Lyrebird

by Cecelia Ahern

  Fifteen minutes later, Laura steps out of the makeshift dressing room.

  ‘Well?’ Caroline looks at Rachel. Of course Rachel doesn’t respond, but her camera does the work. What she sees is Laura as she’s never seen her before, and Laura as she has never been before. Laura looks at their faces, uncertain, but with a shy smile. She likes it, she hopes others do.

  Claire sets about accessorising Laura.

  ‘Wait until hair and make-up get their hands on you. You’ll be hot stuff,’ Caroline says. ‘I’m not sure about the shoes, though,’ she adds. ‘Your legs are shaking, you poor love.’

  Laura seems relieved to take off the platforms.

  ‘Gladiator flats,’ Caroline says finally. ‘You have that vibe. Greek, angelic, goddess. Tall enough to pull them off too.’

  By the time Laura’s hair and make-up are complete, the team have created this goddess in a very short white slip, midway up her long toned thighs. If she lifts her arms it travels up past her underwear. Her long blonde hair is tied in a tight knot on the top of her head, gold metallic gladiator flats snake their way up to her knees, and around her bicep is a gold clasp with an emerald stone. Her green eyes gleam.

  Everybody is silenced as she stands there before them.

  ‘That will get you Jack’s thumbs up for sure,’ the make-up artist says.

  ‘It will get more than his thumbs up,’ Caroline says, and they all laugh before realising the camera is recording, then they quickly hush and disperse.

  Solomon is waiting at the stage with Bo. He catches up with his former colleagues while he waits for Laura to arrive for the sound check and dress rehearsal. Laura enters the stage set with Bianca and is guided up the steps to the centre of the stage. Laura, unaware of all the hungry eyes on her, looks around as though she’s landed on a new planet. The lighting, the empty audience seats surrounding the stage, the enormous screen above her head that will display her thumbs up or thumbs down. The gilded throne where Jack will sit and judge her.

  Solomon has his back to the stage while in discussion with crew he hasn’t seen since his fight with Jack, but he senses the change of air in the room. It may sound stupid, but he knows that she has walked in. He sees everyone look up, stop what they’re doing, he sees the looks in their eyes, the change in their expression. His friend Ted stops midway through his story, completely distracted by what’s on the stage.

  ‘Whoa.’

  Solomon’s heart started beating faster the second he felt the change in the room. He clears his throat and readies himself. He turns.

  ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Ted says. ‘That’s the Lyrebird?’

  ‘She wins,’ Jason says in a sing-song voice as he passes the two men. Ted laughs.

  Solomon clears his throat again awkwardly. He doesn’t know where to look. If he lays his eyes on her again everyone will know, absolutely everyone will know how he feels. He can’t cope with looking at her, he can’t control himself, the sudden tremble he feels, the awkwardness, the downright unsophisticated urge to take her, and have her all to himself, do all the things most men in the room are fantasising about right now.

  Bo watches him, he feels her eyes on him, and he turns away from the stage, busying himself with his audio equipment.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asks.

  ‘About …’

  ‘Laura.’

  He looks up again as if he’d barely noticed her the first time. ‘Yeah. She looks different.’

  ‘Different?’ she studies him. ‘She’s unrecognisable, Solomon. I mean, she’s fucking incredible. Even I want to sleep with her, but you know …’

  Solomon looks at her in surprise. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not what I was expecting …’ Bo studies Laura again, analyses her.

  ‘Yeah,’ Solomon agrees. It’s not what he was expecting either. Not at all.

  While Laura is surrounded by suddenly over-helpful crew members, and Bo is busy again, he takes his time to really study her now. He can see Laura’s nerves. She looks over at him, a question on her face. She’s seeking comfort, confidence, encouragement, and yet he can’t do anything. If he goes near her, everybody will know. She will know, Bo will know. He can’t allow himself to take one step closer to her right now, under these lights and cameras, for everyone to see. He keeps his distance, he glances at her from afar, from the corner of his eye, grabbing stolen moments.

  The floor manager takes her attention away and Rachel documents it all. Solomon jumps into action and hurries over, headphones on, the boom mic in his hand, trying to avoid Laura’s gaze.

