Cecelia Ahern - Lyrebird

‘My idea to go. Stupid idea. We had to leave. The security man said my noises were distracting the actors. That they would assist me in sitting somewhere else.’

‘Who was he?’ Solomon asks, thinking he’ll stand outside the theatre and wait for him to leave work.

‘He was perfectly nice. He thought there was something wrong with me. I mean, obviously there is something wrong with me because we had to leave.’ Her eyes fill and she looks away, hating that she’s become upset in front of him, but she’s had no one to share these thoughts with, no one but herself, and she’s driving herself crazy. Talking to Bo is like talking to a non-absorbent sponge.

‘Laura,’ he says gently, taking her hand.

His touch is everything to her. It has the effect of bringing her alive again, her heart lifts from that stuck place.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know, Bo didn’t tell me…’ He’s so angry. At Bo. At the world. His hand grips hers tightly and then loosens, tight then loose, over and over, as though massaging her. ‘Let me tell you about your gift, Laura. People always say they don’t like to hear the sound of their own voice, did you know that? Usually, when people hear themselves, they cringe, or they’re surprised that they sound the way they do. We hear ourselves differently. What you do-’ He stops as another person walks towards them. ‘This is a dead end,’ he says bluntly, and the young girl turns puce and returns the way she came. When she turns the corner there are chuckles and giggles from a group of girls. ‘I think what you do is let people hear people and the world exactly as it is. No filters. And in this world, anything raw and untouched is a fucking rarity. People like to hear you for the same reason people like to watch movies, or look at art, or listen to music. It’s somebody’s interpretation of the world, not their own, and you capture it just as it is. What you have is a gift. You’re not weird – and don’t ever let anyone tell you that.’

Laura’s eyes fill and he wants to take her in his arms, but he can’t because he knows that’s wrong. She wants to lean into him, but she can’t because of that shield that he sometimes puts up, raising it higher and lowering it like a privacy window in a limousine.

The door to the production office opens and Bo steps out. She sees them huddled together, Solomon holding Laura’s hand.

Laura lets go.

‘Jack wants you,’ Bo says coldly.

‘Do you want me to go in with you?’ Solomon asks.

‘No, it’s private,’ Jack replies, from over Bo’s shoulder.

Laura enters the office alone while Solomon stares at the wall ahead of him, fighting the anger that is surging through him. He hears himself for the first time, sounding like a panting horse. He remembers the feel of skin and bone on his fist. Jack is glaring at him, daring him to do it again, egging him on, give him one excuse to throw him off the premises for good. Jack wants him to do it, and Solomon wants to do it. And he will, but he’s biding his time.

‘Didn’t take you long to get back to hand-holding,’ Bo says cattily, sitting in the chair next to him and examining her phone as she speaks. ‘So much for staying away.’

‘She was upset.’

‘So you comforted her. Appropriate.’

Solomon fights the urge to storm out. He sits through it.

‘She told me about what happened at the musical.’

She looks at him, ready for another argument, but she doesn’t have the energy. She rubs her eyes tiredly. ‘She was imitating the orchestra, Sol. She kept trying to get the trombone right, over and over again. I didn’t know what to do, so I took her out of there. I didn’t want to tell you because you’d get mad and upset.’

‘That’s exactly what happened,’ he fumes.

‘And what good was that going to do, when you’re away in another country?’ she says gently. ‘I handled it as best I could.’

‘She was upset about it.’

‘I told her that it wasn’t her fault.’ She sighs. ‘She opens up to you more than me, you know that.’

They’re silent. He calms down. He can’t be mad at Bo. He’s angry with himself for not being there.

‘That was a fucking disaster meeting,’ she says finally, putting her phone down and rubbing her face. ‘Jack’s talking about flying her to Australia in the next few days. Melbourne and maybe Sydney. He says he’ll have her back by Monday for the semi-finals.’

‘Australia? For a few days? That’s ridiculous. She’ll be exhausted,’ Solomon says, sitting up.

This seems to occur to Bo for the first time.

‘Why, what were you worried about?’

‘We’re not allowed to go. Some exclusivity deal with the magazine and TV show in Australia. They won’t allow any media that’s unrelated to StarrQuest . We’re supposed to be making a documentary about her and he’s taking her away from us, again .’

He feels that familiar overwhelming frustration when Bo displays cold selfishness. ‘You’re disgusting, Bo.’ He stands up and walks away from her.

‘How’s my Lyrebird?’ Jack asks, taking Laura by the arm and squeezing her tightly. He grins. ‘What a fuckin’ week we’re having, right?’

She nods.

‘Sorry for swearing, it feels wrong to swear around you. You’re too angelic.’ He helps her to her seat and goes to sit behind his desk. He watches her thoughtfully. ‘You’re not one, are you?’

‘What?’

‘An angel?’

‘No.’ She smiles.

He returns the smile and drums his fingers on the table.

She imitates the sound.

‘You’re right. I need a cigarette. Gave them up a week ago.’

‘For Bo,’ she says.

He looks at her in surprise, then he grins. ‘I swear you don’t miss a trick.’

She makes the gum-chewing sound.

‘Good idea. Where’s my gum?’ While he searches his desk drawers, Laura studies the walls.

‘You don’t happen to know if I’m in with a chance, do you? With Bo?’

‘Bo Peep?’ she raises an eyebrow. ‘She’s with Solomon.’

‘Yeah, her long-haired lover. She should leave that loser. Tell me, you live with them, are they happy?’

Laura growls at him, the same way Mossie did when he heard a sound in the trees that he couldn’t identify.

‘Okay, okay,’ Jack pops a chewing gum in his mouth.

Laura turns her attention to the walls. Framed discs, awards, artists she recognises, others she doesn’t, his own from his band, Jack Starr and the Starr Gazers.

‘You like music?’ he asks.

She nods. She makes the crackling sound of vinyl, like logs burning in a fire, that comfortable, cosy, memorable sound.

His eyes widen. ‘Jesus. You listened to vinyl?’

‘Mum and Gaga loved jazz. Billie Holiday, Miles Davis, Nina Simone, Louis Armstrong…’ She hums the tune to ‘I’m a Fool to Want You’, but her humming is deep and gravelly, not the voice of a young woman. ‘Gaga’s favourite song,’ she explains.

He shakes his head, in awe.

Uncomfortable under his gaze, she looks away.

‘I’m guessing you’ve never been to Australia,’ he says.

‘No,’ she smiles.

‘Well, they want you. Boy, do they want you. Biggest talk show over there has invited you. There is no Australian creature, with the exception of the koala, more firmly established in the public regard than the lyrebird. But you couldn’t be more different. The koala is a hundred popstars you could name, all quaint and approachable, but you are elusive, exclusive. Man, you coming along is… well, it’s the best timing for us, for the show. We’ve been trying to get into the Australian market for a while and I think this gives us a way in. The networks wanted to see that we could stir up public interest, and now they have. One hundred million views…’ He checks his phone. ‘One hundred and eleven million views.’ He laughs. ‘Anyway, you don’t need to worry about any of that, you just get to go on a free trip. Go on the country’s biggest chat show. Pose with a lyrebird for the press. Do a magazine shoot. Then fly home for Monday night’s semi-final. What do you think?’