Lyrebird

by Cecelia Ahern

  In the centre of the StarrQuest stage is a four-sided screen. A golden glove wavers midway during decision time before becoming a thumbs up or thumbs down. The twist in this is that the audience gets to take part. The audience is made up of those in the studio and people at home who can vote via the StarrQuest voting app. If the audience votes Thumbs Up when Jack has voted Thumbs Down, then they overrule his decision. If he votes Thumbs Up, he overrules an audience’s Thumbs Down, the message being that any Yes rules the day. Since turning to Buddhism after his wild life cost him his marriage, his career, almost himself, he’s tried to breathe positivity into everything he creates. Previous formats of the show saw eliminated contestants who’d received the executioner’s thumbs down leave in a cage carried off by gladiators, but this was abandoned after the first season when viewers protested at the offensive image of a ninety-two-year-old mother of eleven, whose children and grandchildren were in the audience, being carted off after her rendition of ‘Danny Boy’, and a crying ten-year-old boy whose magic trick had failed had a panic attack when forced to enter the cage. The execution cage had, however, remained popular in a Middle Eastern version of the franchise.

  Despite the featured acts having been auditioned and scheduled months and weeks in advance, Jack Starr has managed to put Laura on this weekend’s live show. The producers have watched Bo’s iPhone footage of Laura mimicking the coffee machine and some additional footage supplied on request, so they are aware of what she will deliver tonight. But first, a meeting in person, a sound check and run-through to be completely sure. They’re not that trusting.

  Security is heavy at the entrance. Michael, Jack’s personal security, decides to deal with Solomon and Rachel himself.

  ‘You can go through,’ he says to Rachel, but he holds a hand out to stop Solomon. It’s a good twenty years since Michael was winning awards for knocking people out in a ring, but the passing years have done nothing to reduce his enormous frame. He glares at Solomon, who rolls his eyes and hoists his sound equipment on to his shoulder.

  ‘I’m here to work,’ Solomon says, bored. He’s tempted to add ‘Big Mickey’ – the name he went by in his boxing days in the States. There, it might have sounded cool, but not in Ireland.

  ‘Funny, I remember your ass getting fired after I threw you out.’ At six foot eight, the American towers above Solomon. He was Jack’s tour manager back in the day and they’ve remained loyal to each other during this revival. Jack’s honourable that way. Can’t stay faithful to a woman, but never forgets a friend.

  Ordinarily, Solomon couldn’t care less if he wasn’t allowed into the building. He would be happy to never set foot near Jack Starr again, and he is trying to detach himself from Laura, but he needs to gain access for the sake of the documentary. He tells himself it’s for that, nothing to do with wanting to be near Laura. Tomorrow he will be in Switzerland and he won’t have to continue this battle in his head.

  Laura and Bo are already inside. They’ve had most of the day together while he’s been off filming Grotesque Bodies, as Paul Boyle prepares for his pending operation in Switzerland. Solomon thought he would enjoy being away from them both after such an intense few days, but instead he’d spent the entire day worrying about Laura. Short texts from Bo kept him informed, but her last text had been an angry FFS she’s a grown woman, stop it. She hadn’t responded to his reply. He had no idea where they’d spent the day, or what they’d done, couldn’t even imagine the two of them doing anything together.

  Rachel steps back outside to stand with Solomon. ‘I think he’s going to let you in, he just wants to let you stew for a while.’

  ‘Fine with me,’ Solomon says, placing his equipment down and leaning against the wall for what will no doubt be a long wait.

  ‘Did you hear from Bo today?’ Solomon asks Rachel.

  ‘I did and I didn’t,’ Rachel says.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘She called me a few times when I was at the scan, even though she knew I was at the scan. She left a message asking me to come meet her and Laura.’

  ‘To film?’

  ‘No, just to meet them.’

  Rachel’s face said it all. She was annoyed about being disturbed on her personal time. Solomon liked the fact that Rachel could talk about Bo as she wished, regardless of the fact they were in a relationship. He liked that she felt comfortable with him enough to say what was on her mind, and they could say what they liked about their boss. Solomon didn’t like to complain about Bo, but Rachel knew, she always knew, when he was bothered. What bothered Solomon about Bo was what bothered most people about Bo.