  ‘Lyrebird, I’m Tommy.’ The manager reaches out his hand and she shakes it. ‘You’re very welcome. I know this is nerve-racking, every single person on the show tonight is feeling exactly the same way. But there’s no need, we’re a nice bunch. I’m from Cork too. Us Corkonians stick together.’

  She smiles and he and she have a little chat as he succeeds in calming her nerves.

  ‘Your king and executioner sits up there on the throne. When you’re performing, this is your main camera. That’s Dave behind it.’

  Dave waves comically and she laughs.

  ‘This is your place to stand. Do you think you’ll be moving around?’

  Laura looks at Solomon for guidance, he quickly looks down at his audio bag, plays with the tuning.

  ‘Well, we’ll have a run-through and we’ll see for ourselves,’ Tommy says good-naturedly. No panic. Not yet. A few hours till they go live. ‘That’s what we’re here for.’

  He explains timing issues with her, where she stands for the ruling, where she walks to when she’s finished. Finally, it’s time for the run-through. Solomon, Bo and Rachel leave the stage, as does everybody else, while the lights and music dramatically leap into action. Laura looks around, jumping slightly at the dramatic music. The ten-second countdown before she begins, while the stage is bathed in red, and then it is bathed in green, time for her two minutes to begin. The timer on the clock on the screen above her head counts down the seconds she has to convince King Jack Starr whether she will go through to the next round of semi-finals.

  Laura holds the microphone to her mouth and looks around. She doesn’t say anything. Her breath is audible in the absolute silence.

  Tommy stands at the edge of the stage, holds his hands up in a grand gesture. ‘Say something, anything, doesn’t matter what, we just need to hear you.’

  Bo looks nervous, Solomon isn’t sure if she’s worried about Laura or about her own reputation. Rachel is biting her lip and looking down at the ground, an angry energy emanating from her. Solomon makes a note to ask her about it later.

  They go through the ten-second countdown again.

  Laura looks at Solomon and spends the full two minutes making the sound of the coffee machine. Solomon laughs so much Bo elbows him in the stomach, production staff glare at him, and he has to leave the studio because he can’t help himself.

  Hours later, when the live show has begun, while four people have had the thumbs up and five have had the thumbs down, Solomon, Rachel and Bo film Laura’s nervous wait backstage. She can barely speak with the nerves. Bianca, her handler, doesn’t leave her side and Laura, jumpy, imitates the sound of the walkie-talkie in Bianca’s hand and just about everything Bianca does. Bianca ignores it as though it’s not happening.

  Bianca counts her down to her performance. ‘We’ll go to the studio in two minutes.’

  Laura’s breath catches and she moves away.

  ‘I need to go to the bathroom.’

  ‘Hold on, hold on, you can’t go now,’ Bianca says, alarm in her eyes, things no longer cool.

  Solomon puts the boom mic down, and Rachel too stops filming.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Bo looks at them, confused.

  Rachel refuses to answer. The camera is on the floor beside her, her arms are crossed, her eyes to the floor.

  ‘Solomon?’

  He takes Laura by the arm and leads her around the corner, out of
earshot from everybody else, but still just in case, he moves his lips to her ear, so close that he feels his nose brush her hair, his lips brush her soft earlobe.

  ‘You have the ability to take people somewhere else. Somewhere they can’t see, but somewhere they can feel. If you don’t know what to do, if nothing comes to you, close your eyes, and think of something that makes you happy. Think of your mum and Gaga.’

  ‘Okay,’ she says, so quietly, he feels her breath on his cheek.

  He breathes her in. ‘You look beautiful.’

  She smiles.

  He moves away quickly, head down, eyes down, Bo and Rachel’s eyes on him.

  ‘You ready?’ Bianca asks, the alarm still in her eyes. The message being: you better be.

  ‘Yes,’ Laura says.

  ‘Cool.’ She lifts her walkie-talkie to her mouth. ‘Lyrebird on the move.’

  Laura stands on the stage, the audience’s welcoming applause dies down and it’s silent.

