No, Laura stops. She hadn’t reacted violently, she had merely blocked her ears.
Hypersensitive to sounds, Bo had said to her another time.
The garda with the family of robins in his garden rolls over to her on his chair on wheels, he looks at her with a concerned fatherly face. ‘If there’s anything you need to share about last night, you can tell us.’
She swallows. She shudders, then shakes her head.
A garda she hasn’t seen before arrives to start his shift and drops a tabloid newspaper down on the desk. Laura sees a photograph of herself on the front page. The headline reads DRUNK BIRD. She starts to panic. He’s startled, had no idea the Lyrebird is in his station. The kind guard who found her covers up the newspaper and tries to calm her again.
Laura can barely hear her words through her own panicked sounds; the airplane, Mossie’s snarl, the bats at night, city sirens, camera shutter, the sound of the lyrebird’s cage, the airplane seatbelt clicking, toilets flushing, high heels on tiles, the noisy hand-driers. Everything meshes in her head.
Despite the kindness from the gardai she should have known it wouldn’t stay so peaceful for long. Somehow the press discover she’s at the station. They’re outside and waiting for her to appear. Bianca and Michael arrive. Michael stays outside, clearing a route for Laura to the blacked-out SUV. Laura didn’t want to contact Solomon and Bo, Bianca had been the only person she could think of.
‘Are you okay?’ Bianca asks with concern as Laura is brought out to reception.
Laura whimpers, Mossie’s dying sounds, the fallen hare.
‘She’s had a rough night,’ the kind garda says. ‘She needs a rest.’
‘Is the girl pressing charges, is she in trouble?’ Bianca asks.
‘We haven’t had anybody here pressing charges,’ the garda says.
Bianca turns to Laura. ‘There was a girl in the toilets of the nightclub, she says you pushed her, assaulted her. Curtis needs to know. They have to release a statement to the press.’
Laura swallows nervously trying to think. ‘I didn’t push anyone. I felt dizzy, I was trying to lean on her. I needed help, I was … am I in trouble?’
‘No,’ the garda says, annoyed. ‘Nobody has pressed any charges. You should believe us over the newspapers. You’re going to take her somewhere safe, I hope?’
Laura makes sounds. She’s nervous, flustered, trying to relive everything that happened so she can understand it.
Bianca eyes her cautiously. She’s heard Laura’s sounds before but nothing as distressed as this. They spill from her like the shaky breath and hiccups after a long cry. ‘Are you okay, Laura?’ she asks gently.
‘It’s our understanding that these sounds are normal for her?’
‘Yes, but …’ Bianca looks really concerned.
‘I’m fine,’ Laura says. ‘I just want to go …’ she almost said home. Home. She doesn’t know where that is any more. Exhaustion sweeps over her.
‘Okay, we’ll get you somewhere comfortable and safe, don’t worry. There are loads of photographers outside,’ she adds, looking at Laura’s appearance nervously. ‘Here, you can wear these –’ She hands her her large sunglasses. Laura puts them on and immediately feels shielded from the world. ‘And wear this –’ She takes off her fur gilet and hands it to Laura. Laura hesitates. This is a new Bianca.
‘It’s not real fur,’ she says, as if that’s the problem.
Laura finally puts it on, agreeing that, while it may not be the best look over a tartan shirt that was an oversized man’s shirt that Tom gave to her, and which she accessorised with a belt, it does cover the stains. She thanks the guards and faces the barrage of more photographers and a TV camera. At first she thinks it’s Rachel behind the camera, and naturally expects to see Solomon standing by her side, feeling hopeful to see the intense look of concentration on his face as he listens to the sounds around him, but he’s nowhere to be found and she realises it’s a news station, the correspondent barking questions at her with an oversized mic thrust in her face. Bianca and Mickey walk her so fast it’s all a blur around her. In the photos afterwards she looks like a different person. Her hair has been tied in a high topknot to hide the dried vomit, the fur gilet over the tartan shirt, the oversized sunglasses, the scuffed Doc Martens she’s had since she was sixteen and the walking socks pulled up. She hits the fashion magazines as a new style icon. Fur and tartan, Doc Martens and woollen socks. Everybody loves the quirky Lyrebird look. She doesn’t recognise herself when she sees the magazines. As the jeep drives off, Bianca throws a newspaper on to the seat beside Laura.
