Lyrebird

The first feathers to be shed by the male bird in the moult are the two fine, narrow, wire-like, lyre-shaped plumes which, when the tail is spread, project above the fan and are always maintained at an acute angle from the main plumes while the bird is displaying…

When the tail moult is complete, the male bird is hardly to be distinguished by a casual observer from the female for a period of several weeks. During this period the male bird keeps more or less in retirement. He disappears from his accustomed haunts and his singing is rarely to be heard… He never dances and seldom sings… Moreover, his general mien is sad and dejected. Close and prolonged study has induced the conclusion that the male Menura is an intensely proud and vain creature, who, when shorn of his magnificence, feels ashamed and disconsolate and is happiest in hiding.

Ambrose Pratt, The Lore of the Lyrebird

35

Bo sits alone in the silent apartment watching the clock. Solomon hasn’t returned from his trip to Galway yet, he hasn’t even phoned. She hasn’t called him either. She’s not sure if he’s coming home today or tomorrow. She’s not sure she cares. They’ve had so little to say to each other that’s positive, lately, and it’s clear to her that they’ve reached the end. This wasn’t just a speedbump – those were designed to make you slow down, get your wits about you, process what’s happening. No, this time they’d come up against an enormous stop sign, yelling at them to quit. No more moving forward.

She sits at the table, her head spinning, contemplating what’s left of her life. Her documentary has fallen apart, she doesn’t want to press charges against Laura as her dad was suggesting – that was never her intention. She needs to move on, that much she knows. But how can she move on? The embarrassment is not the worst thing that has come from this, though. Her reputation is a little tarnished, but that’s not what’s bothering her. It’s that she can’t bring herself to move on to the next story until she’s finished telling this one. Despite whatever Solomon might think, her heart is in Lyrebird’s story.

The phone rings and when she looks at the caller ID her heart leaps. Since they broke up and she embarked on a relationship with Solomon, Jack always managed to call her at her weakest moment; as if he could sense when she’s at her most vulnerable, her most likely moment to let him in. Since this Lyrebird legal mess had begun, she had been praying for the return of those calls that she’d begged him to cease.

‘Hello.’

‘Hi,’ Jack says, sounding defeated.

‘I appreciate you finally calling me back,’ she says unable to keep the anger from her tone.

He sighs. ‘Bo Peep. Help.’

She’s surprised by his tone. It’s rare for him.

‘It’s been so crazy around here the past few days. Really stressful. I’m exhausted, Bo,’ he says, and leaves a silence. ‘I thought I’d learned from all my mistakes last time round. I thought I knew how to help an act. I thought I could stop what happened to me from happening to them. I thought…’ He sighs. ‘I fucked up. I’m off my high horse now. Screw the lawyers. Screw it all. I need your help.’

‘My help?’

‘Lyrebird hasn’t left her bedroom for days. She hasn’t said a word to anyone, she hasn’t made a sound. We have no final if we don’t have her. We can’t pressure her to go on, there’s too much attention on us now. Everyone’s watching. Watching for the show to fuck up, for her to fuck up. I mean, when did it stop being about the talent? And I can’t say I blame her. I’ve been right where she is now.’

Bo is so surprised by this, she was expecting an argument.

‘Bo, we need your help. You know her better than us. What should we do?’

‘I gave you advice for the semi-final, I told you to go with a forest theme, I told you exactly what to do and you messed that up.’

‘I know, I know, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘We’ve fucked up on this. I prided myself on protecting the talent, not on this happening. You know she reminds me of me, right now, where I was when everything went black. This is all bringing me back there…’ He goes quiet. ‘I mean, I’m not going to have a drink,’ he says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself. ‘I’m not. But I had a cigarette. I hope that doesn’t spoil our chances,’ he adds a weak joke, his heart not in it.

‘Can we meet up?’ Bo asks, sitting up, feeling all the energy that drained from her surging back at full force. She’s worried about him, she’s excited about being included. Contact at last.

‘Please,’ he sighs. ‘We need all the help we can get. I need all the help I can get.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ Bo says, standing up and grabbing things, throwing them into her bag. ‘But first, one little tip.’

‘Go on.’

‘Start by calling her Laura,’ she says gently.

‘Right. Got it,’ he says.

36

Laura awakes with a start, her heart drumming and the sound of chirping loud in her ears. If she had a nightmare she doesn’t remember it, but she feels the remaining panic in her heart and chest. Something scared her. She hears the other contestants downstairs talking and laughing, drinking after the latest drama, which has forced a contestant out of the show and caused another to join the house.

Country singer Kevin has been kicked out after StarrQuest discovered he once had a record deal that he is still signed to. It is against the rules for anybody to have a contract of any sort that would affect StarrGaze’s rights over the act. The happiest person in the house is Brendan. But he doesn’t know that when Kevin returned for the last time to pack his bags, Alice gave him a parting gift. In the bedroom next door to Laura’s, the headboard was banging in time with Kevin’s throaty groans of ‘Sweet Jesus!’ Then the two lovers discussed their magazine offers and plans to enter Celebrity Big Brother, before Kevin packed his cowboy hat and boots and left.

The twelve-year-old contortionist has taken his place. She’s outside now, practising for her pyro show, diving through loops of fire, while her mother and father look on, wearing tracksuits with her name and face on their backs.

Alice’s tears soon dried and now she is in the hall, arguing with Brendan about her focus, or lack thereof. Wide awake now, Laura sits up and listens. He tells her she needs to focus on her career, on him and her. Alice is fed up with him and her, she needs a life beyond the act, this show has given her that. It’s like a bullet through the heart for Brendan.

Throughout their argument, Laura hears the echo of chirping in her head. It hasn’t come from her, she’s sure of it. As far as she’s aware, she still hasn’t made a sound and she feels as though someone has drawn a curtain on her throat. She turns on the bedroom light and sits up, the room is wrapped in a warm orange glow.

Still, her chest pounds.

She breathes in and out slowly, trying to settle herself, confused by this feeling. For days now this room has been her haven. Through drawing the curtain on her voice, she has drawn a curtain on the world; for a while it helped her to feel safe, protected, at peace. Now she feels trapped, as though the walls are closing in on her. Where previously it seemed big and spacious, now it feels like there’s not enough air to breathe. Like she’s in a cage.

That thought sparks off the chirping again in her head and she realises where the sound is coming from. She throws off the covers and dresses quickly, peering outside. It’s two a.m., the photographers don’t stay all night, she’ll be able to leave without being seen. She packs some things in a backpack, including the per diem, the allowance the show has given them each day. Getting out of here will be a problem; the house is in a remote area in Enniskerry, and though there is a village minutes away, it’s not walkable, not at this hour. She would have to call a taxi and all the phones are downstairs. Alice and Brendan have moved away from where they were arguing. She opens her door and walks as quietly as she can down the hall, hoping to miss Alice, who seems to report her every move to the press.

She winces as the floor creaks underfoot. By the time she makes it downstairs, everybody seems to have gone to bed, getting ready for the final tomorrow night. She tiptoes into one of the lounges and is about to phone for a taxi when a figure appears at the door.

‘Alan,’ she says, getting a fright.

‘Laura!’ He sounds as surprised as she is. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Calling a taxi.’

‘I’ll drive you.’

‘You don’t even know where I’m going.’

He shrugs. ‘Anywhere but here would be an attraction right now.’

She smiles at him sympathetically. ‘What are you doing up so late?’

‘Only time I get to practise. It’s so crazy with everybody here in the day. Too many people keeping an eye on each other. I envy you sometimes, up there in your room.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’

‘I need to get out,’ she explains.

‘Are you coming back?’

‘I want to,’ she says honestly. She wants to honour everybody who has helped her. It’s not their fault that it has all come to this point; the blame for that is all hers. But how can she take part in the show when she hasn’t uttered a sound? She’s heard the radio and TV reports that the Lyrebird has lost her lore.

Alan looks tired.

‘You should sleep, Alan. You have a big night tomorrow.’

‘I can’t,’ he says, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’ve never been so nervous in my life,’ he stammers. ‘Mabel, on the other hand, is getting her beauty sleep. She needs it.’

Laura laughs. ‘I meant what I said: I want you to win. You deserve it more than anyone.’

‘I think we both deserve it more than anyone,’ he says kindly.

They smile.

‘Then if either of us win, we’ve both won already,’ he says. ‘Can I ask you something? Why are you taking part in this show? You’re the last person I’d imagine being interested in this kind of life. Not that I’m being judgemental,’ he stammers. ‘If you saw where I’m coming from, you’d understand why I entered. I have nothing. I live with Mam and Dad. It’s me and Mabel and… that’s it. If I don’t make it work, there’s nothing else that I know how to do. I’ve tried everything else.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’ve failed at everything else. Mabel is all I have.’

Laura thinks about it. ‘I think, Alan, the two of us have more in common than you could know. If I wasn’t here right now, I can’t think of anything else that I could do either, but I didn’t know that being able to do the thing that I love to do, naturally, would make life so complicated.’

He smiles sadly. ‘And we are the lucky ones. Imagine if we didn’t know?’

Laura ponders that.

‘I’ll get my car keys.’

They leave the house unnoticed, though Laura wouldn’t be surprised if reports of a secret affair between Alan and Laura were to emerge in the press. There’s nothing Alice wouldn’t do to jeopardise their positions in the competition. Laura is certain Alice was behind the leaked ‘backstage altercation’ between Lyrebird and the StarrQuest producer.

The drive to Dublin city is calm, there being no traffic on the roads at this hour.

‘Is this the sound guy’s place?’ he asks, looking up at the block of apartments.

‘Yes,’ Laura replies. ‘How did you know?’

‘I’ve seen you with him,’ he says. ‘Mabel felt you had a thing going.’

Laura leans her head back against the headrest. ‘Mabel’s got it wrong. There was nothing between us.’ She fights her tears from welling.

‘I don’t know, Mabel is pretty smart,’ Alan says studying her. ‘Bianca left his number for you to call him, you know.’

‘I know,’ she sighs. ‘I couldn’t. I was too embarrassed.’

‘Laura you have to get over it. At my brother’s wedding I got so drunk I gave his mother-in-law a lap dance. I don’t even remember doing it. Saw the footage though. I ripped open my shirt. Popped every button. Almost took her eye out. If I can look her in the eye every Christmas, Easter and every family occasion, then you can.’

Laura giggles. ‘Thanks Alan.’

He’s reluctant to leave her at Solomon’s apartment block, but Laura convinces him she’s okay, fooling him by standing at the door and pretending to buzz his intercom. She watches him drive away, back to the contestants’ house, no doubt practising his act with an invisible Mabel in the car.

As she stands beneath the balcony, she imagines she can hear Solomon’s guitar playing. She hopes to be able to summon it herself, but there’s nothing, the curtain is still drawn over her vocal cords. She looks up at the window of the bedroom she slept in with his rails of shirts and T-shirts. She loved the smell and feel of his things around her, his music equipment, his guitar in the corner of the room, his recording equipment. She thinks of Bo and Solomon making love and this twists her heart. She needs to stay away from him, move on. It’s not their apartment that she’s here to visit.

