The waitress pauses her order-taking and stares at Laura.
Bo feels no sensitivity towards the waitress who thinks she’s being mocked, just watches, amused and intrigued, as hungry for this scene as Rachel is for her double Irish breakfast. Solomon of course feels the sweat trickle down his back from the discomfort of the situation.
‘Wafferty,’ Laura says.
‘She’s not teasing you,’ Solomon says awkwardly, and he can tell the others are surprised he’s even addressed it.
The anger that flashed in the waitress’s eyes calms as she looks at Laura differently. Then Solomon realises that she thinks something else of Laura, that there’s something wrong with her.
‘No, she’s not … you know … She’s learning. It’s a new sound to her. She …’ he looks at Laura to explain her further, and she’s looking at him, amused. As if the joke’s on him.
‘Okay, folks, if there’s anything else you need, let me know. I’ll get this to the kitchen really fast.’ The waitress grins at Rachel.
Laura can’t help herself, she mimics ‘really’ as ‘weally’, an exact copy of the waitress’s voice, and Rachel looks to be in serious pain trying to keep her nervous laughter in.
‘Stop,’ Bo says quietly.
‘I know, I can’t, I’m sorry,’ Rachel says seriously and then starts again, doing a Jekyll and Hyde as she goes from serious to laughter in an instant.
The waitress leaves the table, uncertain as to whether Laura is simple, or if she’s being mocked.
‘She’s going to spit in your cappuccino,’ Solomon says, buttering his toast.
‘Why were you laughing?’ Laura asks Rachel.
‘I can’t help it.’ She wipes the sweat from her brow with a napkin. ‘I do it at awkward moments. Have done since I was a kid. Funerals are the worst.’
Laura smiles. ‘You laugh at funerals?’
‘All the time.’
‘Even at Tom’s?’
Rachel looks at her sombrely. ‘Yes.’
Solomon shakes his head. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘Why did you laugh?’ Laura asks, wide-eyed with curiosity and not at all insulted that Rachel laughed during her dad’s funeral.
‘Bridget farted,’ Rachel explains.
‘Ah now, come on,’ Solomon says, shaking his head.
‘Rachel,’ Bo says, disgusted.
‘Laura asked me a question and I’m telling her the honest answer. I was right behind Bridget. When she got off her seat to kneel down, there it was, a little parp.’ Rachel makes the sound.
Laura imitates Rachel’s fart sound perfectly, which makes Rachel laugh even more. Bo and Solomon join in, against their better judgement.
‘It’s called rhotacism,’ Solomon says when the laughter has died down. ‘Or de-rhotacisation.’
‘What is?’ Bo asks, confused, searching through emails on her phone.
‘The waitress’s “r” sound. I had it as a kid,’ he says to Laura.
Bo looks up, surprised. ‘You never told me that.’
Solomon shrugs, cheeks going pink with the memory. ‘I had to go to a speech therapist till I was seven to sort it out. My brothers have never let me forget it, gave me a horrible time about it. To this day my brother Rory is still called Wawwy.’
‘I was wondering why they always say that,’ Bo laughs. ‘I thought it was because he was the baby.’
‘He was. He was my baby Wawwy,’ Solomon says, and they laugh.
Suddenly a cappuccino machine fires up to steam the milk. Laura jumps at the sound, she looks around for the root of the sound while mimicking it.
‘What is she doing?’ Bo asks quietly.
‘I’d say percolating,’ Rachel replies.
‘Wow,’ Bo says, picking up her phone and recording.
The diners at the table beside them turn to stare, two kids watch Laura, open-mouthed.
‘Don’t stare,’ their mother says calmly, quietly, all the while keeping a close eye on Laura over the rim of her teacup.
Solomon fights the urge to tell more people that there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with Laura.
‘It’s the coffee machine,’ Solomon says, reaching out and placing a hand on Laura’s shoulder, to centre her, calm her.
She looks at him, pupils dilated, scared.
Solomon points behind the counter across the room. ‘It’s a coffee machine. They’re steaming the milk for the latte or cappuccino.’
