Cecelia Ahern - Lyrebird

Tap tap of a beak against the cage, which is mimicked by Laura.

Solomon looks at Bo with frustration. This is a mess. Even David Kelly is looking flustered, continuing to talk while it looks like he’s being constantly prodded in the ribs by an invisible attacker.

‘No,’ Rachel says suddenly, interrupting the entire thing. Solomon removes his headphones and tries to hide his smile. ‘This isn’t good.’

‘Maybe we should try somewhere else where there aren’t birds,’ Bo suggests perkily, keeping the energy up.

David Kelly sneaks a glimpse at his watch.

The boardroom is quiet. No traffic, no people, no phones, no hum of an air-conditioning unit. The elements are good for Solomon. There’s lots of dark mahogany and Rachel has more work to do with lighting, but it works. There are birds in the frame, birds in glass containers, standing on branches. Only problem is, they’re dead, and stuffed, which concerns Solomon.

Laura joins them. She looks at the glass case of birds. Solomon sees the confusion in her face, but she doesn’t say anything. He places the headphones on. Laura’s fingers run over the glass cabinet, trying to get to the birds inside and before David Kelly can even speak Laura’s sounds begin again; the gunshot, the hare that fell, its whimpers, Mossie’s dying sounds. A new sound, the computer gunshots from the little boy’s computer game in the hotel a few days ago, as she links the two.

Dr Kelly stands up and looks at her. ‘Goodness. That is remarkable. ’

Laura looks up, sees everyone staring at her and her sounds stop. Her hand falls from the glass. ‘How did they die?’

‘Lie,’ Solomon says through a cough to him.

‘Oh. Um. Natural causes,’ he says.

Laura frowns and looks at Solomon. She imitates the cough he has made, over and over until the word lie is clearly audible. Solomon sighs.

‘Look, I think we should do this in your office. It’s the best place,’ Bo suddenly decides.

‘You said you didn’t like that room,’ David Kelly says, like he’s an offended child.

‘Now it’s perfect,’ Bo says, picking up her things and moving everyone on again.

‘I really should get going. I have a lecture…’

‘Won’t be much longer,’ Bo says with a reassuring smile. ‘And you get more time to spend with Lyrebird. Think of it as research.’

This idea appeals to Dr Kelly, he is so fascinated with this birdlike woman. He examines her as the others move the equipment, and chuckles nerdily to himself.

Laura stares back at him, looking him up and down in the same way as he did to her, then mimics his chuckle. He claps his hands with glee.

Finally, in Dr Kelly’s office – a small room, filled with paperwork, that is dominated by his desk – they sit down to do the interview.

‘Dr Kelly,’ Bo says smoothly, ‘Could you please tell us about the male lyrebird please, specifically about its mimicry talents.’

‘The male lyrebird is a popular forest entertainer, admired and liked by other singers. Much of the vocal power of the lyrebird is devoted to mimicry of the songs of other birds, but he is also a very efficient singer in his own right. Roughly one-third of his singing is original, one-third may be described as semi-original, based quite clearly on bush sounds, elaborated and combined into a harmonious and continuous melody; the remainder of the song is mimicry, pure and simple; mimicry that is so accurate it’s impossible to distinguish between the genuine and the imitated. There appears to be no sound that is beyond the power of the lyrebird to reproduce.

‘Lyrebirds are creatures of habit. They thrive on routine. The mating season begins in May and ends in August. At the beginning of the mating season the male lyrebird builds a number of display mounds and diligently woos the female with song and dance. His mate follows him wherever he goes and watches every performance from a prominent position. When a performance ends, they both search for food, but as soon as the male begins to sing, the female stops to hear her mate. Mate birds are seldom seen apart and their continued devotion to their offspring indicates a family spirit.’

Solomon smiles at this description. Bo’s head turns quickly to look at him, and he looks away, pretending to twiddle with his audio.

‘A pair of lyrebirds, having mated, select a nesting site. Neither will wander. They’re monogamous creatures, once they’ve chosen; they do not change their mates and matehood involves each mated pair in life companionship.’

Solomon purses his lips to hide the growing smile on his face. He turns briefly to Laura and she’s staring at him, green eyes gazing at him intently.

It’s ten p.m. Early for Bo and Solomon to be in bed, even earlier to have already made love, but with Laura sharing the same tiny living space it’s easier to say good night and for everybody to retreat to their rooms for privacy.

They had made love as silently as possible again, particularly after their experience in the hotel. Solomon seemed distracted, and that was okay; Bo was too, with formulating and planning of the documentary taking shape in her head. Now they both lie on their backs, staring at the ceiling and listening to Laura’s nightly song. Bo enjoys this, she finds it relaxing. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger and closes her eyes.

‘She’s going through her day,’ she whispers.

‘That’s the ATM,’ Solomon says, smiling. ‘She came with me while you and Rachel were finishing breakfast. She’d never seen one before.’

Laura beeps through the ATM. Cash is dispensed.

‘I wish she’d dispense real cash,’ Bo jokes. ‘If this documentary ends up being as good as I think it is, she will.’

‘She could probably help decipher people’s codes, by memorising those sounds,’ Solomon says. ‘She could be hired by some secret government agency with skills like that.’

Bo chuckles quietly. ‘Now that I want to film.’ Pause to listen. ‘It’s like she’s flicking through her memories of the day, like I do with the pictures on my phone.’

They listen some more. Relaxed. Calm. Peaceful.

Then they hear Solomon’s laugh. A rare hearty laugh.

‘Is that you?’ She looks at him.

‘Yeah,’ he avoids her stare. ‘Can’t remember what was so funny,’ he lies, remembering as they’d both clung to each other, unable to stop laughing, his stomach hurting, his eyes streaming. While he was getting dressed he thought Laura was cooking bacon, from the sounds coming from the kitchen, the beautiful sound of a sizzling pan, the fat as it popped and hissed. When he stepped out to the living room, Laura was standing alone in front of an empty fridge mimicking the sounds. Laura was hungry. He’d been so confused by the empty hobs, and kitchen table, then so disappointed, she couldn’t stop laughing at the look on his face. When he’d realised what happened he’d joined in with her laughter.

When finished mimicking his laughter, Laura mimics his cough with the hidden word, ‘Lie.’

Solomon cringes.

She contrasts this with the laugh. Back to the lie, then to the laugh. She does this a few times.

‘She’s trying to decide something,’ Bo says, looking at him, her heart racing now that she has understood what Laura is doing. ‘She’s trying to figure you out.’

Laura mimics his laugh again.

‘Sol,’ Bo says, concern in her voice.

‘Mmm?’ He can’t look at her. His heart is pounding in his chest, he hopes Bo can’t feel it next to her, his entire body feels like it’s thudding.

‘Sol.’

Lie . His laugh. Lie. His laugh. Back and forth she goes.

He looks at her. He sits up finally, head in his hands. ‘I know. Fuck.’