She hears the chirping in her head again, the sound that woke her from her nightmare. The restaurant beneath the apartments has left all the tables and chairs outside; they’re stacked up in the corner against the glass. She gets an idea. She moves as quietly as possible, knowing how clearly she could hear everything outside when she was in the spare bedroom. She is more sensitive to sounds than most; Solomon is the only other person she’s ever met who hears things as she does. His ears have been finely honed either from his music days, or his sound recording days, trained to listen for that something extra. She stacks the chairs four high and struggles to climb on them. Too wobbly and not high enough. She half lifts, half pulls a table closer to the balcony and removes some chairs from the stack and lifts them onto the table. Dragging the table has made a noise and she looks up to check the apartments. All lights are off, clear balconies, no heads hanging out the windows. She uses one chair to climb on to the table. She holds on to the café window while climbing on to the stacked chairs. She’s high enough to reach the balcony, but it’s incredibly wobbly under her weight. She takes a chance and leans over and grabs the rail. She holds on tight and places one foot on the floor of the balcony, another staying on the wobbling stack of chairs. Finally, she takes a deep breath and heaves her body to the balcony so that she is standing on the outside of the railing. As she pushes against the stack of chairs, they topple off the table and fall to the ground, which makes an enormous crash that reverberates around the canal. Heart pounding, she sees lights go on, hears windows open, and quickly climbs over the balcony rail and ducks down, back against the wall. She catches her breath and hopes nobody will see her, huddled in the dark. She may be safe now, but getting down will be impossible now that she’s stupidly knocked over the stack of chairs.

She hears the chirping again and looks for the cage. The floor of the balcony is decorated with toy boxes, protecting the toys inside from the elements, the boy’s mother using every available space in her small apartment for her child. Laura’s ready to free the bird. After listening to his chirping for so long and watching him from Solomon and Bo’s balcony, she still can’t speak bird, but during her time mimicking the sounds she felt it was saying something. I’m trapped. Get me out. But her smile fades as she searches for the cage. It’s gone.

She starts to cry, feeling useless, helpless, pathetic.

The lights suddenly go on in the apartment and she panics, knowing that to jump from the balcony to the table would be dangerous. The table would topple under her weight, she’d end up on the ground. Should she risk it?

The curtain slides open and a woman’s face appears. When she sees Laura, she starts screaming. In Polish. Laura stands up and holds out her hands to calm her.

‘It’s okay,’ Laura says, knowing the woman can’t hear her, and even if she could, she might not understand English. ‘Please…’

The lights in Solomon’s apartment go on.

Laura panics. He can’t find her here, not like this. The balcony door slides open and Solomon steps out sleepily. He’s not wearing a top and his tracksuit bottoms sit dangerously low on his hips. Despite her panic, Laura can’t help but take him in. He rubs his eyes as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

‘Laura?’

She starts to cry again, feeling ridiculous, pathetic, mortified and relieved to see him again. All those feelings, all at the same time.

Solomon bangs on the door. He can hear Katja inside, screaming, and a child howling. She’s not answering the door, but she sounds like she’s talking to someone in the apartment. She’s shrieking and crying, the little boy is crying. Others have stepped out of their apartments into the corridor and glare sleepily at Solomon as he bangs on the door, as if this is all his fault. He ignores them. His heart pounds, he needs to get inside.

‘Katja!’ Solomon raises his voice, ignoring the hushing and shushing from his neighbours.

At last she opens the door. Her terrified eyes are red raw, tears stream down her face, snot down her nose. A baby is in her arms crying, a little boy clinging to her leg, and she has a phone to her ear.

‘I’m Solomon, your neighbour,’ he says when the terrified expression gives way to confusion. They’ve never spoken, aside from a few quick hellos as they’ve passed each other in the hall, but nothing more than that, nothing friendlier than that.

‘There’s a burglar on the balcony,’ she says to him, then returns to rapid fire Polish as she speaks down the phone. She leaves the door open and moves inside the apartment. She paces the wall furthest away from the balcony, as if afraid to go near the burglar who remains trapped out there, sitting on the cold hard floor, covering her face with her hands.

‘Have you called the guards?’ Solomon asks.

‘The what?’

‘The police.’

‘No! My husband! His friends will come.’

‘No, no, no,’ he says, trying to take the phone from her to explain to the man on the phone, but she whacks him hard on the arm and takes him by surprise. The baby howls, the little boy tries to kick him.

‘Katja, listen,’ he pleads, trying to calm her, to stop her screaming down the phone. ‘This is a mistake. She’s not a burglar. She’s my friend. The burglar on the balcony. She’s my friend.’

She finally stops and looks at him suspiciously.

‘This is a misunderstanding. My friend was trying to surprise me. She went to the wrong balcony.’ In actual fact, Solomon has absolutely no idea what Laura is doing on this balcony, she could be a burglar for all he knows, but he’ll defend her till the end. He’s seen Katja’s husband. He doesn’t want to meet his friends.

‘It’s a mistake. She got the wrong balcony.’

‘Why would she want to climb to your balcony?’

‘To… to… to be romantic, you know? Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet. The balcony. You know? Trust me, she is not a burglar. It’s a misunderstanding. Tell your husband to call his friends off.’

She thinks about it then fires a machine-gun drill of angry words into the phone.

As she does, Solomon opens the sliding doors and crouches down to Laura, who’s still huddled on the ground, hugging herself even tighter at the sound of the door opening. Her face is buried between her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs, which are tucked tight to her body.

‘It’s okay,’ he whispers, moving close, trying to see her face.

‘I was trying to set it free,’ she says, weeping.

‘Trying to set what free?’ He frowns.

‘The bird.’ She finally looks up. ‘I could hear the bird. It woke me up. It was trying to get out. I was trying to set it free, but it wasn’t there…’

He realises what she was trying to do. ‘Oh, Laura.’ He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close to him. He squeezes her tight, feeling her skin beneath her top where it has raised on her waist. He kisses the top of her head, breathes her in. He could stay like that for ever. She clings to him as hard as he holds her, and he’s feeling this embrace with every fibre of his being, wanting this moment more than anything.

She moves her face from where it is nestled to his bare chest and looks up at him. Her forehead brushes his chin as she moves, his skin tingles, hers is on fire. Their hearts pound with the closeness. She lifts her chin to gaze at him, their lips so close, their breaths already touching. She searches his eyes and finds her answer. His pupils are dilated, she sees the want in them. She smiles.

Then Katja comes to the door, the baby still crying on her hip.

‘Let’s go,’ he whispers, not wanting to move but wanting to get out of there before the husband returns. Laura moves with him, their hands finding one another and linking tightly. As they stand, Solomon sees a figure on the balcony next door. On his balcony. It’s Bo. She’s been watching them.

‘I’m sorry,’ Laura sniffs, pulling her legs under her body as she curls up on the armchair. She wraps a blanket around herself, shudders. She can’t look them in the eye.

Bo and Solomon view her from the couch. And while it’s back to two against one, the positions have changed. Bo sits as far away from Solomon as she can, perched at the very edge of the couch.

‘I had a nightmare, I woke up feeling trapped, I could hear the bird.’ She shakes her head.

‘What did it sound like?’ Bo asks, testing her.

Laura thinks about it, then shakes her head, no sound coming. ‘I think I’m going crazy.’ She rubs her eyes tiredly. ‘What was I thinking?’

‘No, you’re not,’ Bo says quietly, and Solomon looks at her in surprise.

She ignores him. She takes a chair from the kitchen table and moves it close to Laura’s armchair, so that she’s in front of her. Solomon’s not sure whether she’s deliberately blocking his view of the woman he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off since he met her, or if she just wants him out of her own eyeline. ‘What has happened to you has been crazy. How on earth you’re expected to deal with it is beyond me. This has been your way. Becoming a cat burglar.’

Laura looks at Bo in surprise and they both start laughing, breaking the nervous tension.

‘The bird is a canary. I had one as a kid. It stays in the cage. It sleeps inside at night,’ Bo explains.

‘Oh.’ Laura sniffs. ‘I should have known that.’

‘I think it was less about you releasing the canary and more about you feeling trapped, you wanting to get out of there,’ Bo offers.

Solomon is stunned by this exchange. He remains silent, feeling, probably for the first time, that Bo can handle her.

‘Everyone has been so kind,’ Laura says. ‘I didn’t have any reason to feel that way. You and Solomon have been so good to me, welcoming, hospitable.’ Her eyes flicker quickly in his direction and then back to Bo again, not wanting to betray the woman who is being so understanding. ‘I didn’t want to ruin things for you, embarrass you, let you down.’

‘You haven’t,’ Bo says, annoyed – but not with Laura, with herself. ‘We… I can only speak for myself, but I should have protected you. I threw you to the lions, I watched it happen. I told myself it was for your own good, but it wasn’t.’

Laura and Solomon look at her in shock.

‘No, you didn’t, you saved me,’ Laura says. ‘I’m so grateful for everything.’

‘Don’t be,’ Bo says quietly. ‘Please. We all got so excited about you, about how precious and rare and exciting you are, that we lost ourselves in you. Your talent-’

‘Oh, I don’t have a talent,’ Laura interrupts. ‘Alan, he has a talent. He’s up all night, every night, working on his routine. He writes it, performs it, even sews his own dummy when it needs to be repaired. He’s travelled the country for the past fifteen years, taking every gig imaginable. He’s been shouted at, laughed at, paid next to nothing, just to hone his skill.’

As she says the word hone she sees Gaga with her knife, but no sound comes to her or from her. It’s gone. This enrages her even more.

‘Alice, for all her shortcomings, spends four hours in the gym every day – every single day. Nothing passes her lips that isn’t for a purpose, she folds herself into a thousand little pieces, has dedicated her entire life to her craft. Sparks has been doing card tricks since he was seven. Seven! He spends six hours practising every day. Selena sings like an angel, and there’s a twelve-year-old girl who leaps through fire on the lawn. That’s talent. What am I? Some weirdo who opens her mouth and mimics sounds. There’s nothing original about me. I’m like a parrot, or a a a… monkey. I’m a freak of nature. A weirdo, I belong in a circus, not in this talent show. I’m a con, a liar. They’re right in what they say about me. I’m not original, I’m not unique or authentic. I mimic sounds and half the time I don’t even notice what I’m doing. I shouldn’t be here, I know that. I shouldn’t have forced my way into your lives, I shouldn’t have forced you two apart – I know that’s what I’ve done and I’m sorry…’ The tears fall. ‘But I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t have anywhere else to go, I can’t go back. I’m trying to move forward all the time but I’m grasping at everything and can’t catch on to anything…’ She trails off as the tears fall.

Solomon’s eyes fill. If Bo wasn’t here, he’d stand up, he’d go to her, he’d take her in his arms, he’d kiss her, every inch of her, tell her how beautiful she is, how talented she is, how perfect in every way she is. How she is the most unique, talented, authentic person he has ever met. How she captivates him just by being. But he can’t, Bo is in the room and any sound he makes or any move he makes will betray him, betray Bo. So he sits in silence, feeling trapped in his own body, watching as the woman he loves falls apart at the seams, in front of the woman he tried to love.

And the woman he tried to love speaks for him, stronger than him, stronger than he’ll ever be and he’s grateful to her for that.

‘Laura, let me tell you about your skill,’ Bo says, speaking with conviction. ‘Part of your ability is that you showcase the world’s beauty. You recognise the tiniest details in people, animals, objects, everything. You hear things that we don’t even notice or that we’ve long stopped hearing. You capture those things and you display them to the world. You remind us of what’s beautiful.