‘This is the only one that made it to print on time. There’ll be more stories tomorrow apparently.’
‘She doesn’t need to see that,’ Michael says, protectively.
‘Curtis told me to show her,’ she says. Michael sets his mouth to a firm straight line. Laura looks down at the paper on the seat beside her.
DRUNK BIRD
LYREBIRD GOES CUCKOO
NIGHT OWL IS BIRD BRAINED AFTER NIGHT OF HEAVY DRINKING
Her heart pounds, she feels sick. She lowers the window for air, wondering why they are so angry with her. She feels the waves emanating from the pages of the paper and it terrifies her.
Bianca twists around in the front seat, Mickey studies Laura in the rear-view mirror. Bianca reaches back and grabs the newspapers, stuffs them on the floor in front of her. But even though Bianca took the papers away, Laura has seen enough to remember for ever. Horrendous images of herself, being propped up by Rory, who’s laughing while her hair flies across her face. Her face, her legs, her feet are at all angles, out of joint, some photos of her with her eyes half-closed make her look drugged. Her eyes are dead, her pupils so dilated they almost take over the green. In some she’s sprawled in a dirty alley, lying on ground that’s wet from spilled alcohol or who knows what. Her face is bright white from the force of the flash. She doesn’t look drunk and scared, she sees what they’re talking about, she’s a liar because she’s not an innocent girl who doesn’t drink and is connected to the earth in ways that nobody else is, as they were saying before. She looks out of control, she looks like she’s on drugs, she looks like someone she wouldn’t want to know. The papers are angry, they feel duped.
Maybe she is. Maybe they’re right.
She takes the papers from Bianca. The worst tabloid of all procured photos from the girl at the party where Lyrebird crashed out. It doesn’t read as if she’s being sick, as if she’s scared, and wanted to go home. It looks as though she has injected herself with heroin. She can’t close the pages, she can’t stop looking at herself. She can’t find herself in them. She can’t reconcile the pictures with how she recalls feeling: afraid, confused, scared. But the look on this girl’s face is smug, high, cocky.
‘We’re bringing you to the contestants’ house for the final. We’ve checked you out of the hotel, there’s too many press there. StarrGaze will put the semi-finalists up until after the show. So far it’s just you. It will protect you from the press and it should protect you from them talking to the press, which some of them have done already.’ She turns around. ‘Watch out for Alice. She’s a weapon. Her semi-final is tomorrow night, but their votes have been high and they’re expected to go through.’
Instead of feeling concern over having to face Curtis, and live with Alice who has never been a fan of Laura’s, she feels relief rush through her body that they’re taking her somewhere. Another bridge, she’s not stranded on her lonely island yet. Another home, another place for her to hide, another bridge for her to walk across while she heads into the absolute unknown. There’s no going back now, none at all. Physically, she couldn’t even get there.
The contestants’ house is outside of Dublin in the Wicklow Mountains and she’s happy to be surrounded by nature, by trees and mountains and space. She can barely enjoy the view, though, as she keeps looking at the photographs in the newspapers, at the stranger wearing her clothes. But at least l
ooking at the trees helps her to breathe again.
When they reach the gates, photographers are outside and she faces more cameras banging against the window, which brings her back to last night. She hears herself making the sounds. Michael studies her in the mirror as they wait for the gates to open.
‘We’re nearly there,’ he says gently.
The house is visible from the gates, which don’t provide much privacy. All the curtains are open and Laura sees someone standing at the window, watching, before quickly moving away. She makes a note not to stand at a window.
She can’t look at Simon, the production staff member that greets her. He’ll be living with the contestants to tend to their every need. She wants to apologise to Michael, Bianca and Simon for bringing all this attention to the show, but she’s too embarrassed to meet their eyes. She keeps Bianca’s glasses on, she likes how much they shield her. She keeps her eyes down as they watch her walking up the stairs, Mickey helping her with her bags. Bianca tries to help her to settle in, and tells her that Curtis will visit tomorrow. Despite her lightness of tone, it sounds like a warning.
