‘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.’