‘People say that’s what I do in my documentaries. I show the world characters and stories that have been hidden. I find the story, the people, then I help them to tell the world. You, you do it all through a simple sound. One whiff of my mum’s perfume and I’m transported back to my house as a kid. One sound from you moves every single person to another time and place. You touch everyone, Laura. You have to understand that.

‘Solomon told me that when his mother heard you mimicking the harp music at her birthday party, she said it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. She has been making that sound for fifty years, but she heard it for the first time through you. Do you understand how important that is? When you met Caroline in wardrobe, it took you one minute to bring her to tears; you made her feel like she was six years old again, sitting with her mother in her workshop. I don’t think you have any idea of the way you touch people. You find the beauty in the world, the sadness in the everyday, the extraordinary in the ordinary, the whimsical in the mundane. Laura, you got into the show through mimicking a coffee machine for an entire minute.’

They laugh.

‘You are important. You are relevant. You are unique – and you deserve to be up on that stage just as much as anyone else. So what if you don’t have to rehearse – that doesn’t mean you’re not good enough. Should we all have to struggle to be truly great? Because it comes easily to you, does that make you any less talented? Or does that make you even more astounding? It’s the greatest lesson that you can teach us: what you have comes from within. It’s a natural, rare, God-given skill.’

‘It’s gone,’ Laura whispers.

‘It’s still in there. It’s like the hiccups. You got a fright and they went away, but they’re in there. You’ll find it again.’

‘How?’

‘Maybe if you remember how it began, that might help bring it back. You stopped feeling curious, or intrigued, you fell out of love with things. You’ll be inspired again.’ She glances at Solomon, almost as if she’s handing the baton over to him. Does she really mean what Solomon thinks she means? The awkward look in her eye, the sad but resigned tone. She stands up. ‘You have until tomorrow night. I’ve been helping Jack today, trying to figure out a set-up that will help you perform, that will help you feel comfortable. No more dancers in spandex, no more dancing bears in the woods. You’re going to feel right at home up there. Well… I better leave you guys…’ She looks around awkwardly, gathering her things under Solomon’s watchful gaze. He wants to say something but doesn’t know what. He’s not sure if he understands correctly. She disappears into the bedroom and he hears her unzip a case. His heart pounds.

He looks at Laura, wondering if she understands the greatness of what’s happening, but she’s in her own world, her mind mulling over all the things Bo said.

Solomon makes his way to the bedroom. He finds Bo packing her things.

‘Bo-’

‘Bo-’

Solomon and Laura speak at the same time.

‘Yes?’ she answers Laura, going to the door.

‘You said if I could remember where it came from in the first place…?’

‘Yes, it was just an idea…’

‘Have you got your camera here?’

Bo’s cheeks pink. ‘That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t asking you to…’

‘I know you weren’t. But I want to tell you.’

‘Laura we’re not allowed to continue with the documentary. StarrGaze Entertainment lawyers have been very clear on that point.’

‘I don’t care what they say, this is my mouth, my words, my thoughts, they don’t own them.’

Solomon and Bo look at each other. He gives her the nod.

Rachel is with Susie at the hospital, Susie is in labour. But Laura wants to do this now so Bo sets up a camera on a tripod. Solomon takes care of the sound. It’s done quickly without fuss. Laura is ready to talk.

37

Isabel got sick very fast. She weakened quickly. She’d been taking all of their home-made medicines, everything they could research and make for themselves. At no point did she want to take hospital drugs. She was against chemotherapy, she wanted to try alternative therapies, specific nutrition plans. She was very thorough in her research, Gaga too. They had always been like that, almost like everything they’d learned in their lives was all for that moment. She did liver-flush therapy, high pH therapy, which ensured she ate foods high in alkaline and balanced her body pH. And then when she couldn’t eat whole foods any more she was on a liquid protocol.

‘If I’m going to die,’ her mother reaches out and wipes a tear from her daughter’s cheek. ‘I’m going to die healthy.’

Laura smiles and sniffs her tears away. She kisses the back of her mother’s hand.

The work studio is in the house so that Gaga and Laura can work on the clothes alterations and care for her at the same time, though Gaga still deals with the customers in the garage. Their home is private. Protection of Laura has always been their main priority though now Gaga struggles with leaving her ill daughter. Laura often thinks that even though she is by her mother’s side, Gaga wants to be there herself. She is letting the business go, letting standards drop, just so that she won’t have to leave her. Her mother’s health has deteriorated fast, they sit up with her all night, supposed to be taking their shifts in turns but neither of them wanting to be asleep when the moment comes. It is on one of those days that Gaga is dealing with a customer in the garage, that Laura is alone with her mum. Laura can tell by the change in her mother’s breathing that something is happening.

‘Mummy,’ Isabel says, in a raspy voice, sounding like a child.

It is the first word she has said in days.

‘I’m here, Mum, it’s Laura,’ Laura takes her hand and holds it to her lips.

‘Mummy,’ she repeats. Her eyes are open, they look around as if searching for Gaga.

Laura’s heart pounds. She hurries to the window and peeks through the blinds toward the garage. There’s no sign of Gaga, the customer’s car is still in the drive. She looks back from her mother to the garage, feeling trapped, the most trapped she’s ever felt in her life. If she calls Gaga, the customer will hear or see her. They’d all made a pact that Laura would never be seen, not until she’s the legal age. It was long understood and long unspoken. The idea of her being out in the world before she’s sixteen terrifies them.

Laura is torn. Her mother’s breathing is shallow, she knows she’s leaving the world, she can’t call Gaga and risk anybody discovering her existence, but she can’t let her mum go thinking that she’s on her own.

The panic. The hot feeling that overwhelms her body, as sweat breaks out on her brow and trickles down her back. The palpitations. The cold fear. She is losing her mum and while she wants to shout to the world for help, she knows she can’t risk being taken away from Gaga too. She would lose everything.

She doesn’t want her mum to die thinking she is alone, just as she will feel without hers. She doesn’t want Gaga to know that her daughter died without her thinking she was there. She sits beside her, closes her eyes and wills every single part of her to solve the problem, to save her in the moment.

She opens her mouth and sings, and when she sings, she hears Gaga’s voice, the voice of an older woman with a Yorkshire accent. Isabel squeezes her hand.

The broken tree, with a broken limb,

Stands where the grass is brown, and the sky is dim.

Flowers are forever buds,

A skeleton tree in the luscious woods.

No spiders crawl, no animals reign,

On the broken tree, with a broken limb.

But on the branch a She Bird props,

With her beak held high, and her eyes apop.

As she sings her song for all

The buds open wide and the petals fall.

The spiders crawl and weave their webs,

The fruit flies flee from the strawberry beds

The broken tree is broken no more when the She Bird sits to sing her lore.

The tree’s alive, the limb’s repaired,

The animals inhabit because they all have heard.

Children climb, and laugh and play,

The broken tree comes alive for just one day.

The She Bird’s song stops and she flies away

And the broken tree returns that way.

Solomon and Bo are holding their breath as they watch Laura. It’s not just her voice that has changed as she recalls the song from her mother’s deathbed, somehow she has managed to allow the spirit of her Gaga to inhabit her. It is nothing short of magical. Bo turns to Solomon, looks at him for the first time since she effectively left him; her eyes are wide and filled with tears. He reaches for her hand and she takes it, squeezes it. Laura opens her eyes and looks at their hands, joined.

Bo wipes her cheek and Laura smiles.

‘Was that…’ She clears her throat to remove the emotion and starts again. ‘Was that the first time you realised you had this skill?’

‘Yes,’ she says softly. ‘It’s the first time I realised it. But then, when I realised it, it became clear it wasn’t the first time I’d done it.’

Bo nods at her to tell her more.

‘Gaga brought it up with me one day, years before. We were lying on the grass, behind the house, I was making daisy chains. Mam was reading a book, she loved romance books, Gaga hated them. Mam would sometimes read the sentences aloud, just to annoy Gaga,’ she laughs. ‘I can hear them, at each other. Gaga blocking her ears la la la la.’

Isabel isn’t reading aloud. It is silent. And suddenly Gaga starts laughing.

‘That was a good one, Laura,’ she says.

Laura has no idea what she is talking about.

‘Stop it,’ Laura’s mum says to her, glaring at her over the book.

‘What? It was a particularly good sound. She’s getting better, Isabel. You have to admit it.’

Laura sits up in the long grass. ‘What am I getting better at?’

Gaga raises her eyebrows at her daughter.

‘Nothing, love, nothing. Ignore your Gaga, she’s going senile.’

‘Well, we all know that. But there’s nothing wrong with my ears,’ Gaga winks at Laura.

Laura giggles. ‘Tell me.’

Mum lowers her book. She glares at Gaga, but there’s submission in the look, like she’s giving her permission but warning her to tread carefully.

‘You make these wonderful sounds, dear child. Haven’t you noticed?’

‘Sounds? No. What kind of sounds?’ Laura laughs, thinking Gaga is fooling her.

‘All kinds of sounds. Just then you were buzzing like a bee. I almost thought I was about to be stung!’ She gives a belly laugh.

‘No, I wasn’t,’ Laura says, confused.

Her mother looks at Gaga, there’s concern in her eyes.

‘Oh, indeed you did, my little bumble bee,’ she closes her eyes and raises her head to the sun.

‘No, I didn’t, why would you say that?’ Laura says, voice shaking.

‘I heard you,’ she says simply.

‘Enough now, Mother.’

‘Okay,’ she replies, looking at Mum through one eye, then closes it again.

Laura stares at the two of them. Her Gaga lazy in a deckchair, Mum reading her book. Rage rushes through her.

‘You’re a liar!’ she shouts, then runs from the garden and into the house.

‘How old were you?’ Bo asks.

‘I was seven. It didn’t come up again for a long time. Maybe a year later. Mum didn’t want to talk about it, she knew I was sensitive about it, and Gaga was under strict instructions not to say a word.’

‘Why do you think you were particularly sensitive about it?’

‘Do you know what it’s like to be constantly told you’re doing something that you don’t even know you’re doing?’

Bo smiles at that, she bites her lip. She glances at Solomon, a cheeky look in her eye. ‘Let’s say yes, I do know that feeling. It makes you feel like you’re going crazy. It makes you resent the person who’s saying it.’

Solomon hears her.

‘Even if you know they’re only saying it for your own good,’ Laura says. ‘Even if you know they couldn’t possibly be making it up, because you trust them. It makes you question everything. I made a sound once that really startled Mum. It made her want to talk about it.’

‘What sound was it?’

‘A police radio.’ Laura swallows. ‘The sounds I made were only ever sounds that I had heard. I could have got it from the television, of course, but it felt to Mum like it was real. She couldn’t ignore that sound. That’s the sound they’d both been afraid of for a very long time. She wanted to know where I’d heard it, but I didn’t know what sound she was talking about, I didn’t realise I’d made it. We managed to narrow it down, though. It was the police radio. I’d heard it one day when they’d both left the house. I’d been in my bedroom, the curtains were closed just like they were supposed to be. Living in a bungalow, we had to be careful about who would look in the windows when Mum and Gaga weren’t around.’

‘They left you in the house alone at seven years of age?’ Bo asks, concerned.

