Cecelia Ahern - Lyrebird

Solomon’s apartment is on Grand Canal, a newly developed area among swanky office blocks. Beneath each apartment block is a hive of restaurants and cafés, so that the first summer months Solomon moved in, he sat on the balcony with a beer, listening to the conversations of strangers below his balcony. He used to listen to everything, was interested in everything, then one night when the drink-fuelled arguments began, he was stupid enough to go downstairs and try to intervene. Instead of peace, he received a black eye. Those conversations eventually grew irritating. Nothing that anybody said was of any interest to him: prattle, small-talk, gossip, nagging, awkward first dates, silent settled couples, raucous groups of friends. So he avoided the balcony, or he’d cough loudly, clear his throat, turn up his music to alert them to the fact somebody was above them who could hear.

And then he stopped hearing them. He doesn’t know when it happened, but it occurred to him during the first week that Bo moved in. She couldn’t sleep one night because of the talking outside. Then she couldn’t concentrate on her paperwork during the day because of the noise from the wakeboarding in the water outside. And while he was telling her a story over lunch, he could see she wasn’t listening.

‘Did you hear that?’ she’d gasped, before leaving their breakfast table to go to the balcony where she leaned over and tried to locate the source of the mystery phrase.

He hadn’t noticed it happen, but he’d stopped hearing everything outside. And as far as he knew, the same had since happened to Bo. Things happen like that.

Laura sits up as soon as they enter the city, able to tell the difference in the light, the sound, and in the stop-start of the traffic. She stretches and looks around, and Solomon studies her face, the first time he’s had a clear view of her for hours. If she was sleeping, she doesn’t look like it; she looks wide awake, beautiful, innocently looking from one window to another, taking it all in. She’s never been to a city. The lights and action disappear as they drive into the underground car park below the apartment block.

‘My apartment’s above,’ Solomon explains, as she looks around in confusion.

He slams the car door shut and it reverberates around the echoing underground. Laura jumps, startled. Somebody in the distance throws a trash bag into the communal bin and bangs it closed. It echoes and she jumps again.

Solomon watches her from the corner of his eye, concerned about bringing her here. ‘There’s a hotel on the next block. The Marker. It’s nice. Modern, fancy rooftop bar, you can see the whole city.’ He couldn’t afford to put her up, but perhaps Bo could find the funds. She should be able to for the subject of her documentary. ‘You can stay there, if you like.’

‘No,’ she says quickly. ‘I want to stay with you.’

‘Okay no problem,’ he says easily, warmth flooding through him.

He lifts the bags from the boot, and closes it more carefully than he had with the doors. The exit door opens, a heavy fire door that slams and reverberates through the space. High heels walk across the concrete, the car beside them lights up and beeps. Laura mimics it, stepping away from the car. The woman looks at her as she climbs into her car, a scowl on her face, as though Laura’s sound has insulted her. She starts up the engine and Solomon moves Laura away quickly.

‘Okay. Let’s get you inside,’ he says, lifting the bags and leading her to the exit.

Bo is standing at the front door of the apartment. Solomon and Laura should be arriving soon. She feels nervous and she’s not sure why. That’s a lie. She’s pretty sure why, but she’s trying to pretend that Solomon and Laura being together alone for two days without her is not a cause for concern. She wants to be the kind of girlfriend who doesn’t worry about things like that. Jealousy is a killer, a destroyer. She was never a jealous person – not in relationships, she never felt threatened that way. Work is another matter; if someone makes a better documentary, if someone is doing better than her, she’ll admit she feels the jealousy then. She uses that feeling to drive her to do better. But she’s not sure what this feeling can do for a relationship. She doesn’t know how to be better than Laura, nor does she want to be.

And she isn’t feeling this way because of what Jack said to her last night. It wasn’t him that triggered alarm bells about her and Solomon, planting seeds of doubt, whispers in her ear and then disappearing into the night. The feeling was already inside her. Laura has insisted on being with Solomon at every single turn. What girlfriend would allow it to happen? Not just allow it, encourage it. She’s pushing Solomon towards Laura. And that’s what has brought on this anxiety, this twisted feeling in her stomach: the fact that she knows that she’s letting it happen. She’s pretending she’s not, because to admit otherwise would be callous, weird, unfeeling. She’s seeing what’s between them right in front of her and she’s encouraging it, for the sake of her documentary. There. She’s admitted it.

The lift moves into action, ascends to her floor. They won’t be expecting her to be ready for them, at the door. She wants to see their faces, not the ones they prepare before walking into the apartment. She’ll know if something’s happened by looking at them. The doors open. Her stomach twists, cramps. Solomon steps out. He’s alone. He gives her a wide warning look with his eyes, then turns back towards the lift.

‘Come on, Laura, we’re here.’

Bo moves to the left and peers in. Laura is huddled in the corner of the lift with her hands over her ears. She rises, one of her bags in her hand, looking as timid as a mouse. The knot in Bo’s stomach clears immediately. She’s ashamed by her relief, she’s ashamed by the pleasure that seeing Laura in this state brings to her.

‘She doesn’t like lifts,’ Solomon says, a little nervously.

‘Hi, Laura,’ she says gently. ‘Welcome.’

Laura’s thanks is barely a whisper as she steps into the flat.

‘How was your trip?’ she asks tentatively, as Laura looks around.

Solomon shakes his head for her not to ask, but it’s too late.

Laura opens her mouth and a flow of sounds surges out, merged and meshed together, one running into another, like a badly mixed song.

Bo’s eyes widen, not quite sure how to deal with the cacophony of noise. It’s negative noise, something happened, something that has upset her. Stunned, she watches as Solomon leads Laura to the small spare room, as though she’s a fragile broken bird. And all the while Bo tries to decipher one sound from another but can’t. Did she hear a gunshot?

Solomon, however, understands them all, he identifies each and every single one of them as she repeats them over and over, an insight into her confused mind, her hurt heart. Mossie’s whimpers. An angry Joe. The fallen hare, the gunshot, a door banging, high heels on concrete, the beep of a car alarm, the sound of the exit door, the whoosh of the lift when he pressed the button. A police siren.

And in there, hidden amongst them, was the sound of Bo making love to Solomon.

Telltale sounds. A medley of all the sounds Laura doesn’t like.

Dublin city is alive with new sounds for Laura. From the hundreds of people who swarmed out of the theatre down the block, dispersing as they found their cars or hailed taxis to different parts of the city and back to their lives. The taxi drivers gather under the balcony as a sudden rain shower takes over. Even the sound of the rain is different. It falls on concrete and the canal across the road. No leaves to delay its eventual fall to the ground, no soil to soak it up. A police siren in the distance, somebody shouting, a group laughing… each sound sends her rushing to the bedroom window.