Lyrebird

by Cecelia Ahern

  Jack Starr is doing interviews with CNN, Sky News and all around the world, explaining the close relationship he has with his contestants, that their welfare comes first at all times. ‘Nobody could have anticipated the effects of Lyrebird’s first audition, nobody could prepare for it. Nobody could ever know how that level of attention could affect a person. It was new to everyone and everyone was and is responsible: the show, the media, society, the public, even Lyrebird herself. It was unprecedented. Her talent is immense and I want to nurture it and her. Rest assured, that’s what we’re doing. This is entertainment. If there is no joy, what’s the point? Lyrebird has been asked many times if she wants to proceed. Whether she chooses to continue with StarrQuest or not is purely her decision, there is no pressure on her from our side.’

  ‘Jack, bearing in mind your own personal journey in the music business, should you not have been more prepared for the effects fame can have on an artist? Isn’t that the whole point of having a mentor like you, someone with inside knowledge of the positive and negative effects of the industry?’

  Jack stares at the journalist, almost like he’s frozen, shocked. He doesn’t know how to respond. Surprise, realisation, guilt, all pass over his face at once.

  ‘Will Lyrebird take part in the final?’

  Jack manages to compose himself. ‘Lyrebird has a lot of supporters but she has a lot of critics. She will and should prove them wrong.’

  Laura turns off the television in her bedroom and there’s silence. She likes it in this room. It feels like a cocoon. Safe. Her curtains are drawn all day and night, it has a pale nude palette, nothing at all like her Cork retreat. Like the rest of the house, it’s sparse, there’s no feeling that anybody has lived here, that anybody owns it. The place has no identity, apart from the swing set and slide that stand abandoned in the garden. She likes its lack of identity. Cream and beige, a pale furry rug. She snuggles under her duvet and closes her eyes. She listens out for her sounds, but nothing comes.

  Nothing at all.

  Part 3

  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, div
ing 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 e
nough 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?