‘They were in the woods, they were foraging. I decided to stay home, read a book. I heard a car approach the house. I got down on the ground and hid under the bed. I heard footsteps on the gravel. They were close to my window. I felt like somebody was outside the window. Then I heard the sound of the police radio.’ Laura shudders as she tells the story. ‘I didn’t tell Mum and Gaga about it when they came home, I didn’t want them to be afraid. Nothing had happened, so there was no reason to tell them, but then I revealed it anyway in my sounds.’

‘How did your mother take it?’

‘She panicked. She called Gaga. Made me tell the story over and over, exactly what I heard, over and over again. I was confused. I knew they were nervous around the guards, but I never knew why.’

‘Did they tell you?’

‘I asked them that day. I thought they were afraid I’d be taken away because of the sounds I was making. As soon as Mum heard that, she sat me down and told me the whole story. Her and Gaga. They told me everything.’

‘Everything…’

Laura looks at Solomon. She takes a deep breath. ‘About how my granddad died.’

Solomon takes his headphones off, ‘Laura, are you sure you… Bo, maybe we should turn the camera off…’

‘Already have,’ Bo says, turning to look at him, her eyes wide. She and Solomon had both read the tabloid article about Isabel and Hattie’s alleged involvement in Laura’s grandfather’s death, a story Bo had heard in Cork when she had asked around about Hattie and Isabel. It was the story she had been digging for when she interviewed Laura at the Button cottage, but now she’s afraid to record it. She’s not sure she wants to hear the truth. How everything shifts.

‘Laura,’ Solomon says gently as he places his equipment down, ‘you don’t have to tell this story.’

‘I think that I do.’

‘You don’t,’ Bo urges. ‘Please don’t feel that you have to. I’m not pressurising you.’

‘Neither am I,’ Solomon says firmly. ‘In fact,’ he adds, getting to his feet, ‘perhaps we should take a break, stretch our legs. It’s late. It’s almost three a.m. It’s been a long night, an emotional one. Tomorrow’s a big day, we should-’

‘I have to tell it for them,’ Laura says. ‘He can’t hurt them any more.’

‘Who can’t?’ Bo asks. ‘The garda? Or your granddad?’

‘Both of them. I have to tell the story. For Mum’s sake, and Gaga’s. When they hid me, they hid the truth. They were trying to protect me, but now it’s my turn to protect them.’

Solomon looks at Laura, tries to read her. Laura looks at Solomon and Bo studies them both, as they do the thing they’ve been doing since the moment they saw each other. This non-verbal communication.

She looks away to give them space, to give herself space, to disappear from the weirdness of the situation. From the beginning she saw something between them and pushed them together. She pushed them together to get the story, she used Solomon to get closer to Laura. She can’t deny she did it. He wanted to stay away, he knew what he felt, and she pushed him closer to her. She can’t blame either of them. She certainly doesn’t blame herself, but she sees it all for what it is, realistically and balanced. There is something large between them, something that connects them, something that she’s not even sure Solomon sees himself. Solomon, who is so observant of her flaws and so ready to judge others, can’t stand far back enough to see himself.

Whatever passes between them helps to move a decision along.

‘Fine,’ Solomon says, brushing his hand through his long hair. ‘If this is what you want.’ His voice is so soft, so gentle, so understanding, Bo wonders if she’s ever heard him use those tones with her, if he even knows what he sounds like.

‘It is,’ Laura says firmly. A nod of the head that sends her hair tumbling down over her shoulders. She takes her seat in the armchair in front of the cream curtains that have been drawn, the lamp gives a light warm glow beside her, an earth green cushion and throw are over the back of the chair, helping to bring out the colour in her eyes even more.

Solomon sits down, eyes on Laura the entire time. Bo feels like she’s interrupting something here, realises she has felt that way every time they’ve been in the same room together. She watches Solomon from the corner of her eye as he places his headphones on his ears, adjusts the sound again. She thinks of the countless times he has gotten lost in his own world beneath those headphones, either for work or for his own music. He uses sound as his escape, just like Laura. She looks from her to him. She thinks they really have no idea. Or they do and they have been utterly respectful of her the entire time. In a bizarre twist, she wants to hug them both, then squish them together, the idiots.

Bo turns to Laura. ‘Are you ready?’

She nods firmly, a determined look in her eyes.

‘My granddad used to hurt them both. Gaga and my mum. He drank too much. Gaga says he was unpleasant most of the time, but he was violent when he’d had a drink. Sergeant O’Grady, the local garda, was his best friend. They’d gone to school together, they drank together. Gaga wasn’t from around there, she grew up in Leeds. She was a nanny, moved to Ireland to look after a family. She met Granddad and that was that, she stayed, but she found it hard to settle. She liked to keep to herself. The locals didn’t like that very much, which made her keep to herself even more. Granddad was possessive, he used to pick holes in everything she’d say when she was around people, the way she behaved, and so she decided it was better not to go out any more. It suited her, she said. But then he started getting aggressive. He hit her. She went to hospital with cracked ribs. Eventually things got so bad she went to Granddad’s friend, Garda O’Grady – not to press charges, but to ask him, as Granddad’s friend, to talk to him, help him. He didn’t like what she was saying, told her she must be doing something wrong to make him so angry – he turned it all around on her.

‘She would never have gone back to Garda O’Grady again, but for Granddad hitting Mum. She told the guard if he didn’t do something then she would report him. Garda O’Grady told Granddad what she had said. That night Granddad came home from the pub drunk. He hit Gaga, he said he was going to kill Mum. Gaga told her to run and Mum escaped the house and ran off into the woods. Granddad chased her, but he was two sheets to the wind. It was dark, he couldn’t see, he was drunk. Gaga followed him. She watched him trip and hit his head on a rock on the ground. He was begging her for help, to call an ambulance. She couldn’t help him. She said she was frozen. There was the man she had loved, the man who had just beaten her and threatened to kill their daughter, and she sat and watched him drown in a stream. She said that was the best thing that she could have done for both of them. She didn’t hit him, she didn’t kill him, but she didn’t try to save him either. She said she chose to save herself and her daughter instead.’

Laura lifts her chin. ‘I’m proud of her. I’m proud of what they did, that they were strong enough to defend themselves in the only way they knew how. She had tried talking to his friend, she had tried talking with the law, and it didn’t do any good. Granddad died at his own hands.’

‘But why did they choose to keep you a secret?’

‘Because Garda O’Grady wouldn’t leave them alone. He dragged Gaga in for questioning almost every day for months. He made her life hell. He spoke so badly about her she barely had any customers left. He even tormented Mum, who was only fourteen years old, he brought her in for questioning too. He accused them both of being murderers. He used to drop by the house at all times of the day and night. He scared them, threatened he’d lock them up for the rest of their lives. They lived in fear for so long, but they stayed where they were.

‘When the work dried up, Mum had to look around for another job. That’s when she started working for the Toolin twins. She had an affair with Tom Toolin. I don’t know how long it went on for, but I know that it ended when she became pregnant. She never even told him she had a baby. She was terrified that Garda O’Grady would take me away from her, that he would find a way. Gaga felt the same. So they kept me secret. They didn’t want me to have the same life as they had, they didn’t want him to torment me. They protected me in the best way they could.’

‘Do you think now that what they did to you, the life they chose for you, was right?’

‘They were doing the best they could. They were protecting me. I could have left the Toolin cottage at any time, but I was happy there. Growing up, I liked to hide, to be hidden. I liked looking at things from outside, from afar. If I hadn’t, I couldn’t immerse myself so much in all of the sounds around me. They all became part of me. I absorbed everything, like a sponge, because there was room for it in my life. Where other people have stresses and strains, endless pressures, I had none. I could be complete.’

‘Complete,’ Bo muses. ‘Do you feel complete now that you’ve left the cottage? Now that you’ve become immersed in society?’

‘No.’ Laura looks down at her fingers. ‘I don’t hear things as much as I used to. There’s a lot of noise. A lot of muddled…’ She searches for the right word but can’t find it. ‘I feel a bit broken,’ she says sadly.

38

Solomon brushes his teeth, taking longer than usual, staring at himself in the mirror but not seeing himself. He looks up to see Bo standing at the door of the ensuite, bag in hand.

Tears glisten in her eyes.

He spits out the toothpaste hurriedly and wipes his mouth. He moves back into the bedroom, banging his hip off the corner of an open drawer. He hisses with the pain then searches for something to say to Bo, but nothing comes to mind, nothing appropriate, more a feeling of panic that this moment is here and after everything, does he want it to happen? No relief, just panic, dread. The awful feelings of having to confront, deal, not hide from it. The natural wonder of second-guessing that comes with being confronted by change.

‘Jack?’ he asks, clearing his throat, awkwardly.

‘No,’ she laughs lightly. ‘Just not you.’

He’s taken aback by the harshness of it.

‘Oh, come on, Sol, it’s hardly shocking to either of us.’

He rubs his hip absentmindedly.

‘You’re in love with her,’ she says quickly. She rubs a single tear away from her cheek. Bo never did crying very well.

Solomon’s eyes widen.

‘Whether you know it or not, you are. I’m never sure with you. What you know and pretend not to, or what you genuinely are blocking out… Sometimes you see everything so clearly and other times you can’t even see yourself, but then, isn’t that all of us?’ She smiles sadly.

Solomon goes to her and wraps his arms around her, tight. She drops the bag and returns it. He kisses her on the top of her head.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t better for you,’ he whispers.

‘Me too,’ she replies, and he pulls away and makes a face. She laughs and picks up her bag. ‘Well, it’s hardly my fault, is it?’

‘Never,’ he grins, shaking his head, feeling a little lost, like he’s losing a part of himself with her.

She stalls at the door, lowers her voice. ‘You were great. We had moments of greatness. Something happened to us when we met her. It’s what you said once: she holds a mirror up to everyone. I didn’t like what I saw of us, not when I saw what you could really be like.’

He feels his face burn.

‘She saved us, I think,’ she adds, eyes tearing up again but trying to stop them. ‘Whoever heard of a saviour that breaks people up? We must have been bad.’

‘We weren’t,’ he says defensively. Their relationship may not have been perfect but they had a lot of good times, or at least, mostly good, but not forever good. He won’t see it tarnished. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Not my parents.’ She makes a face, backing away.

‘Jack?’ he asks again.

‘You need to get over him,’ she says, annoyed.

‘So do you,’ he replies, and she rolls her eyes and turns away.

And despite the situation, Solomon hates Jack even more and wants to hit him even harder.

‘I’m helping StarrQuest with Laura’s final performance, you just need to get her to the studio tomorrow. I’ll come back for the rest of my stuff during the week. Stay away from my underwear drawer.’

‘I’ll try,’ he says, folding his arms and watching her. ‘It’s just the feel of the lace that gets me.’

She tries not to smile as she opens the door. ‘This is the weirdest break-up ever.’

‘It was the weirdest together ever.’

‘I can think of weirder,’ she says, looking over his shoulder.

He turns around, expecting to see Laura and is faced with the closed door of the spare bedroom. By the time he turns back to Bo she has left, and shut the door behind her. He only realises then that his body is trembling lightly, from the shock, from the loss. He looks at Laura’s closed door again and thinks of what Bo said.

In love with her.

Of course he is. He knew it the second he saw her.

He knows now the solution to his dilemma, whether it’s better to protect something precious and rare, or to share it. His love for her was precious, and the intensity of it was rare. His love for her was better not shared. She’d do better without him, he brought her to this point and he hadn’t done her any favours. He was no good for someone like her. Precious was better kept protected.

