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 something? 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.