Laura turns the lights off, she closes the curtains, thankful her windows are looking out the back, to a view of the trees. A swing and a slide in the garden. She has a shower, feels clean at last, then climbs into bed, still sick from the alcohol, and mortified. She’s hungry but doesn’t want to go downstairs to see anybody. She lies in her new bed, curled in a ball, under the duvet, hiding. She sleeps.
31
‘From anonymous mountain girl to internet superstar, it seems the pressure of her newfound fame is finally getting to StarrQuest favourite Lyrebird, as Laura Button’s spokesperson confirms reports that she was involved in an incident in the toilet of a Dublin nightclub last night. Photographs in today’s papers show her being carried out by nightclub security, who intervened in the incident, and who she then attacked by throwing a glass of water at him.’
The report jumps to video footage of Laura.
‘Her audition made her famous around the world in a matter of weeks, but according to reports she was found wandering the streets of Dublin extremely distressed, and was taken to a police station for her own safety. She is now back in the custody of the show’s producers and is staying at a StarrQuest private home for the finalist contestants.
‘StarrQuest producers jumped to Lyrebird’s defence today, releasing a lengthy statement calling for the nastiness to stop. Jack Starr has described Lyrebird as a gentle, kind, young woman who’s had a challenging life. Laura was abandoned at a cottage by her grandmother at the age of sixteen after her mother died and she lived there for ten years, unknown to anyone apart from her father, who kept her existence a secret. Starr says Laura is finding it difficult to cope, and has been overwhelmed since her first audition. He says becoming the biggest star on the planet so fast is scary and unsettling, as Laura has discovered.
‘Lyrebird has had more than fifteen minutes of fame and stands to make millions from book deals, endorsements and appearances. But fame comes at a price and it seems Laura Button’s beginning to pay for it.’
Solomon stands up and throws the remote control against the wall over the fireplace. It crashes against the brickwork. The back falls off and the batteries scatter to the floor. Bo ducks and huddles even tighter in the corner of the couch. He looks at her, but neither of them say anything, he doesn’t need to; Bo looks as guilty as he feels.
‘We have to do something,’ Solomon says, feeling and hearing the emotion in his voice. He can barely take this, sitting back and watching Laura being picked apart.
‘I’m trying, Solomon,’ Bo says, tears in her eyes.
‘I’ve had enough of trying to talk to her through StarrQuest,’ he paces the lounge, angrily. ‘We have to get to her ourselves. Where is the contestants’ house the news mentioned?’
‘I have no idea,’ Bo says, lost in thought, then she sits up with an idea. ‘But the fansites will know.’
‘I’m a friend of Laura Button’s, I’m here to see her,’ Solomon says to the security guard on the gates outside the contestants’ house.
The guard laughs and approaches him with a clipboard. ‘You and all the others.’
Solomon looks around. A dozen photographers and a camera crew watch him, at first with interest and then with amusement when his wish to pass is denied. Behind a rail are a handful of hardcore fans, sleeping bags lining the grass, a home-made banner that says We Lyrebird.
‘Leave her alone,’ one girl shouts across to him.
Anger rises in Solomon.
‘If you could tell her that I’m here, then she’ll tell you to let me in.’
Security looks him up and down. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and give her a call first? Tell her to call me and ask me to let you in.’
Solomon grinds his teeth. ‘I can’t call her. That’s why I’m here.’
‘Yeah. Well, I can’t let you in. Your name needs to be on the list and you’re not on the list, so I can’t let you in.’
Solomon turns off the engine and gets out of the car.
‘Sir, I’d advise you to stay in the car. There’s no need to get out of your car.’
He’s standing so close to the car door, Solomon can’t open it. He pushes it a little harder. It hits the guard and he takes a backward step.
‘Hey, what are you doing? I said get back in the car!’
‘Then don’t block my door! Don’t block my door!’ Solomon gets in his face as they both shout at each other.