His role now is to fix the mess he got her into, the mess he made of her. He took her from her nest, fractured her life, left her. He’ll do everything he can to mend and rebuild. He closes his bedroom door and hears a sound from Laura that breaks his heart. Silence.

39

Close to five a.m. Solomon wakes to the sound of the television in the living room. Laura is still awake. He doesn’t hold out much hope for her performance that is technically tonight now that the sun is shining brightly and the morning has begun, and he’s not sure he cares. He weighs up the damage if she doesn’t show up at the studio; Laura doesn’t owe anything to the show, but she certainly owes it to herself. The public have got the wrong impression of her, and while nobody should care what people they don’t know think of them, when somebody has something so beautiful to show the world, when people can benefit from her just being, that’s when they should be understood. She owes it to herself to perform one final time, as herself, in the way that she wants to. He has no idea what Bo has up her sleeve, but he trusts her. The woman she has been for the past twenty-four hours has cemented in his mind her greatness, the reason why she’s won so many awards this year. She’s a champion in her own arena, she can capture hearts and minds through her storytelling.

He can’t go to sleep, and while he’s trying to stay away from Laura, especially in such intimate surroundings, he can’t lie here while she’s out there. He’s hardly going to jump on her without her permission, but he bloody well wants to. Best to stay away. Yet knowing that, he gets out of bed, doesn’t bother with his T-shirt. He opens his bedroom door. She is sitting on the couch, her back to him. She’s watching The Toolin Twins.

He watches her. Wearing one of his T-shirts, her long legs folded on the couch beside her, her hair falling lazily down, messy from her restless lie in her bed. His heart pounds. He’s about to say something, something comforting, something warm about her father and uncle, when she rewinds it for a few seconds and plays it again. He doesn’t want to disturb her hearing whatever she wanted to see or hear again. He waits, watching her. And then, when it’s finished, she rewinds it and plays it again, her back straightening. He looks at the TV, at the brothers on the mountain surveying their sheep. She rewinds and plays it again.

It’s not the right time for him. He was right about it probably never being the right time. He closes his door softly and falls asleep to the sound of Laura rewinding and replaying her father and uncle.

Laura keeps her eyes on the television as she hears the door behind her open. Her skin prickles, goosebumps rise on her skin. She sits there, frozen. Just him and her in the flat; she heard Bo leave, heard some of their conversation, tried not to listen as a mark of respect. She has felt so in the way of their relationship she should at least stay out of their goodbye, let them own that. So she’d lain in bed, eyes wide open, not at all tired despite the hour, the room smelling of Solomon, the same smell she’d smelled in the forest the first day they’d met.

She’d sensed him before she’d smelled him.

She had smelled his scent in the wind long before she’d seen him.

She’d watched him long before he even sensed her.

Watching him from behind the tree she had an overwhelming desire to be seen by him. Not like when she was a child. She’d watched other children playing in the woods and she’d wanted to play with them, but she knew better; most of the time she was happy just observing. That felt like enough. But in the forest on the day she first met Solomon, she had lost all reason and selfishly wanted his eyes on her. She’d deliberately made a sound so he would turn around. That moment had made her life change. It wasn’t her mother dying, Gaga moving her to the cottage or her father dying. The biggest risk Laura had ever taken was in making a sound so that Solomon could see her. A man like that, she wanted him to see her.

And for a moment, in those woods, he’d been hers.

Everything for her changed; life before she’d met Solomon, and life after.

She swallowed the hard lump gathered in her throat. She’s dreamt of his hands on her body, his kiss on her skin, she’s imagined his touch, what he would feel like. Would he be gentle or strong, how he would kiss? She’s watched him with Bo, from the corner of her eye, she’s seen the tenderness he’s capable of and wonders, would he be that way, or different with her? She can’t help but wonder how his skin tastes, the feel of his tongue. From the moment she saw him, she hasn’t been able to stop these thoughts.

She knew it was wrong to feel it. She’d tried to stop, but she kept being pulled back to him. She knew from her mum and Gaga that there was no place for a woman who took another woman’s man. They would have disapproved; she already disapproved of herself, even though they were only private thoughts. She’d clung to him, like a life raft, not thinking about anybody else. She’d thought being so far away from him in Australia would end it, keep her away from him, the other side of the world. It hadn’t. She’d thought meeting other men would distract her. Maybe because he was the only one she knew, that’s why her feelings were so heightened. That hadn’t been the case either. It seemed ironic, romantic and twisted that the first man she’d met would be the only one she ever wanted.

None of the distractions in the world would work. And his scent… it wasn’t just his cologne, it was his skin. Sleeping in his room, living in his home, she felt like she was embraced by him. When she turned her head to the pillow and buried her face in it, it was like burying her face in him. She’d groan lightly with frustration because it wasn’t enough. To be surrounded by him, on the outside of him, near him. It wasn’t enough. She’d moved to the couch to distract herself.

She’s afraid to breathe as she senses him behind her. She closes her eyes while the documentary plays and she imagines him coming up behind her, his lips on her neck, hands on her hips, then everywhere. Startled by her thoughts so close to him, she opens her eyes and focuses hard on the documentary, on what her uncle and father are saying. Her heart pounds, and not because she is seeing her father alive again.

Watching the documentary hasn’t provided her with any solace at all so far. If anything, she feels even more alone. She was hoping to feel connected, rooted again, stop her floating head from drifting, ground herself with what is happening in her life. Start feeling, start hearing again, start making sounds again. However, she can’t help feeling that throughout the entire documentary she was living only metres away and yet there isn’t a trace of her, a hint of her.

‘You never wanted a wife, or children?’ Bo asks, on the documentary, and suddenly Laura sits up.

Joe shakes his head, amused by the question, a little shy. A woman? Even with his lined aged face, he looks like a schoolboy when faced with this topic.

‘I’m busy here. With the farm. Lots to do.’

‘Sure who’d have him?’ Tom teases.

‘What about you, Tom? Have you never wanted marriage or a family?’

He spends more time thinking about it than Joe did.

‘Everything I have, everything I need, is right here, on this mountain.’

Laura pauses this, her heart hammering in her chest, and yes, this time it’s because of her father. She rewinds it, then plays it again. She watches Bo ask the same question of the two men in caps bent over hay bales. Whatever about Rachel’s stunning cinematography, the sight of the identical twins alone is beautiful. They have aged in exactly the same way.

She plays it again.

Her father.

‘Everything I have, everything I need, is right here, on this mountain.’

On this mountain.

Laura’s heart is pounding so much. To stop herself getting carried away, she scans the background to make sure it’s the right mountain. Just in case. Maybe there’s another child on another mountain, another woman who came after her mum. She’s sure it isn’t true, but just in case, something so big as this, she needs to understand correctly. She rewinds it again. Plays.

By the time she has watched it for the fourth time, she’s sure. He had time to think about it, so much time that even Joe looked at him with that shy schoolboy grin on his face. His brother’s being asked about girls, he sniggers at him.

What was on Tom’s mountain? Joe, his home, his business, his sheep, his dogs, his memories and, yes, Laura. She lived on that mountain, so that meant he was including Laura too. He might not have loved her in a conventional way that fathers love their daughters, but he acknowledged her, he recognised her, he valued her. And that means the world to Laura.

Only once she has thought it all through does she remember Solomon. She turns around, a big smile on her face. He’s gone. His bedroom door is closed. Her smile fades fast, until she remembers her father’s words, then she goes to bed feeling as though he has just given her the hug she longed for but he never gave her until now.

40

Solomon gently raps on Laura’s door. He’s tentative at first and then he knocks with more confidence.

‘Laura, I-’

The door opens, she’s wearing his T-shirt, that’s all. She looks at him, sleepy green eyes barely open or used to the daylight. She has a sleepy smell, a warm cosy bed smell and he wants to fall into her, literally. He looks her up and down while she rubs her eyes, her long legs, lean thighs disappear beneath his T-shirt.

‘Sorry about the T-shirt,’ she apologises. ‘I should have asked you but…’ She can’t think of an excuse and he doesn’t care.

‘No, don’t apologise. It’s fine. It’s great. I mean, you’re great. It looks great on you,’ he flounders. The neck is too wide for her, there are three buttons on the top, they’re all open so that he can see the curve of her breasts, one side gapes and if he leaned forward he would probably see…

She looks down at the plate in his hand.

‘Oh. Yes. I made you a chicken salad. With pomegranate. Just because pomegranates are in everything these days.’

She smiles, touched.

‘You should eat before we go to the studio, this’ll be better than that plastic crap.’ He looks down at the dish again. ‘Or then again, maybe not.’ He feels like he’s waffling. He’s a grown man, who wants desperately to go to bed with this woman, he needs to act like it. Though he can’t go to bed with her, that’s the problem. He will ruin her. He’s already done a good job of it so far. He straightens up, takes a step backward as he realises he’s practically leering at her. ‘We need to leave in a few hours. You slept all morning.’

‘I couldn’t sleep last night.’ She looks terrified at the thought of the show tonight.

‘Me neither.’ Their eyes lock. He’d swear she has a hypnotic effect on him. He snaps out of it. ‘The show starts at eight. You’re on first. You don’t need to be there until six. Later than usual, but they said you don’t need to hang around. They’ll do the sound checks without you.’

‘What about a rehearsal?’ she asks, confused.

‘They said you don’t need one. You’ll be absolutely fine, Laura. It’s the last show. The last two minutes you’ll ever be up there. Make it count.’

‘You were making me feel better until you said that.’

‘What I mean is, you need to show them who you really are. In fact, don’t show them, just be you. And they’ll see.’ When she smiles at him, he laughs. ‘I’m shit at this, aren’t I? Last time I had a warm-up gig for an act, twenty people left before the main act arrived.’

She giggles. ‘Maybe you could do that for me tonight, make it easier.’

She takes the plate from his hand and walks to the kitchen table. She sits down. He watches her eat. She crosses one leg over the other. She’s barefoot. His heart thumps. He should leave, but he can’t leave her alone in the apartment, not when she’s been entrusted to him to bring her to the studio in one piece. She might start climbing balconies again.

He smiles at the thought of what happened last night.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ He sits at the table opposite her. Whenever he thinks he should get away from her, he does the exact opposite. But then, the way she looks at him is distracting. ‘I was just thinking of you being the super ninja last night.’

She bites her lip. ‘I’m glad her husband didn’t come.’

‘Hey, if he calls around here today, I’ll be straight out that window. You’re on your own.’ He leans down on the table, head on his crossed arms and looks up at her.

‘Hey,’ she grins, kicking him lightly under the table.

Silence. He watches her eat. He watches her think, studies the furrowing of her brow. Her seriousness makes him smile, every fucking thing she does makes him smile, and when she looks at him his face twitches from hiding the telling smiles. He feels like he’s an overexcited twelve-year-old.

‘I was in rehearsal for two days for the last performance. A big elaborate dance routine. This week, nothing. I’m not sure how to take that.’ She looks at him. ‘Did you see it?’

He can’t stop smiling, and now she thinks he’s laughing at her.

‘Of course I saw it,’ he says. ‘It was terrible.’

She groans, throws her head back, her long neck stretching.

‘It wasn’t your fault. Bo suggested a link to the forest to their artistic director, but Goldilocks and the Three Bears wasn’t quite what she was thinking. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘I told Jack I didn’t want to do it, but they asked if I had any other suggestions and I couldn’t think of anything.’