She watches it, imitates the sound again before becoming comfortable with it and turning her attention to the table again. The children go back to playing on their computer games.
Laura zones in on them, imitating the beeps, the shooting. The little boy puts his game down and kneels up on his chair to peer over the top at her. She smiles at him and once spotted, he sits down quickly. Their mother orders them to switch the sound off.
The waitress brings their food to the table. The full Irish for Solomon and Rachel, a grapefruit for Bo, who doesn’t acknowledge it as she taps away on her phone, and two boiled eggs for Laura.
‘Thank you,’ she says to the wary waitress.
There’s silence as they dig into their food, then Laura looks at Rachel’s plate, examines its content and mimics the waitress so perfectly, innocently and without any cynicism or sarcasm. ‘Wafferty’s Washers.’
The three of them crack up laughing.
‘I really think I should go to Galway with you,’ Bo says suddenly as they’re checking out. Laura is helping Rachel carry the bags to the car and Solomon and Bo are alone at the desk.
‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that about going to my family,’ he jokes lightly, though it is true. When Laura has left the hotel, he runs his hands through Bo’s hair.
She smiles and looks up at him, arms around his waist. ‘Your family hate me.’
‘Hate is a very strong word,’ he kisses her gently. ‘My family don’t like you.’
She laughs. ‘You’re supposed to lie and tell me they adore me.’
‘Adore is a very strong word.’
They smile.
‘I think we’ve got something special here, Solomon.’
‘That’s so romantic, Bo,’ he mimics her dreamy tone, knowing she’s talking about Laura and not their relationship.
She laughs again. ‘I think we should be filming the Galway trip. This is Laura stepping into the world for the first time and we’re missing it. Like this morning at breakfast, that stuff is priceless. She is sound-bite fucking heaven.’
‘You know why we can’t film,’ he shrugs, pulling apart, annoyed by Bo’s greediness all of a sudden. ‘We’re not ready. Rachel has to get home, you’ve got your fancy university lecture. The prodigal student returns.’
She groans. ‘If it wasn’t for the lecture I’d go with you.’
‘I recall you booking this date specifically so you would miss my mam’s birthday.’
‘True.’
‘Karma’s a bitch.’
She laughs. ‘I’m not good at all that family stuff. I’m from a socially repressed family of four. All that touchy-feely singing and dancing, and self-expression, makes me nervous.’
Solomon has three brothers and one sister, all of whom will be there this weekend, some with partners, wives, children. Then there are his uncles, aunts and cousins, before you even count the crazy neighbours and random people who drop in because they hear music when they’re passing. It’s noisy, it’s not easy if you’re not used to it and Bo doesn’t have the kind of easy-going nature that can take an entire weekend of banter. He feels equally uncomfortable in her suburban house. There’s too much silence, watching of words, politeness. Solomon’s family talk about everything, a lively debate encompassing politics, current affairs, sport and what’s happening between the bedsheets of the house next door. His family deplore silence. Silence is used for dramatic effect in a story only. Words, music or song were created to eradicate silences.
But truth be told, Solomon doesn’t mind in
the slightest that Bo won’t be joining them. In fact, it will be easier for him with her not there, or it would have been if Laura wasn’t coming with him.
‘I don’t think Laura is going to be a completely changed person by Monday when it’s time to film. She’ll still be making those sounds,’ he says.
‘You think?’
‘Yeah. It’s part of who she is.’
‘Maybe we can help her to see someone about it. Document her therapy or something,’ Bo says, stepping back in producer mode. ‘As part of her moving on. There’s so many ways to approach this documentary, I really need to get my head straight.’
‘Why would she want to lose her sounds?’ Solomon asks.
Bo fixes him with a confused look.
Solomon hears Rachel returning and Bo gives him one final peck before stepping away.
‘You wouldn’t stay here with her?’ she asks. ‘Save all her new first times until I get back?’