  ‘Was Laura okay?’ he asks, frowning at the news that Bo had called Rachel for assistance.

  ‘I’m sure Laura was fine. It may have been Bo that was struggling.’

  Solomon wonders why, in all the texts she’d sent him, Bo never once admitted that she needed him. He gave her plenty of opportunities. Though he couldn’t have dropped work and rushed to be with her. But he would have.

  The door opens and Bo finally appears, looking uncharacte‌ristically flustered. Having Solomon and Jack in the same building – one ex-boyfriend, one current boyfriend who’d beaten up the ex-boyfriend and thus gotten himself fired and thrown out of the building – was never going to be an easy situation. But as soon as she sees Solomon and Rachel, the worry disappears from her face. ‘Hi, guys,’ she says, her relief clear, then it turns to confusion. ‘What are you doing standing outside?’

  ‘He won’t let me in,’ Solomon says, indicating Michael.

  ‘She can go in,’ Michael says, taking a bite out of an apple. The apple is invisible as his enormous hand wraps around it, the bite he makes almost ends the apple.

  ‘She has a name,’ Rachel says.

  ‘My apologies.’ He dips his head. ‘But asshole here, doesn’t.’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ Rachel chuckles.

  ‘Michael,’ Bo says, ‘Jack said it’s okay for him to come in.’

  ‘Well, Jack never told me that.’

  ‘I bet,’ Solomon says.

  ‘Why won’t he let you in, Solomon?’ Laura says suddenly, and they all turn to see her behind Michael’s enormous frame. Her eyes are wide and fearful.

  ‘Laura,’ Bo says, annoyed, as though speaking to a child, ‘I told you to stay in the waiting room.’

  ‘Asshole’s not allowed in,’ Michael explains to Laura, ‘because last time I laid my eyes on this little girl, she was having a hissy fit. Had to carry her out kicking and screaming.’

  ‘She punched quite well for a girl, I thought,’ Rachel defends Solomon. ‘I wasn’t here, but I saw the bruises in the photos in the newspaper.’

  Michael turns his attention to Rachel.

  ‘She’s not a fan of Big Mickeys,’ Solomon says, and Rachel rolls her eyes.

  ‘Jesus, none of us will be allowed in if you carry on like this. Let me sort it out,’ Bo says, rooting through her bag for her phone.

  ‘Bo, please tell Jack Starr thank you very much for the opportunity, but I won’t go in there without Solomon,’ Laura speaks up, polite but firm.

  Solomon looks at her in surprise and doesn’t attempt to hide his grin from Michael.

  Laura’s honour doesn’t impress Michael, who has seen enough fame-hungry blonde beauties pass through these doors.

  ‘It’s okay, Laura, I’ll call Jack,’ Bo says quickly, moving away from them with the phone to her ear, which bothers Solomon because he wants to know what she’s saying to her ex-boyfriend about him. Within five minutes, they’re whisked inside by Bianca, a handler equipped with a clipboard and headset, who is now leading them through a network of corridors.

  ‘Hey,’ Rachel says to Laura, ‘I didn’t greet you properly out there.’ She throws her hand up for a high-five, which Laura smiles at and meets.

  ‘How’s your baby?’ Laura asks.

  ‘Big and healthy,’ Rachel says with a grin.

  ‘Have a good morning?’ Solomon asks,
trying to be casual but studying Bo and Laura’s faces for hints.

  ‘Yes, great,’ Bo replies, a little too clipped. ‘We went to the supermarket, then for coffee and tea, then a walk around Stephen’s Green. I showed her some great clothes stores in case she wants to, you know, know where to go.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Rachel nods, looking from one to the other.

  ‘I called you,’ Bo says to Rachel. ‘To see if you’d like to join us.’

  ‘Oh, really? I didn’t see that,’ Rachel fakes it. ‘I was at the scan.’

  ‘Of course!’ Bo realises. ‘I forgot. How did it go?’

  ‘Great. Like I said, the nurse reckons it’s a baby in there, so I’m happy,’ Rachel replies.

  Laura laughs.