‘So it was their way or nothing.’

She nods. ‘Was it shocking?’

He thinks of how he felt when he saw her. It had felt like such a long time since he’d seen her: she’d moved to the hotel, been to Australia, he felt completely cut off from her. ‘I was just happy to see you, it had been a while.’

She smiles, her eyes shining.

‘But I know you can be so much better. Bo’s working on something for you for tonight. She’s putting a lot of work into it. I think she wants to redeem herself, show you that she cares.’ He wants to do the same, but he’s not sure how to.

‘She doesn’t owe me anything.’ She frowns. ‘All those mistakes are mine. I own them.’

‘Well then, on the theme of owning mistakes… About what happened with Rory…’

Laura cringes, can barely think about it.

Solomon sits up. ‘I let you down. In a big way. I’ll never forgive myself for that, but I want you to know that I’m sorry. I should have protected you better. I just didn’t want to… I thought I should give you space. For whatever reasons, my own reasons, I didn’t want to crowd you and this new path you’re on.’ He looks at her, wondering if he should continue.

‘I saw you three years ago,’ she interrupts him suddenly, as if she didn’t hear a word of what he’d said, though he knows she did, she was listening intently. ‘On the mountain. I was foraging. I was looking for an elder bush. Tom had cleared them all away, because he was trying to keep the hedge stock-proof, which bothered me because the berries are tasty in autumn and the flower… it doesn’t matter.’

‘Go on,’ he urges her.

‘The flower has the real power. It adds an incredible flavour to wines, drinks and jams. Gaga used to make the most delicious elderflower cordial, at its best after only six months. I was on a mission. I wanted to find an elder bush that Joe and Tom hadn’t destroyed, so I moved away further than I usually would. I came out from the woods and you were standing there, with your eyes closed, the headphones around your neck, that bag over your shoulder. I didn’t know what you were doing at the time. Now I know that you were listening, for sounds, but all I knew then was that you looked so peaceful.’

‘I didn’t see you.’

She shakes her head. ‘I didn’t want you to see me.’

‘This was three years ago?’

‘May.’ The fourth of May, she remembers. And not just because the elderflower was in bloom. ‘I asked Tom who you were. He said you were making a TV show. That you liked sounds too. That’s all he said.’ She swallows hard before making a confession. ‘I watched you a few times.’

‘Really?’ he smiles. His heart pounds. ‘You should have said hi.’

‘I wish I had,’ she says softly. ‘Every day that I didn’t find you again, I wished that you’d seen me the previous time but then, when it came to it, I couldn’t. So this time when I saw you in the forest, after not having seen you for so long, I couldn’t risk it happening again. That’s why I made a sound. I wanted your attention.’

She looks at him from under long eyelashes. There, the truth was out.

‘Well, you certainly got my attention,’ he says, reaching across the table and sliding the plate away. He takes her hands in his.

She wants him to kiss her.

He wants to kiss her so badly. He moves around the table, places a hand on her cheek and pulls her close. He kisses her gently at first, drawing away to look in her eyes, to make sure it’s okay. Her pupils are dilated, the green rim around them almost luminous. She closes her eyes, then kisses him hungrily.

She sensed him before she smelled him, she smelled him before she saw him. She saw him before he saw her. She knew him before he knew her. He loved her before he kissed her.

41

The tension, adrenaline and excitement that emanates from the Slaughter House is visceral as Laura and Solomon draw closer in the SUV. There are hundreds of fans gathering outside behind barricades, waving posters, cameras in hand, singing songs of their favourite bands that have nothing to do with the talent show but everything to do with uniting these people in mutual fandom. They cheer as the SUV approaches, the sound of so many voices making Laura’s stomach flip. Solomon feels it too, and he’s not even going anywhere near the stage. He wouldn’t blame her if she took flight now. She doesn’t owe anybody this much.

Security men in black combat gear and high-visibility vests, with walkie-talkies, line the barricades and the entrance to the Slaughter House. The media have gathered, more photographers and journalists than ever, now that it’s a global show, and they are anxiously trying to get a glimpse of who is arriving. It has become less of who will win and more will Lyrebird perform? StarrGaze aren’t stupid, they know what the public and media want and they’re not about to protect Laura now, not when she’s kept them in the dark all week about whether she would perform or not, so despite Michael’s newfound loyalty to Lyrebird, he warns them that he will open the car door that faces the media.

When Michael gets out of the car, Laura and Solomon know they have less than a minute before everything goes insane. Solomon takes her hand and squeezes it. They are far from their bed of safety where in silence, in peace, in absolute beautiful serenity they could explore each other. An entire afternoon of touching each other in ways they had both been fantasising about for so long.

Now they are exposed. The door slides open and their hands fall apart. Some things must be kept sacred. Laura looks out and she’s faced with flashes, a sea of cameras, faces, calls, cheers. Some boos from those who are still resentful of her night out.

Michael nods at her supportively, he reaches his hand into the car, and she takes it. It’s large, firm, warm, strong, it has knocked the lights out of more people than she’d care to know but his touch is gentle as he guides her out. She slides across the leather seat, protecting her modesty from the cameras that aim low as she steps out of the car. She’s learned. She wears another of Solomon’s shirts, a green checked one, wrapped with a tan leather belt, tan boots with suede fringing around the ankles. She layered his shirt with her own smaller denim shirt and her arms are filled with bangles. Lyrebird-chic, as Grazia magazine has dubbed the look. The crowd yell, the media shout at her for interviews. Unsure what to do, Laura waves, smiles apologetically to the boo-ers and allows Mickey to usher her to the doors. As soon as she’s inside she’s greeted by Bianca, who’s grinning.

‘Welcome back,’ she says happily, without an ounce of sarcasm. ‘We’re going straight to hair and make-up. We don’t have much time – everybody has done their sound checks, they’re all dressed and made up, doing their pre-interviews and ready to go. You’re not doing a sound check, you’re on last at seven forty-five.’ She lowers her voice to an excited whisper, ‘You are going to love what they’ve done. Let’s go.’

She starts walking and Lyrebird and Solomon follow.

‘Have you been on the happy pills, Bianca?’ Solomon asks, and Laura smiles.

‘Fuck off, Solomon,’ Bianca says.

‘There she is. Our girl is back.’

Bianca struggles to keep the smile from her face. She leads them to wardrobe and when they step inside they see Bo, with a man that Laura has never met before.

‘Laura, Solomon,’ Bo says, a little nervously, looking from one to the other. Laura feels her face burn at the thought of what she and Solomon have done that day. Her cheeks betray her and Bo must notice, but she doesn’t say anything. ‘This is Benoît. He’s the artistic director for tonight’s final. He worked with Jack on his previous tours and Jack asked him to come back for you. He’s an absolute magician in his field,’ Bo says, barely able to contain her excitement.

Benoît is bald, wears head-to-toe black, but the most stylish black silks and velvet that Laura has ever seen. He wears gold round glasses and is elegant in his stance and posture. When he speaks, his voice is relaxing, hypnotic, lyrical.

‘It is an honour to meet you, dear Lyrebird,’ Benoît says, taking Laura’s hand warmly. ‘I’m a great fan of your work. I hope you will like what we have done for you this evening.’

‘No trips to the woods?’ Solomon asks.

Benoît looks insulted and also offended by the idea of repeating the semi-final disaster. ‘No, dear, this show is in the hands of the professionals. We do not have much time,’ he says eagerly.

‘I’m so glad you’re here!’ Caroline welcomes Laura. ‘My goodness, have we saved the best for last.’

Laura grins, feeling so loved, so surrounded by warmth and joy. Benoît sits in the chair beside her.

‘Lyrebird – do you mind if I call you Lyrebird? I have known so many Lauras in my life, never a Lyrebird.’

Laura grins. ‘Of course.’

‘Thank you.’ He dips his head. ‘We have a spectacular display for you this evening. What Bo has done is mesmerising.’

‘What do I have to do?’

‘You just need to be you. No script, no horrific topless dancers dressed as bears, nothing but you and whatever you want to do.’

Laura’s eyes widen in terror and he chuckles warmly. ‘I know, my dear, to be your true self is often the most terrifying. Tonight’ – he picks up a drawing from a sketchbook – ‘I have created a life-size birdcage. Only it is not for a bird, it is for you, dear Lyrebird. It’s polished bronze – my dear friend made it for me especially. An expensive but necessary commission, I think the producers of StarrQuest will agree. It will suspend from the stage ceiling. I had to get special reinforcements soldered to the ceiling to make sure it would hold. It will, we have tested it.’ He closes his eyes, splays his fingers. ‘Perfect. Inside it, is a swing. You will sit on the swing. There will be a screen on stage for you to look at. Do look at it. Take in the images, absorb it, observe it, do whatever you wish. On that screen will be images and you will make whatever sounds you like. It is your story, your moment. We have taken you from you over the past few weeks…’ How honourable of him to include himself in this accusation, even though he had nothing to do with the show prior to this moment. ‘And now we are giving you back to you. Express yourself as you so wish.’

Laura looks at the simple sketch and smiles. ‘Thank you.’

‘On your body will be a thin bodystocking. Gold. The finest silk upon which Caroline has hand-sewn three hundred delicate crystals. Of course your modesty will be protected by this flesh-coloured shape-wear. It is beautiful, yes?’

‘Wow.’

‘See how the crystals catch the light? Caroline did that.’

Caroline smiles excitedly and blushes.

Laura runs her hands over the fine silk, the jewels sparkling as they move. The stocking seems so tiny, too small to fit her body. She looks at Solomon, who raises his eyebrows suggestively.

‘Oui, all the men will be hungry for you in this.’ Benoît smiles.

Laura looks at Bo nervously, Solomon dips his head. Bo stands back, she looks away at the walls, at the rails of clothes, everywhere but at the two of them.

Benoît returns to the subject of her wardrobe, his excitement evident. ‘Caroline, please reveal the final piece.’

His eyes don’t move from Laura for one second. He drinks in her reaction, eyes gauging whether Laura likes what she’s about to see or not. She plans to pretend that she does. It’s evident that a lot of work has gone into all this, she can sense the importance of the moment for him, and she is grateful. But there is no need to act, what Caroline reveals takes her breath away. Tears immediately fill her eyes, the beauty is so great.

Benoît is enchanted by her reaction and gleefully claps his hands together. ‘A thing of beauty, for a thing of beauty.’

‘Wow,’ Solomon says.

It’s a pair of wings, a beautiful great big pair of wings, which will be attached to Laura’s back. They shimmer with the same crystal embellishments as the bodystocking, but multiplied by thousands.

‘Ten thousand in total,’ Caroline whispers, as if anybody speaking at a normal level will break the fragile wings. But they don’t look fragile. They are big, and strong. The wingspan is six feet in total. They are grand, majestic, so beautiful as they sparkle in the tiny wardrobe room, Laura can only imagine how they’ll appear on stage.

‘Can I…?’

‘Of course, of course, they’re yours,’ Benoît says.

Laura stands to touch them.

‘You did all this?’ she asks Caroline.

‘We did it together. From Benoît’s designs. It was…’ Her eyes fill. ‘Well it was exhilarating to create something so beautiful. It took me back to my college days and… well, you deserve them.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispers.