Solomon’s heartbeat hastens at that comment, trying to judge her tone. He has picked her up wrong; of course she doesn’t mean that first for Laura, if in fact it would even be her first. But he’s thought about it, a lot, and his conclusion is that she must be a virgin, she’s been at the cottage since she was sixteen. And there wasn’t anybody in her life before? She would have said so. He tries to hide what Bo’s comment has done to him.
He clears his throat.
‘I’m not missing my mam’s seventieth birthday.’ He steadies his voice. ‘Laura can go with you to Dublin, if you really want. You can watch her progress for yourself.’ As soon as he’s said it he wants to take it back. His heart drums even louder in his chest as he awaits her answer, but the reverse psychology has worked. Bo looks alarmed, like a new mother at the prospect of being left alone with her baby for the first time.
‘No, she’s better with you. She prefers you.’
He shields his relief as she guards her terror. He wonders if she can see through him as easily as he sees through her.
Solomon drives Bo and Rachel to the train station. The initial plan had been for Bo and Rachel to drive to Dublin while Solomon was to catch the bus to Galway, however it was agreed that a three-hour bus journey with Laura and a packed bus full of new sounds might not be the best way for her travel. On the way to the train station, Rachel and Laura sit together getting along together amicably, their conversations simple and easy.
‘You’ve just revealed yourself to be one big softy on this one,’ Solomon teases as they unload the car, helping Rachel with her camera equipment. ‘It must be impending motherhood that’s doing it to you. Hormones.’
‘Less of the big, if you don’t mind,’ Rachel says gruffly.
‘Seriously. Laura likes you,’ Solomon says.
‘Yeah. She likes you more though,’ Rachel says, fixing him with a knowing look. A warning look. ‘Be good. See you Monday.’
12
‘Mam. It’s Solomon.’
‘Hi, love, everything all right?’
‘Yes. Fine … Em. I’m on my way to you and I’m bringing somebody with me.’
‘Bo?’ That wary tone, though of all the members of the family she tries to hide it the most, always trying to be respectful to the various other halves she has not taken a liking to.
‘No, not Bo – she’s really sorry, but she couldn’t get out of that guest lecture she has. It’s a big honour, and she can’t miss it,’ he explains, covering all angles, and doesn’t know why he bothers, always apologising to other people on other people’s behalf when none of those people ever care.
‘Of course, of course, she’s a busy woman.’
‘It’s not that she’s too busy, it’s just that it’s important. Not to say that your birthday’s not,’ he backpedals.
‘Solomon, love,’ he hears the smile in her voice. ‘Don’t worry. You worry too much, you’ll tie yourself up in knots. Who are you bringing? Can he stay in your room? I’m tight on space,’ she lowers her voice. ‘Maurice is after arriving with Fiona and his three children. God love him, a widower and all, but the three children. I’ve put them in the room that was supposed to be for Paddy and Moira, but Moira couldn’t come. Her back again. Paddy’s in with Jack and he’s in a right huff – sure the two of them don’t get along at all, but what else can I do?’
Solomon smiles. ‘Don’t worry about it. They should be grateful they’re there at all. I can stay in Pat’s.’
‘You will not stay in Pat’s when your bedroom and home are right here. I’ll hear nothing of the sort.’
‘He’s a she, Mam. So that will make it difficult for you. If you insist on us staying she can stay in my room, I’ll go on the couch.’
‘No son of mine will sleep on the couch. Who is she, Solomon?’
‘Laura. Laura Button. You don’t know her. She’s from Macroom. She’s the subject of this new documentary we’re doing. She’s twenty-six. We’re not, you know, together.’
Pause.
‘I’ll put her in Cara’s room so.’
‘No, Mam, you don’t have to do that, really. She can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch. She’s better in a room on her own.’
‘No one is sleeping on the couch,’ she says firmly. ‘Particularly not my own son. I haven’t planned this for a year to end up with people on couches.’
As the owner of an eight-bedroom guesthouse, Solomon’s mother is a nurturer, a feeder, someone who insists on others’ comfort almost to the point of their own discomfort. Always putting herself last. But as welcoming as she is, she’s old-fashioned in her views: none of her children are allowed to share a room with girlfriends or boyfriends until they are married.