  ‘How did it go?’ Solomon asks Laura, as Bo and Rachel walk ahead of them.

  Laura looks amused, then opens her mouth and Bo’s voice comes out. ‘Perhaps we should just go back to the apartment.’

  It’s the way Laura says it – the tone, the clipped, agitated vibe she captures – that causes Solomon to throw his head back and laugh. He recognises the sound of Bo trying to be polite but at the same time extract herself quickly from a situation.

  Bo turns self-consciously to study them both, then carries on walking.

  ‘Oh no,’ says Solomon. ‘It wasn’t that bad, was it?’

  Laura opens her mouth and Bo speaks again. ‘Can you maybe not do that here?’

  Solomon’s smile disappears.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Laura says quickly, hand going to his arm. He’s wearing a T-shirt, her skin touches his and something happens. A tingle rushes through both of them. She looks at his arm so that he knows she felt the same thing. ‘I was doing it more than usual,’ she explains. ‘She makes me nervous.’

  ‘I think perhaps the feeling is mutual,’ Solomon says.

  ‘I make her nervous?’

  ‘You’re different,’ he says, really wanting to say that Bo probably feels threatened, particularly after hearing the way Laura mimicked his laugh, the way she always wants to be with him and clearly and honestly doesn’t trust anybody else. ‘Sometimes people are nervous around different.’

  She nods, understanding. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Are you nervous now?’

  She nods again.

  ‘You’ll be okay,’ he says.

  ‘You’ll stay?’

  ‘I’ll stay.’ He taps his audio bag with his hand. ‘I’m always listening.’

  Bianca finally leads them into a dressing room with LYREBIRD on the door.

  ‘So, Lyrebird, you’re here,’ Bianca says. ‘In around fifteen minutes we’ll take you to wardrobe, hair and make-up, then a sound check at around four.’ She looks down at her clipboard. ‘You’re the last act of the show, so you’ll be on stage at eight-fifty for your two-minute audition. You are …’ she consults her notes. ‘An impressionist. Is that right?’

  Everyone looks at Laura. Laura looks at Solomon.

  ‘She’s not exactly an impressionist,’ Solomon explains. ‘She mimics though.’

  ‘Mimic,’ she writes down. ‘Cool. Are you her agent?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replies solemnly. ‘Yes, I am.’

  Laura giggles. Bo rolls her eyes. ‘No, he’s not. He’s part of the documentary crew.’

  Bianca looks at Solomon, clearly not liking him, heavily eyelined eyes narrowing. ‘Cool.’ But it sounds like it’s anything but cool to Bianca. ‘So the producers would like to know how many impressions, or whatever, you’re going to do?’

  She looks at Laura. Again, Laura looks at Solomon.

  ‘We’ll discuss that now,’ he replies.

  ‘Now?’ her eyes widen, alarmed. ‘Cool.’ Then, ‘I’ll come back to you in fifteen minutes, okay?’

  There’s radio interference on her walkie-talkie.

  Laura mimics the sound and then sits down. ‘Cool,’ she says, with Bianca’s voice.

  Bianca’s eyes widen. Nobody has laughed, everybody in the room is used to it now. She leaves the weird people and goes next door to the twelve-year-old gymnast.

  ‘I thought you were going to work with her on her audition this morning?’ Solomon says to Bo in a low voice as they set up for an interview with Laura in her dressing room.

  Bo gives him a thunderous look. ‘Sol, at the butcher counter in the supermarket she made the sound of every single fucking dead animal that lay on the slab. Then she beeped every single food item on the conveyer belt as if she was a scanner. She confused the poor check-out woman so much, she wasn’t sure what she scanned.’

  Solomon snorts and laughs, attracting the attention of Laura and Rachel.

  ‘It’s not funny!’ Bo says, her voice shrill. ‘How is that funny?’

  He continues laughing until she has no choice but to give in and smile.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Bo asks Laura.

  They’re filming. Bo and Laura’s relationship flows so much better when there’s a camera between them.

  ‘I feel fine,’ Laura says. ‘A little bit anxious.’ Laura mimics last year’s winner. A seventy-year-old folk singer and harmonica player. Rachel smirks.