As Laura takes the wings in her hands, the room is filled with the sound of a great flapping of wings, a bald eagle’s, though most there don’t know it, moving in slow motion. The sound fills the room and everybody freezes, eyes wide open. Laura thinks perhaps they’ve added the sound effects to the wings until she realises the sound is coming from herself.

Caroline’s hand flies to her chest. ‘I told you, Benoît,’ she whispers.

‘My word,’ Benoît says, looking at her as though enchanted. Standing tall, back straight, he dips his head and bows as if meeting Laura for the first time. ‘Let’s get to work, Lyrebird. We have much to do.’

‘I got the idea for the cage from one of my favourite films, Zouzou. Do you know it?’ Benoît asks as they dress her.

Laura shakes her head.

He inhales through his teeth. ‘Sacrilege. But you will. Tomorrow, everyone will. In it, Josephine Baker, the first black woman to star in a major motion picture, sings for her life, sings like a bird in a cage, twittering and swinging. It is an important scene, an important film.’

As Benoît talks, in the background Laura keeps abreast of what’s going on in the show. It has begun already. Six acts in the final. The VTs recorded earlier this week, or during the course of today by her six housemates show how important tonight is in their lives.

‘Now or never.’

‘Do or die.’

‘Sing for my life.’

‘Performance of a lifetime.’

‘Doing this for my children. So they will be proud of their mum.’

Benoît tuts. ‘They will be proud anyway, but you and I know that, don’t we, Lyrebird.’

Laura nods. He has a calming effect, an all-seeing, all-knowing soothsayer who has been here a thousand times. Nothing but his creations are a big deal. Everything will be fine. Laura feels calm.

Alice and Brendan’s performance is flawless, heart-stopping. They’ve raised all the bars, taken major risks using fire, water, swords – everything is flying in the air. Alice looks strong and powerful, Brendan lean and mean. They work perfectly together.

Serena the soprano receives the longest standing ovation ever in the history of the show.

Sparks controls his shaking hands.

The twelve-year-old gymnast tumbles, leaps and cartwheels through hoops of fire.

Nobody puts a foot wrong. Rachel and her wife Susie arrive with their new bundle, Brennan. And Laura holds that little body in her hands and gets lost in his cries. And then, as Alan takes to the stage, walkie-talkies in the hallway followed by a knock on the door send Laura’s stomach churning. They’ve come for her, it’s time to move. She looks at Solomon and he glances awkwardly at Bo.

‘Oh, kiss her, for fuck’s sake!’ she snaps, deliberately turning away and looking at the wall.

Rachel’s eyes widen, unsure of what’s happening as Solomon gives Laura a long lingering kiss. ‘Just be you,’ he whispers in her ear. ‘As much as you can be in a gold bodystocking and six-foot wings.’

Laura snorts, then laughs and they break apart.

‘Charming,’ Benoît says, pretending to be unimpressed, but his twinkling mischievous eyes betraying him.

Laura’s brought to the stage, her wings are closed down now, Benoît has told her to extend them only when she gets inside the cage, because otherwise she won’t fit through the cage door. She stands by the stage and watches Alan bring the house down. His act has been perfectly honed, appears completely effortless despite the hours she knows he has put in. It consists of Mabel telling him that she’s breaking up with him. She’s leaving him. She’s found another man. A man who makes her feel different, sound different. That man is Jack Starr. To applause, Jack takes to the stage and puts his hand inside Mabel, which is odd for Mabel as only one man has ever been inside her. As soon as she opens her mouth she sounds completely different, a deeper, ridiculous voice. It’s the second puppet that Alan was working on, the one whose facial movements he could control with a remote control. Alan fights with Mabel. She wants him back. He won’t take her back. He stands by the wings, arms folded, and they shout at each other while Jack, in the middle of them, laughs until he cries. Finally Alan agrees to take Mabel back and they’re reunited.

The crowd loves it.

He nails it.

And then Alan is finished and they’re going to Laura’s VT. She hears her own voice, the real her this time, talking about a journey, how her life has changed. It’s nothing ground-breaking, but it’s her and it’s the truth. As she listens to the sound of her voice playing out to the country live, she passes Alan, who squeezes her hand and kisses her quickly on the cheek.

‘You can do it.’

The cage lowers from the ceiling and though the crowd are supposed to be quiet, they can’t help but go ooh. The cage door opens and Laura steps inside. Benoît was modest. It is not a simple cage as his sketch showed, but a beautiful, elaborate piece of art, with not just bars, but bars that appear to be twisted like vines, polished bronze leaves growing from them. She sits on the swing, somebody behind her clips her into a safety harness and the cage door closes. The cage is slowly suspended in the air. Her legs and body sparkle as it is raised, all eyes are on her. She feels beautiful, she feels like she is glowing, she feels magical and vulnerable trapped in this cage, high in the air. She sits up straight, perfect posture on the swing, not knowing what’s going to happen but knowing that she must focus on the screen.

‘I’ve come a long way,’ she says on the screen. ‘But I’ve a distance to go. My dream? My dream is to soar happily into my future.’

Then the lights are up, not all of them, a spotlight just on her. She turns to the screen and watches. She recognises scenes from Bo’s Toolin Twins documentary. Sweeping views from the sky over the mountains of Gougane Barra, wind farms, sheep farms. Her mountain, her home. The tips of trees. She closes her eyes briefly and breathes in. She almost feels like she’s at home. She imagines her morning walks, foraging, stretching her legs, exercising, exploring. The sounds of her feet on the soft earth, the rain on the leaves, the four seasons of living with nature. The birds, angry, content, fighting, building, hungry chicks. The distant sounds of tractors, of chainsaws, of vehicles.

Her cottage. Home. She thinks of the water boiling over the fire, the fire crackling on winter evenings when it gets dark so fast she can’t go anywhere after three p.m. Onions frying, the smell that fills the room, onions from her own garden. The cockerel that wakes her up, her two chickens who provide her eggs every morning, the crack of eggs against the frying pan, the sound of them oozing on to the heat, her goat who gave her milk. The sound of a stormy night, the wind howling through the shed. Mossie’s snoring, the owls, the bats.

Then an image of her home with Gaga and Mam. The studio. Jazz, a record player, the sewing machine, the hot iron, the sudden sound of the steam, scissors cutting through fabric, scissors landing on the other tools as they’re thrown down.

A photograph of Mam and Gaga. The clink of glasses, the giggles and laughter of two women who adored one another, lived for one another, only had each other, only wanted each other and then opened their hearts for another.

The Slaughter House. Laura’s first performance. Jack, chewing his gum, lights, camera, action, the applause of a crowd. The countdown, the security walkie-talkies. Laura’s infamous night out. Photos in the press. Flashes, name-calling, heckling, the girl in the toilet who wouldn’t help, who wanted the selfie, the high heels on the floor, the bang of the toilet doors, the lock, the flush, the roar of the hand-driers. Glass smashing, flashes, press yelling, everyone calling her name, blurred faces and blurred sounds. The confusion, head down a toilet, echoing, vomiting. Are you okay? The embarrassment, help help, nobody will help.

All the noise of Dublin city. Too many sounds, she can barely keep up with everything she hears in her ears. Ambulances, sirens, cappuccino machines, ATM cards, phones ringing, messages beeping, cash registers, video games, the hiss of buses breaking, all the new sounds.

The police station. A photo of Laura leaving, trying to cover her face.

‘Are you okay?’ She hears the sound of the kind garda.

Then suddenly the video ends and she sees herself. She is watching herself on the screen, a birdlike woman, sparkling under the lights. The journey brings her to now.

What sound does she make for now? For the end of her journey. She is silent.

After all of Benoît’s work she has forgotten the wings, she was supposed to extend the wings. Panicking she pulls the string and they extend. They fan open and they are so strong they almost lift her off the swing.

The audience gasp. She looks at them, as they examine her.

It’s not the end of her journey. She thinks of Solomon. His awkward throat-clearing, his satisfied sigh, his contented groans, a strum on a guitar. The happiness of the beauty of this afternoon. The magical sound of his mother playing the harp. The waves lapping on the beach across from their home. The seagulls. Just the two of them, alone, they don’t need anyone else or anything else. This is not the end. It is only the beginning.

She thinks of Rachel and her beautiful little baby Brennan and suddenly she hears his cry in the studio. They must have brought him into the studio, Rachel and Susie will be embarrassed he has made the sound, broken the silence but nobody seems to mind, or to look around. Most people are smiling, some are wiping their eyes. She likes the cry of the baby, it’s not a sad sound, she could listen to it all day, and so she does and she starts to swing on the swing, her wings fully extended.

She looks to the side and she sees the people who have brought her here.

Bo is crying.

Solomon is looking up at her proudly, grinning, eyes shining.

Bianca is sobbing.

Even Rachel is struggling. Brennan sleeps in Susie’s arms and she realises it wasn’t him at all, it was herself who made that sound. She should have known.

The cage descends slowly. She hangs on to the swing until the cage gently touches the stage. The crowd are silent as she descends. And then she doesn’t know what to do; her time isn’t up yet. She has five more seconds. It counts down on the screen above her. On one, the cage door suddenly opens, automatically.

She smiles at Benoît’s final touch.

42

Laura and Alan stand in the centre of the StarrQuest stage. Jack is between them, but Laura reaches across and takes Alan’s hand. His hand is clammy, on his other hand is his loyal Mabel, who’s covering her eyes with her hand in anticipation of the result.

Behind them, their fellow finalists stand in the darkness, their lights extinguished as soon as Jack announced they were eliminated in the public vote. Alice has a scowl on her face. The twelve-year-old gymnast has already had an argument with her parents in the corridor. And now it is down to Alan and Laura as the final votes are in.

The tension builds but Laura feels an overwhelming sense of calm. She has won already. She has achieved what she wanted, and more. She has truly soared. Reached her own personal new heights. She feels free, she embarked on an adventure, she changed her life. Hidden for so long, she’s not hidden any more.

Jack Starr rips open the golden envelope. There’s sweat on his brow and upper lip.

‘And the winner of StarrQuest 2016 is… ALAN AND MABEL!’

She grins. The cage door opens again. And she’s free to go.

Part 4

From about the end of June until middle-July the singing of the male bird undergoes a curious change. During this period his powers of mimicry are rarely exerted and he concentrates on the rendition of his own peculiar notes and call and the long, mellow, warbling nuptial song of his tribe. This song is incomparably the loveliest item of his vast repertoire, and for at least a fortnight in each year he applies himself assiduously to its perfection, singing it over and over from dawn till dark. During this period the male and female birds are never apart. They tread a fixed round through the forests and the underbrush or bracken from mound to mound, and at every mound the male bird stops to display and sing.

Ambrose Pratt, The Lore of the Lyrebird

43

Laura is sitting on the balcony, in another of Solomon’s T-shirts. Her long legs extend to where her feet are crossed on the top of the balcony, her hands are wrapped around a cup of green tea. Her eyes are closed and lifted to the morning sun. Solomon watches her lazily from the couch where he lies with his guitar, strumming gently, slowly concocting a new song, mumbling words here and there, trying to make things fit together. He could never do this in front of Bo, he always needed to be alone, he felt too self-conscious, but Laura’s company is calming. She listens and occasionally mimics the sound of his strumming. He stops to listen to her, she attempts it a few times until she has perfected the sound. He practises his song, she practises hers. He smiles and shakes his head at the wonderful bizarreness of it.