  ‘Hello there,’ Jack says from his throne, subtly looking her up and down, and not so subtly liking what he sees.

  ‘Hello,’ Laura says into the microphone. Solomon couldn’t be more proud, Rachel is biting down on her nails. Jack has been generous with their access so far, but they can’t film while the show is airing live, they will have to get their footage from the show.

  ‘What’s your name, tell us about yourself.’

  ‘I’m … Lau … Lyrebird,’ she corrects herself, ‘I’m twenty-six and I’m from Gougane Barra in Cork.’

  There’s a cheer from a section of the audience.

  Jack big-ups the people from Cork in the house. He likes Lyrebird, you can tell. He is wearing his charming face.

  ‘And tell me, what are you going to do for us tonight?’

  Laura is silent. ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  The audience laugh. Laura doesn’t. Jack does.

  ‘Okay, good answer. Well, I hope you decide soon, your two minutes is about to start. Good luck, Lyrebird.’

  The studio spotlights turn red and the entire stage is plunged into a blood-red light. The timer on the screen ticks down ten seconds. Then it goes green and Laura’s two minutes begin.

  For the first ten seconds she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t utter one single sound. She’s looking around, almost in shock, stunned, taking everything in. Ten seconds of silence on live TV is a long time. The audience start to turn on her, they start to titter.

  Someone shouts, a male voice, deep and a heavy Dublin accent. ‘Come on, Lyrebird!’

  Startled, she jumps, and mimics exactly what was just said.

  The audience laugh.

  The sound from the darkness is so sudden and explosive in her ear that she mimics the audience’s collective laughter straight away. Then there are gasps, and silence. She has their attention. She sees the red light of the TV camera before her, the rest of the studio is in darkness. Jack Starr is lit up in his throne like he’s some kind of king. She thinks of last year’s winner and suddenly the harmonica sound fills the ear to less laughter and more shocked gasps. She knows she can’t do that for the next minute, she doesn’t know all of the winner’s song.

  The lights on her face are hot, there’s a heavy expectant air.

  She thinks of what Solomon told her. She closes her eyes. Thinks of her dear mum who would never believe that she is here right now, her Gaga who sent her to the mountain for her own safety, thinking being away from the world was going to protect her forever, but now she’s here for the whole world to see, their worst fear for her.

  A buzzer suddenly sounds and she opens her eyes in surprise. The lights are on full, no more darkness from the audience and the green has plunged to red again.

  She looks around, bewildered, thinking she’s blown it. She didn’t say anything. She has lost her chance. She has embarrassed Bo, even worse, Solomon. She lowers the microphone from her mouth. She waits to be ridiculed, to receive the gold thumbs down immediately. Her heart pounds, she feels mortified. There is no applause, the lights change from red to normal again and she can see the faces in the audience. She has no idea what she has done but the entire studio is silent, looking at her and each other in bafflement and surprise. Some even with admiration. What has she done?

  She swallows and looks at Jack Starr, who’s now talking, analysing her performance, but she can’t focus on the meaning of his words. She hears them individually, but collectively they make no sense to her. Her heart is hammering. She feels mortified. Her chance to begin something new and she has failed so soon. The audience have ten seconds to place their vote, as do the people at home. As does Jack Starr.

  The audience vote is revealed first. She readies herself to be strong, to lift her chin and take it.

  To her utter surprise, the stage is bathed in gold as the audience gold thumbs up is revealed.

  Then Jack’s vote is next. A giant gold thumbs up appears on the screen above her, but of course she can’t see this. She hears happy fast music, the stage is bathed in gold light and Tommy the floor manager is standing offstage gesturing wildly for her to go to him. She looks around awkwardly then leaves the stage.

  She’s through.

  21

  ‘That was incredible, fucking incredible,’ Jack Starr booms down the corridor after Laura.

  They all turn around, camera included, and Bo and Solomon move out of the shot.

  Jack goes directly to Laura and places his hands on her shoulders, looks at her square on.