‘When you meet her, you’ll understand. She’s different.’
‘Is she now?’
‘Not like that.’ He smiles.
‘We’ll see,’ she says easily, with a laugh that’s trapped in her words. ‘We’ll see.’
Solomon ends the call and waits for Laura. They’ll see, indeed. Laura is standing beside the roadwork traffic cones, where four men in high-vis jackets and jeans below the cracks of their arses attempt to work while she stands beside them mimicking the sound of the jackhammer.
When she sees that Solomon is off the phone, and content her mimicry has been perfected, she joins him.
‘We’re going to get in the car now and continue our drive to Galway, if there’s anything else you’d like to stop and see or hear, feel free. In fact, do it as much as you like because the longer it takes us to get there, the longer it takes us to get there.’
She smiles. ‘You’re lucky to have your family, Sol,’ she says in Bo’s voice.
‘Say it your way,’ he says.
‘Solomon,’ she says, and he smiles.
Every time he connects with her he has to purposefully de-link himself. It happens a lot. Then just as he’s in the process of untwining his soul from hers, she mimics his awkward throat-clear and he laughs.
They return to the car that Solomon abandoned in an awkward position when she decided to flee the vehicle while stopped at red lights to explore the source of the jackhammer.
‘What is a lyrebird?’ she asks as they drive.
He looks at her quickly, then back to the road ahead of him.
‘I heard Bo say it when she was on the phone. She found a lyrebird. Is that me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why does she call me that?’
‘It’s the title of the documentary. A lyrebird is a bird that lives in Australia and is famous for mimicking sounds.’ What he really wants to say, what he had planned to say, was, It’s one of the most beautiful and rare and the most intelligent of all the world’s wild creatures. He’d come across that in his research, he’d planned to tell her that, but now he can’t get the words out. He’d spent a good deal of time reading up about the curious bird ever since Bo had decided on the name. It’s the first time he has raised the issue of her mimicry, and he’s too nervous that she may take offence to the comparison. There’s b
een no sign so far of her acknowledging her own sounds, even as only moments ago a crowd had gathered around her to watch her mimicking the jackhammer.
‘Look’ – he searches through his phone, one hand on the steering wheel, one eye on the road. He hands her the short video of the bird that he came across on YouTube. He struggles to watch her reaction as he drives, thinking Bo will be upset with him for not capturing this moment on camera. She smiles as the bird mimics other birds from the platform that it builds in the woods.
‘Why does it do it?’ she asks, which is a question that intrigues Solomon. He’d love to ask her the same thing.
‘To attract a mate,’ he explains.
Laura looks at him and those eyes almost make him crash into the car that has stopped at the lights in front of him. He clears his throat and brakes hard.
‘The male lyrebirds sing during mating season. He builds a platform in the forest, like a mound, and he stands on it to sing. The females are attracted to the sound.’
‘So I’m a male bird looking for a good time,’ Laura says, scrunching her face up.
‘We’ll claim artistic licence.’
She watches the video of the bird some more and when he starts making the sounds of chainsaws, and then a camera shutter, she starts laughing, louder and larger than Solomon has ever heard her before.
‘Whose idea was it to call me this?’ she giggles, wiping her teared-up eyes.
‘Mine,’ he says, self-consciously, taking the phone from her.
‘Mine,’ she mimics him perfectly, then after a short silence where he’s wondering what’s going through her mind she says, ‘You found me. You named me.’
He cringes at that.
Laura continues. ‘I read a book about Native Americans believing that naming can help enrich a sense of identity. People’s names can change throughout their lives the same way people do. They believe nicknames provide insight into not just the individual but how other people perceive that person. People become a double prism, instead of a one-way mirror.’
Solomon drinks every word in.
She makes the sound of a car beeping, which confuses him, until he hears an aggressive car honk behind him. The traffic lights had turned green while he was lost in her words. He quickly drives on as they turn amber again, leaving the angry driver behind.