  ‘It looks exciting,’ Laura says, as if she hasn’t sounded like a mouth organ. ‘I feel excited. Like it’s the start of something new. I mean, this whole week has been new.’

  ‘Do you know what you’re going to do for your audition? Should you rehearse something? Plan a routine?’

  Laura looks down at her fingers. ‘I don’t really plan it. It just … happens.’

  ‘Do you remember the first time you discovered you had this incredible ability to mimic?’

  Laura is silent for a moment. Solomon is almost waiting for her to say, what ability? It has seemed so much a part of her, something she’s not conscious of. She thinks hard, eyes flicking left and right as they search. Then they stop and Solomon is sure she has remembered, as is Bo.

  ‘No,’ Laura says finally, avoiding all eye contact. She’s a bad liar.

  The disappointment is clear in Bo’s voice. ‘Right, so it’s something you’ve always done?’

  Another pause. ‘Yes. For a long time.’

  ‘From birth, perhaps?’

  ‘I don’t remember back that far.’ She smiles.

  ‘I don’t expect you to,’ says Bo, her tone neutral. ‘What I mean is, do you think this … ability …’

  Solomon would have said talent, gift. He’s sure Bo still isn’t seeing it that way. To her it’s an affliction. Interesting only for the purpose of a documentary. Still, it’s a positive that she didn’t say disability.

  There’s a knock on the door, a loud quick rap and Bianca enters.

  ‘I’ll take you to wardrobe now, Lyrebird.’

  Solomon wants to tell Bianca that her name is Laura, not Lyrebird, which is clearly the ‘act’s’ name but he stops himself. Detach, Solomon, detach.

  Keeping their sound packs on, Laura and the crew follow Bianca to wardrobe where she will try on clothes before her hair and make-up.

  As she makes her way down the corridor, she turns and looks at Solomon with uncertainty written all over her face. He winks at her in support and she smiles excitedly and continues.

  ‘It’s a bit tight in here, ladies,’ the head stylist snaps as Rachel and her camera, then Bo, try to squeeze in after Laura. She’s not lying, the room is filled with dozens of rails of clothes from one wall to the next, there is barely room to turn around.

  ‘I’ll wait outside. Rachel?’ Bo says.

  ‘Got it,’ Rachel replies, understanding the tone of voice to mean ‘capture everything’.

  ‘Wow,’ Laura says. She walks down the rails, her hand running along the fabric.

  ‘I’m Caroline. I’ll be styling you,’ she says looking Laura up and down, scrutinising her body. ‘This is Claire.’

  Claire doesn’t smile and doesn’t speak. Claire is an assistant who has probably learned not to open her mouth unless asked to.

  Laura grins. ‘Mum and Gaga
would love this. They were dressmakers.’

  Caroline doesn’t seem overly impressed. She has ten people to style, in a room with no windows, and very little time to do it in, and a frustrating production team who keep changing their mind and expecting her to be able to pick up the pieces. But Laura moves at a different pace to everybody that’s come through the door and into Caroline’s world. She closes her eyes and suddenly the room is filled with the sound of a sewing machine. It is rhythmic and soothing, like the constant chugging of a train, a sound you want to sway with.

  Caroline’s eyes fill. ‘My goodness!’ She places a hand across her stomach and another over her heart. ‘You’ve just taken me right back. That’s a Singer.’

  Laura opens her eyes and smiles. ‘Yes.’

  ‘My mother used one of them,’ Caroline says, her hard voice suddenly emotional, her face softening. ‘I used to sit underneath the sewing table and listen to the sound all day, watching the lace float to the floor beside me.’

  ‘I did too,’ Laura says. ‘I used to make clothes for my dolls from the scraps.’

  ‘So did I!’ Caroline says, the stress completely eliminated from her face.

  Laura’s not finished yet. There are new sounds, the sound of scissors clipping at fabric, the snip snip, and the tearing and ripping sound of fabric pulling apart, then back to the sewing machine, which rises and falls, quickens and slows as it turns corners, manoeuvres the fabric.

  ‘Oh. My dear. My love. Let’s get you into something beautiful, you magical creature,’ Caroline says, completely swept away by what she has heard.