Cecelia Ahern - Lyrebird

Solomon’s mother, who is standing beside the raised platform next to Finbar, turns to see Solomon. She rushes towards him, a look of what appears to be concern on her face, hands to her mouth.

‘Oh, Solomon,’ she whispers, wrapping her arm around his waist and pulling herself close to him. She turns to face Laura.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, confused. For a moment he’s afraid she’s going to throw a diva tantrum that Laura is playing her song on her special night. It would be completely out of character, but he can’t place her emotions.

She ignores him for a moment, caught in Laura’s spell. Then she turns to him. ‘I’ve never seen nor heard anyone like her in my life. She’s magical.’

Solomon smiles, relieved. Proud. ‘Now you get to hear how beautifully you play,’ he says to her.

‘Oh my,’ she says, hands to her hot cheeks.

He glances around the faces of the crowd, everybody utterly captivated, experiencing something new and astonishing for the first time in their lives.

Perhaps he was unfair to Bo. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Laura deserves an audience, and not just the kind that a documentary would provide. She needs a live audience, a real live reaction. Seeing her in person is visceral, it brings her and her skills alive. Perhaps, like the lyrebird, on a platform is exactly where she’s meant to be.

As soon as Laura has finished mimicking ‘Carolan’s Dream’, the crowd erupts in applause. They jump to their feet, hollering and whistling, shouting for more. Laura receives such a fright from the reception that she stands frozen on the spot, staring out at everyone.

‘Rescue her, Solomon.’ Marie grips his arm.

He runs up to the platform and takes her by the hand. Flesh on flesh, she looks at him in surprise. Thinking of his argument with Bo, he quickly lets go and she follows him. He tries to leave the stage but his brothers trap him, and everybody, family and neighbours, call for him to sing. He knows there’ll be no getting off the stage until he’s sung at least one song. Rory goes to Laura’s aid and ushers her to her chair, which Solomon watches with uncertainty while he sets himself up with his guitar. Rory is in her ear, and she is leaning close to him to hear what he’s saying. This sets his blood thumping again, but there’s nothing he can do about it while he’s on stage, nothing that he could ever do about it because he has no claim over her. Rory is the baby, twenty-eight years old and closer in age to Laura than Solomon is. He’s also single, permanently single, bringing home sweet girl after sweet girl for family occasions but never staying with them for longer than a few months. Rory can have his pick of just about anybody, and he chooses well, always beautiful, nice girls, taken by his charm. Cute, sweet, is what the girls call Rory, and he laps it up.

Solomon tightens his ponytail on the top of his head to Donal shouting ‘Get a haircut!’ to laughter, and then strums the guitar once to get their attention. Laura immediately looks up. Rory couldn’t be less interested in Solomon about to sing his song for the hundredth time and thinks of ways to get her attention again.

‘I wrote this song when I was seventeen years old, when a girl who shall remain nameless broke my heart.’

‘Sarah Maguire!’ Donal shouts, and they all laugh.

‘You’ve all heard this before, apart from one person, who’s very welcome here tonight, wasn’t she wonderful, lads?’

They all cheer Laura.

‘It’s called “Twenty Things That Make Me Happy…”.’

They collectively ‘ahhhh’.

‘“… And None of Them Are You”,’ he finishes the title and they cheer. They always do, it’s the same every time. All part of the comfort of the gathering, everyone knowing their part, getting involved, playing their role. And despite knowing its title and even the lyrics, they laugh generously.

And he begins. It’s an up-tempo song about the simple pleasures in life, how important they are, how happy they make him. So much more than the girl who broke his heart, now belittled to nothing in his life, exactly what he wanted to do when he was seventeen and angry and hurt after she’d cheated on him with a mate. She wasn’t his first love, he’d had others, but back then Solomon fell in love easily and he was in love with being in love, a young romantic who wrote love songs for himself and rock songs for his band.

His aim had always been to be a rock star, his first backup plan to be a recording studio sound recordist, second, to be a sound man on tour. He’d settled on sound recordist for documentaries for his soul, reality TV lately for his rent. He still writes and plays his guitar, though less now that Bo is living with him as he has less time to himself and the paper-thin walls of his city apartment don’t afford him the luxury of his awkward, often embarrassing ways of finding his way through a song.

The crowd join in as he lists them.

One: Fresh sheets on the bed.

Two: A good hair day.

Three: Finishing work when it’s bright outside.

Four: A day off on a sunny day.

Five: Post that isn’t bills.

These are five things that make me happy – ooooh…

He stops playing and the crowd fills the silence with:

And none of them are you.

They cheer themselves and laugh and he continues.

Six: A bacon bap with tomato ketchup.

Seven: The smell of freshly cut grass.

Eight: Scarface and a pint.

Nine: Jackie’s Army in Italia ’90.

Ten: Finding money in my pocket.

These are ten things that make me happy, oooh…

He stops playing and the crowd responds with:

And none of them are you.

‘SARAH!’ Donal yells, which sends everyone into hysterics.

Eleven: A favourite song on repeat.

Twelve: Catching the morning bus.

Thirteen: Popping bubble-wrap.

Fourteen: Mam’s apple tart. [This gets a cheer.]

Fifteen: Matching socks.

These are fifteen things that make me happy, oooh…

AND NONE OF THEM ARE YOU.

Sixteen: Packie Bonner’s save against Romania. [More cheers.]

Seventeen: Breakfast in bed.

Eighteen: A shower, shit and a shave.

Nineteen: The first day of the holidays.

Twenty…

He strums the guitar speedily, drumming up the anticipation, so that everyone joins in on the final line:

… And kissing your best friend!

The lyrics had always been ‘fucking’ your best friend, which is what he had done to help himself at the time, but it didn’t work of course, and he kept it clean for his parents’ sake.

The crowd erupt with joy and as he leaves the stage, Cormac, his eldest brother, gets up to say a piece from Dancing at Lughnasa by Brian Friel.

As Solomon makes his way through the crowd, stopping to chat to people he hasn’t seen in months, he reaches his place to find Laura gone. He searches around and catches Donal’s eye. He points at the door towards the kitchen. Solomon can’t get into the kitchen quick enough.

The kitchen holds party stragglers picking at the food during Cormac’s performance. Cormac possesses that ability to clear the room, not because he’s not good – he’s great, no one delivers it better – but because he lacks timing. When everybody is about to lift the ceiling off, he does his piece, dark and quiet and sad, which is in direct contradiction to what everybody wants. He kills the atmosphere, lets the energy dip. He does the same in conversation, brings up something sombre when they’re all laughing.