A bored photographer takes a few photographs.
A second security guard appears from the hut. ‘Barry?’ he says, concerned.
‘Great, hopefully you can help,’ Solomon says, pushing his hair off his face and trying to compose himself in front of the crowd. ‘I need to contact my friend Laura Button. I appreciate that I’m not on the list but if you call her, which will take one second of your time, then she will immediately let me in. Okay?’
‘Who?’ he asks, looking from his colleague to Solomon and back.
‘The Lyrebird,’ Barry says.
‘It’s actually Laura. Laura Button is her name,’ Solomon gets het up again.
‘Leave Lyrebird alone,’ the fan shouts at him again. ‘People like you aren’t helping her!’
Solomon ignores her.
‘So you know her real name, you read the news,’ Barry says, unimpressed.
‘Okay okay, let’s keep it calm,’ the second security guy says. ‘There’s no need to get upset.’
Solomon calms down, he likes this guy, he may see reason. ‘Step this way with me.’ He follows him, out of eyeshot of the crowd, into the security hut. Solomon feels he’s been taken seriously. ‘Now let me tell you how it works here,’ he says calmly.
‘I told him,’ Barry interrupts, behind him.
‘Barry,’ he warns, and Barry leaves the hut swearing.
‘We are given a list of people who are allowed to visit. It’s a very strict list. If you want to visit somebody in the house you’re supposed to contact the production office, who then alert us. We’re not allowed to let any Tom, Dick or Harry just waltz in. And you’re not even family. And it’s ten o’clock at night. Too late for visitors.’
‘I understand that, I appreciate that. And that’s the way it should be, but I know that Laura wants to see me. I’m not on the list because she didn’t know that I was able to visit, but I can and now if you let her know that I’m here, I promise you this won’t be a waste of time.’
He looks at Solomon like he’s trying to figure him out.
He picks up the phone and the relief floods through Solomon.
‘Simon, it’s Richie. I’ve got a visitor for Lyrebird. Yeah. He’s here right now. Not on the list but he wants to see her.’
‘Solomon Fallon,’ Solomon says, realising he hasn’t even asked him his name.
‘Solomon Fallon,’ he says down the phone. He listens. They wait. ‘They’re checking,’ he says. He looks around as he
waits a little longer.
Something’s up. Solomon senses something amiss. He looks at the phone and realises that Richie isn’t even on the phone. He hasn’t made a real phone call, this is all a farce. When Solomon listens carefully he can hear the dial tone on the other end of the phone.
‘This is bullshit. Fucking bullshit.’ He swipes all the paperwork off the table and storms out and gets into his car. Barry outside salutes him, while Richie shrugs as if it was worth a try.
‘Contact the production office,’ Richie repeats firmly, tapping the hood of the car with his hand.
Solomon puts his foot down and drives away at top speed, his blood rushing, his heart racing with anger.
A knock on the door wakes Laura the following morning and Simon from StarrGaze Entertainment tells her that Curtis is here. She slips on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and an oversized cardigan that she hugs around her body for protection. It’s one that Solomon chose for her in Cork. She leaves her freshly washed hair down so she can hide her face and pads barefoot downstairs to the meeting room.
Curtis sits at the head of a dining table. The dining room faces the front of the house, Laura pauses at the door and looks at the window.
‘Sit down,’ he says.
‘Can they see us?’
He looks out the window. ‘You’re worried about being seen now?’ He stands up and closes the curtains anyway.
‘Thanks,’ she says quietly, nervously.
‘StarrGaze has done a lot for you. We welcomed you, treated you well, gave you an international platform, flew you to Australia, paid for your clothes, hair, hotels. We haven’t held back on anything.’
‘I know and I truly—’
He continues as if she hasn’t spoken. ‘We are a family show. Our demographic from sixteen to thirty-four is over seventy per cent.’ He maintains his hostile stare, as if to emphasise that she really needs to grasp this. ‘We expect you to adhere to the contract you signed, which stipulates that you will not do anything to harm the good image and brand of StarrQuest and StarrGaze Entertainment.’