like a courtroom jury. Pat whipped off her dark glasses and straw hat, sitting down at the familiar wooden table where she’d tucked into so many delicious meals.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” asked her sister, who was heavily pregnant with baby number four and covering the table with a white cotton tablecloth.
    â€œHello. It’s a nice day, thought I’d pop over. I didn’t know you’d all be here,” Pat commented. Nobody bothered to reply as her mother bent down to retrieve a bubbling hunk of meat from the oven.
    Pat suddenly felt a surge of anger. “You’re having a family roast and I wasn’t invited?”
    â€œWe thought you’d be busy,” said her brother.
    â€œBarry and I would have loved to come. I’d never be too busy for my family!” protested Pat.
    â€œGo and watch the telly, you lot!” commanded Pat’s mother to the younger members of the family.
    As the children scuttled away with their excited whispers, Pat’s brother spoke. “We’re not mind readers.”
    â€œNeither am I!” she replied, confident he wouldn’t understand her point.
    â€œNone of that matters. You’re here now and there’s enough grub for everyone!” said her mother.
    â€œIt’s a good thing you’re here anyway, coz I’m gonna need a favor from you, little sister,” said another brother.
    This particular brother hadn’t called her “little sister” in years, so it felt nice to hear this touch of familiarity, especially with all the madness that existed in her life.
    â€œNo problem,” she replied freely, earlier anger subsiding. Pat enjoyed helping out her family, whether it was arranging free concert tickets or a bit of cash here and there—anything she could do as a result of her good fortune and growing contacts in the music industry.
    â€œI need money for a car. Now we’ve got the second kid, it’s hard for Mel to carry the shopping in without moaning, you know…” As he explained his plight, her heart sunk, not because she begrudged him asking, but because she definitely didn’t yet have the type of money he was