  ‘Lyrebird, that was unbelievable … magical. Are you sure you haven’t got a tape recorder in there?’ He pretends to look into her mouth. ‘Seriously …’ He tries to calm himself, he is genuinely pumped. ‘That was phenomenal. I have never seen anything like that before, never heard anything like that before. I don’t think anyone in the world has seen anything like that before. I mean, of course we’ve heard it before, but not all from one human mouth.’ He laughs. ‘All those sounds, water, wind, people, laughter, you gotta give me the list of everything. I mean, wow. We’re going to make you a star!’

  Laura’s cheeks turn pink. Solomon’s insides cringe and, as if Jack has realised the cheesiness of what he has said, in Solomon’s company, he looks uncertainly in Bo’s direction.

  ‘Cut,’ Bo says, straight away.

  ‘Let’s talk in your dressing room,’ he says, quietly. It seems the entire production team and all the contestants have lined the corridors to watch their exchange. They go to Laura’s dressing room; Laura, Bo, Jack and his producer, Curtis. Solomon and Rachel tail behind but the door starts to close in their faces. Rachel doesn’t care and backs away but Solomon pushes against the door. Jack’s head pops around the corner, ‘We don’t need cameras or sound right now, thanks.’ He winks and closes the door.

  Rachel eyes Solomon. ‘Easy,’ she warns. She leans against the wall of the corridor, keeping her eye on Solomon.

  ‘One of these days I’m going to drive my fist up his arsehole.’

  Rachel raises an eyebrow. ‘Some men would pay for that.’

  He smiles. ‘He probably has.’

  ‘Nah. There’s plenty of women that would do it to him for free,’ Rachel responds. ‘Anything to be famous.’

  ‘You really hate it here, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m all for talent. Susan has a ten-year-old niece who plays Vivaldi’s Four Seasons on the violin with her eyes closed. Incredible. But she plays at school feis’s and family gatherings. No reason to put her on stage and put her through this kind of shit,’ she says, lowering her voice as a twelve-year-old contortionist walks by with her parents, face full of TV make-up and her costume bag over her shoulder.

  ‘I suppose they’re proud. They want to show the world. Share it.’

  ‘That’s the thing, people keep asking her parents, why won’t they let her do more with her talent? Put her on a TV show or something. Why? Because she’s good at something?’ She shakes her head, bewildered. ‘Why can’t people just be really good at somet
hing? Why do they have to be the best at something? I mean, my feeling on it is …’ She searches for the words, really passionate about it now. ‘There’s sharing a gift, and there’s … diluting a gift. You know? They already have her looking like Helen of fucking Troy. Who knows what they’ll do with her next. But that’s just my unpopular opinion. I don’t watch this shit.’ She sighs.

  Solomon grumbles some sort of response and quickly pushes her words out of his head because he doesn’t want to know what she thinks about Laura being part of the show. He doesn’t want to think that she might be right, and that he is responsible for Laura taking part. So instead he dreams about all the ways he can hurt Jack Starr. Punching his lights out was what got him fired from working on the show two years ago. It was over some derogatory comment about Bo, one that Jack had said deliberately, to anger Solomon, and he’d risen to the bait. He’d been glad he’d done it, he still thinks of the moment his fist drove into Jack’s cheek, though he’d been aiming for his nose. Still, the feel of bone and flesh and Jack’s painful girly cry was enough to send him to sleep with good dreams of an evening. He wouldn’t rule out doing it again but he’ll bide his time. He’ll have to make it count, he couldn’t miss out on being present for Laura’s journey.

  ‘So guys, how amazing was that? Jesus!’ Jack says, sitting on the dressing room table, perfectly framed by the bulb mirror. ‘Laura, I wasn’t blowing smoke up your ass for the cameras, I meant it.’

  Curtis nods alongside him, also leaning against the counter, two hands holding on to the edge, staring down at his two feet out before him. He’s a tall angular man, pointed nose, white-blond hair. He doesn’t say much, or anything, lots of head-nodding, arm-folding and looking into space as he listens. He’s just there, a dark force.

  ‘You are incredible. And don’t worry about the nerves, I get it, first night on the stage, it’s daunting, everybody feels the same, we’ll work with you on that for the next show, okay? We can’t have thirty seconds of nothing next time round,’ he laughs, showing his nerves from earlier.