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.

‘What I’m trying to say,’ she smiles, ‘is that I like it. I’m Lyrebird.’

13

‘Oh Solomon, she’s a beauty,’ Solomon’s mother, Marie, says breathily, greeting Solomon outside the house, as though he’s brought his first-born home from the hospital. She hugs her son, eyes on Laura the whole time. It’s almost as if she’s astonished, or her breath has been stolen. ‘My goodness, look at you!’ She takes Laura’s hands, no longer paying the slightest bit of notice to her son. ‘Aren’t you an angel? We’ll have to take good care of you.’ She pulls her close and wraps an arm around her shoulder.

Solomon carries the bags inside with his father, Finbar, who nudges his son so deeply in the ribs he drops the bag. Finbar laughs and hurries ahead of him.

‘Where are we going with these, petal?’ Finbar asks his wife.

‘The orchid room for dear Laura,’ she says.

‘That’s my room,’ a head peeks out from the doorway of a room to the right-hand side. ‘Hiya, bro.’ An identical but older version of Solomon, Donal, steps out and hugs his brother and greets Laura.

‘Hannah down the road will take you,’ she says. ‘If you weren’t on your own, Donal, we’d find somewhere else for you here, but that’s how it is now.’

‘Ouch,’ Solomon laughs, punching his brother in the arm. She’s punishing him for leaving the only woman everyone thought he’d marry.

Laura smiles, watching them with each other.

‘Is Solomon in the orchid room too?’ Donal asks innocently, and his mother throws him a look of pure evil that he sniggers at. Solomon busies himself with the bags and tries to usher Laura away from the conversation.

‘Solomon is in his own bedroom,’ Marie huffs, enjoying the teasing. ‘Now, off with the lot of you. Laura, angel, I’ll take you to your room. Don’t be starting anything with him in there, Donal,’ she warns them as they go into Solomon’s room.

Donal laughs. ‘Mam, I’m forty-two.’

‘I don’t care what age you are, you were always at poor Solomon. I know it was you who kicked him off the bunk bed.’

Donal’s grin gets wider. ‘Oh, the poor baby Solomon.’

‘I wasn’t the poor baby and you know it,’ Solomon says, distracted, trying to catch Laura’s eye to make sure she’s okay with all this, concerned that going from no contact with people, to this, in a matter of days, must be affecting her.

‘Wawwy,’ Laura says, a perfect mimic of Solomon’s childhood speech impediment, and Donal howls with laughter. He holds his hand up for a high-five, which Marie drags Laura away from before they see her laugh. A mother’s job, in her opinion, is to be stern; if they ever saw her lose her composure then she would lose her power. Now they try to constantly egg her on and it’s her little game to maintain that composure.

Laura is brought away to the new ‘wing’, which is an extension of two new bedrooms for the B & B after the children had left home, though Rory is the only remaining child and probably will be for the rest of his life, at the rate he’s going.

After giving her a few minutes to settle in, Solomon knocks on Laura’s door.

‘Yes,’ she says quietly, and he pushes the door open. She’s sitting on the double bed, her bags untouched on the floor at her feet, looking around at the room.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she says dreamily.

‘Ah yes. The orchid room is Mam’s favourite,’ Solomon says, stepping inside. His mother putting her in this room says a lot. ‘My sister Cara is a photographer. These are her photos on canvas. For some reason, she likes to photograph flowers. And stones. But they’re in the stone room. Crazy Uncle Brian is in that room. Mam’s not so keen on stones.’

She laughs. ‘Your family is funny.’

‘That’s one word for them.’ He clears his throat. ‘So the festivities will begin in one hour. About all of Spiddal is about to burst in here, with a song to sing, an instrument to play, a story to tell, or a dance to dance. You are free to stay here, in safety.’

‘I’d like to come.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks, surprised.

‘Will you sing?’ she asks.

‘Yes, everybody has to do a piece.’

‘I want to hear you sing.’

‘Be warned, they might force you to sing. I’ll try to stop them but I can’t promise you anything. They’re a tough bunch and I have zero sway with them.’

‘I’ll hide in the back,’ she says, and he laughs.

‘Why are you laughing?’

‘The idea of you hiding. Even in a room filled with people you’d stand out.’

She bites her lip at the compliment, which he didn’t intend to sound so corny. He backs away to the door cringing internally.

She mimics his throat-clearing.

‘Exactly,’ he agrees. ‘Awkward. Sorry for that. I’ll give you time to freshen up, shower, whatever. Is thirty minutes okay?’ For Bo, thirty minutes would be enough, she doesn’t spend much time thinking about how she looks, she is naturally beautiful and throws everything together to look cool. Preppy. Brogues and turn-ups, thin cashmere sweaters and blazers like she should be going to Harvard, a J.Crew wet dream. But he’s had girlfriends where thirty minutes wasn’t even enough time to dry their hair.

She nods. ‘Wait.’ She looks nervous. ‘Is it dressy? I don’t really have anything fancy. I made some things but… they’re not really right for here.’

‘What you’re wearing now is perfect. It’s casual.’

She looks relieved and Solomon feels bad that this would have been a concern for her all this time. This is the kind of thing Bo would have done better.

‘What’s the deal with the blonde?’ Donal asks, as Solomon steps out of the shower and finds him lying on the bed in his bedroom. Donal is scrolling through Solomon’s phone.

‘Go ahead, look through my personal stuff, why don’t you.’

‘Where’s cow?’

‘Bo is in Dublin. She was lecturing for film students at the university this afternoon. She couldn’t get here on time.’

Donal sucks in air, but sarcastically. ‘Bet she couldn’t get out of that.’

‘I told her not to even try. It’s a big deal.’

‘Sounds like it is.’ Donal studies him.

Unhappy with his brother’s gaze, he drops his towel from around his waist and holds his hands up in the air. ‘Look no hands!’

‘That’s mature.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Solomon roots in his bag for a clean T-shirt. ‘It’s easier for me that she’s not here,’ he says, back turned, while he hears the click of Donal’s phone. ‘You lads make it hard for me.’

‘We don’t.’ He angles the phone on Solomon’s arse and takes another photo. ‘We’re looking out for you.’

‘By calling her cow.’

He genuinely laughs at that. ‘You said speak English to her.’