Laura opens her eyes and looks at the folded newspaper that Solomon placed beside her. She felt him leave it there before sitting on the couch to strum on his guitar.

She sees the headline. SUPERB LYREBIRD.

‘You told me never to read these.’

He continues strumming. ‘You should read this one.’

She sighs and removes her feet from the balcony, needing to plant herself, to ready herself for possible attack, though she knows it must have positive content if Solomon is pushing it on her. It’s a piece about the StarrQuest final by TV critic Emilia Belvedere. Laura braces herself as she reads.

My mother was a midwife but related more with being a keen gardener. She dedicated most of her spare time to fighting a war with unwanted plants between the cracks of her pavement, in the lawn, on her hands and knees muttering curses and threats. Cracks and crevasses in pavements are comfortable, sneaky hiding places for weed seeds, carried in the breeze. Pulling them from their cracks is futile. Dandelions, thistles, sticker weed, pigweed, yarrow – these were my mother’s arch-enemies. I think of this analogy in particular when contemplating the part reality talent shows play in our society.

The judges, the finders, are not the breeze that carry the seeds. They have an element of my mother, in that they notice and they pluck, but are (at first) without her aggression or irritation. Their purpose is not to annihilate – though that is all too often the result of their efforts. They see something rare, something pretty, but in the wrong place, and they uproot them. The finders put them in a fancy vase or jar, a place where they will be shown to advantage for all to see. They convince the weed it is where it belongs. They convince the weed to fight with all of the other weeds who always stood out from each other in their own cracks in their own pavements and never had to fight before. This is both the skill and the downfall of the talent show. The finders cannot be keepers. They uproot, they pull, they replant, and it soon loses its beauty in its new habitat. It cannot grow, it cannot thrive, it has lost its chink where once it sprouted with vitality. It is lost to the great unknown, in an unnatural world that doesn’t understand.

The finders’ purpose is to shine a light, yet often the light is so bright it stuns or blinds them.

From their moment of conception, I have despised television talent shows. It is an hour of discovered talent displayed in the wrong place, nurtured, if at all, in the wrong way. It may not have been concentrated vinegar poured on these rare weeds before our very eyes, but it might as well have been. This year, one talent show changed my mind, the finder of the rarest weed, that has grown and flowered in the most distant of fissures…

Alan and Mabel was a worthy winner of StarrQuest, a likeable act, an act you cheer for, chuckle at, cannot help to be moved by with its veiled desperation, but Lyrebird stole the nation’s heart – correction, the world’s heart. I was transported, in that one performance, to my childhood… not something that happens often. Usually it is escape we desire, to get away from what we know so well. Lyrebird brought me to the core of me.

Lyrebird’s sounds came so swiftly, in waves, sometimes overlapping one another wondrously, that it’s impossible for everybody to have heard everything, even in playback. Each sound speaks to every person differently. While dealing with the repercussions of one, another arrives. Doors opened inside of me, feelings came in surprising bursts, here, there everywhere. A flutter in my heart, a pop in my stomach, a lump in my throat, a prick in my tear ducts. I heard my childhood, my adolescence, my youth, my womanhood, my marriage, my motherhood – all in two minutes. It was so great, so overwhelming I held my breath and my tears fell while I watched a still creature on a swing, in a cage, tell us the story of her life. A life in sounds, her sounds, but parts of life that we all share. We came together, it brought us together, a collective gathering of hearts and minds.

It may have lacked the razzle-dazzle of other finals; no doubt the absence of pyrotechnics is something that others will attack, but its subtlety was its strength, its majesty. It took great power to be so refined, and of course with Benoît Moreau at its helm, aided by documentary maker Bo Healy, there should be no surprise. Yet there is. It was filled with humanity, emotion and warmth. It was raw, it was gritty, soft and gentle. It rose and it fell before rising again. Harsh sounds during subtle images, gentle sighs of acceptance when faced with unyielding sorrow.

Lyrebird’s performance was captivating, enchanting, a real moment of not just TV magic, but the kind of magic that rarely occurs in life. Whatever happened in StarrQuest HQ, whatever conversations or alleged altercations took place, it was right, it was fair, it was necessary. Right won out. People will forget, as they usually do, what they felt in those two minutes. It dissipated perhaps in the time it took them to boil the kettle, put the children to bed, send a text message or change the channel, but the feeling was there in the moment, and that they can’t deny.

A change occurred, not just in the TV talent show: it happened within me, too. As a result, I am a TV critic, a woman, in two parts; who I was before I watched Lyrebird’s performance and who I am after.

Asking Laura Button to find the moment her skill arrived would be like asking mankind to explain the moment it was no longer an ape. It is part of her evolution. We know that Laura lived in seclusion for much of her life, ten years on her own, and sixteen years before that in relative seclusion with her mother and grandmother. What we know is that animals that live in seclusion for so long evolve in magnificent and curious ways. Laura is no different.

This lyrebird’s lore travelled far and fast, deep and wide, from a fissure, a crack, deep into the human heart and mind.

It is not the spotlight that encourages growth, it is the sunlight. Jack Starr learned that last night.

The finders found her, the devotees such as I will keep the gifts she gave, now let us leave her be and may she fly free.

Laura finishes reading the piece feeling breathless, her eyes filled with tears. She looks back at Solomon who has stopped strumming while he watches her.

He grins at her reaction. ‘Told you it was good.’

There’s a knock at the door. Ten a.m. on a Sunday morning, he’s not used to visitors.

‘Stay there,’ he says, protectively as he places the guitar down. He pads to the door and looks through the spyhole. It’s Bo.

‘Laura, Bo’s here,’ he says quickly, giving her a chance to compose herself before he answers the door.

‘Bo, hi,’ he says awkwardly, pulling the door open, tucking his hair behind his ears.

She quickly takes in his dishevelled look. ‘Hope I’m not disturbing any…’ Then she sees Laura on the balcony and she seems relieved she hasn’t walked in on anything unsavoury. ‘Can I come in? I won’t stay long.’

‘Sure, sure.’

Laura puts her cup down and goes to stand.

‘No don’t stand for me,’ Bo waves her hand dismissively, seeming awkward as a guest in what was her home only days ago.

‘Please sit,’ Laura pulls the second balcony chair closer to hers.

Bo sits and Solomon hangs back. Bo notices the review on the chair beside her.

‘Oh good, I’m glad you saw that.’

Laura smiles. ‘She mentions you too. Thank you, Bo. I appreciate everything you did for me over the past few days.’

Bo’s cheeks pink. ‘You shouldn’t be thanking me. It was the right thing to do. Finally. I should have stepped in sooner, but I didn’t know how to. Have you any idea what you’re going to do now? I’m sure there have been a lot of offers.’

Laura shakes her head. ‘I have some thinking to do. You’re right, there have been offers. Even a cooking show,’ she grins.

‘You would be great at that!’ Bo laughs.

‘I’d like to do something on foraging… outside the kitchen,’ Laura says, but trails off. ‘I don’t know, everything I want to do, that’s truly me, means going home. I feel like I can’t move forward without going there. I want to sit down with Joe. There’s so much that I want to talk to him about, ask him about, explain to him. I’m sure he’s feeling so hurt by what Tom did, there’s a lot I can tell him that will help him. And I want you to know that I’ll honour your documentary. I’ll keep my word on that, but if Joe will ever talk to me, I think we will need to be alone.’

‘Gosh, Laura, that goes without saying,’ Bo says, waving her hand dismissively. ‘I came to give you this.’ She reaches into her bag and retrieves an envelope. ‘I got this from StarrGaze Entertainment.’

Solomon eyes the envelope suspiciously. He doesn’t want anything from StarrGaze in here, though they were honourable to Laura in the end, he’s cautious of what more ‘help’ they can offer.

Bo senses his wariness. ‘You still don’t trust me,’ Bo says quietly, sounding betrayed and resigned.

‘Bo,’ he says gently. ‘It’s not you, it’s them. I’m sorry. Of course I trust you, especially after everything you did for the final.’

Bo seems relieved. ‘You liked it?’

‘Loved it, but you used your documentary footage.’

She shrugs. ‘Well, I still own it, it’s not exclusive any more but I think I can live with that. It was the right thing to do. Look, they didn’t exactly give this to me, okay? So…’

‘We won’t say a word,’ Solomon agrees, watching Laura turn the envelope over and her eyes go wide when she reads the writing.

‘What is it?’ he asks concerned.

‘From Joe Toolin, Toolin Farm, Gougane Barra,’ Laura reads, quickly taking the letter out.

Solomon looks at Bo in surprise.

They watch as Laura unfolds the letter, note the light tremble of the paper in her shaking hands. She reads aloud.

To Whom It May Concern:

Laura Button was born in Gougane Barra, Co. Cork, Ireland. Her mother was Isabel Button (Murphy) and her father was Tom Toolin. She lived with Hattie Button and Isabel Button until she was sixteen years of age and then on my property, Toolin Cottage, Toolin Farm, Gougane Barra, Co. Cork, until recently.

I am her uncle. I hope this is all that you need for the passport.

Good luck to her.

Joe Toolin

Laura looks up at Bo, her eyes filled with tears.

‘He must have heard you on the radio,’ Bo says. ‘Jack says he sent this without any request from the agency. I would have told you sooner, but I only recently found out.’

Solomon looks down at Bo, notices that she looks thrown together, unusually for her. She looks different, rushed. It’s ten a.m. on a Sunday morning. She got here as soon as she could. He starts to wonder in what circumstances exactly did she find out about the letter from Jack, that would cause her to rush here on a Sunday morning. The familiar jealousy starts to rise within him, like a burning in his chest, but he quells it immediately, hating himself for even thinking like this.

‘I thought it would help with your… options.’ Bo smiles.

‘Yes. Yes, it does, thank you so much.’

Laura stands and wraps her arms around Bo. Bo reciprocates and they stand together on the balcony, embracing. One sorry, one thankful, one redeemed, one restored. Both grateful for each other.

It’s six p.m. when Solomon drives through the entrance gate to Toolin Farm in Gougane Barra. Joe could have been anywhere on his acres of mountainous land, it could have taken them all day to wait for him to return, but Laura is lucky. Joe is mending a fence in front of his house.

He looks up as the car approaches, squints to see who’s inside. An aggressive stare at the possibility of more journalists coming to aggravate him about Lyrebird. Solomon lowers his window and gives him a healthy wave. He seems to relax a little, recognising Solomon and the car. Solomon pulls in at the farmhouse.

Laura looks at Solomon.

‘Take all the time you need,’ he says. ‘Wherever you decide to build your mound, I’ll follow you and watch you.’

She grins. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers, leaning in, lifting her hands to his cheeks. She kisses him, this man she watched and adored, trusted in and followed until she found herself. As soon as she gets out of the car, Ring and a new pup come racing towards her, dancing around her legs with excitement to greet her after their time apart. Solomon gets out of the car, elbows on the roof, to watch her.

She climbs the fence in front of the farmhouse, and walks down the mountainside, hair blowing in the wind as she joins her uncle. He looks at her for a greeting but she doesn’t say a word. Instead she helps him with the fence, lifting the wooden pole from the ground and holding it upright so that he can twist the wires around each other. He watches her for a moment, taking her in, trying to figure her out and what she’s doing here, and then he takes the wire from her and they work together.