Page 113 of Lyrebird

‘The flower has the real power. It adds an incredible flavour to wines, drinks and jams. Gaga used to make the most delicious elderflower cordial, at its best after only six months. I was on a mission. I wanted to find an elder bush that Joe and Tom hadn’t destroyed, so I moved away further than I usually would. I came out from the woods and you were standing there, with your eyes closed, the headphones around your neck, that bag over your shoulder. I didn’t know what you were doing at the time. Now I know that you were listening, for sounds, but all I knew then was that you looked so peaceful.’

‘I didn’t see you.’

She shakes her head. ‘I didn’t want you to see me.’

‘This was three years ago?’

‘May.’ The fourth of May, she remembers. And not just because the elderflower was in bloom. ‘I asked Tom who you were. He said you were making a TV show. That you liked sounds too. That’s all he said.’ She swallows hard before making a confession. ‘I watched you a few times.’

‘Really?’ he smiles. His heart pounds. ‘You should have said hi.’

‘I wish I had,’ she says softly. ‘Every day that I didn’t find you again, I wished that you’d seen me the previous time but then, when it came to it, I couldn’t. So this time when I saw you in the forest, after not having seen you for so long, I couldn’t risk it happening again. That’s why I made a sound. I wanted your attention.’

She looks at him from under long eyelashes. There, the truth was out.

‘Well, you certainly got my attention,’ he says, reaching across the table and sliding the plate away. He takes her hands in his.

She wants him to kiss her.

He wants to kiss her so badly. He moves around the table, places a hand on her cheek and pulls her close. He kisses her gently at first, drawing away to look in her eyes, to make sure it’s okay. Her pupils are dilated, the green rim around them almost luminous. She closes her eyes, then kisses him hungrily.

She sensed him before she smelled him, she smelled him before she saw him. She saw him before he saw her. She knew him before he knew her. He loved her before he kissed her.

41

The tension, adrenaline and excitement that emanates from the Slaughter House is visceral as Laura and Solomon draw closer in the SUV. There are hundreds of fans gathering outside behind barricades, waving posters, cameras in hand, singing songs of their favourite bands that have nothing to do with the talent show but everything to do with uniting these people in mutual fandom. They cheer as the SUV approaches, the sound of so many voices making Laura’s stomach flip. Solomon feels it too, and he’s not even going anywhere near the stage. He wouldn’t blame her if she took flight now. She doesn’t owe anybody this much.

Security men in black combat gear and high-visibility vests, with walkie-talkies, line the barricades and the entrance to the Slaughter House. The media have gathered, more photographers and journalists than ever, now that it’s a global show, and they are anxiously trying to get a glimpse of who is arriving. It has become less of who will win and more will Lyrebird perform? StarrGaze aren’t stupid, they know what the public and media want and they’re not about to protect Laura now, not when she’s kept them in the dark all week about whether she would perform or not, so despite Michael’s newfound loyalty to Lyrebird, he warns them that he will open the car door that faces the media.

When Michael gets out of the car, Laura and Solomon know they have less than a minute before everything goes insane. Solomon takes her hand and squeezes it. They are far from their bed of safety where in silence, in peace, in absolute beautiful serenity they could explore each other. An entire afternoon of touching each other in ways they had both been fantasising about for so long.

Now they are exposed. The door slides open and their hands fall apart. Some things must be kept sacred. Laura looks out and she’s faced with flashes, a sea of cameras, faces, calls, cheers. Some boos from those who are still resentful of her night out.

Michael nods at her supportively, he reaches his hand into the car, and she takes it. It’s large, firm, warm, strong, it has knocked the lights out of more people than she’d care to know but his touch is gentle as he guides her out. She slides across the leather seat, protecting her modesty from the cameras that aim low as she steps out of the car. She’s learned. She wears another of Solomon’s shirts, a green checked one, wrapped with a tan leather belt, tan boots with suede fringing around the ankles. She layered his shirt with her own smaller denim shirt and her arms are filled with bangles. Lyrebird-chic, as Grazia magazine has dubbed the look. The crowd yell, the media shout at her for interviews. Unsure what to do, Laura waves, smiles apologetically to the boo-ers and allows Mickey to usher her to the doors. As soon as she’s inside she’s greeted by Bianca, who’s grinning.

‘Welcome back,’ she says happily, without an ounce of sarcasm. ‘We’re going straight to hair and make-up. We don’t have much time – everybody has done their sound checks, they’re all dressed and made up, doing their pre-interviews and ready to go. You’re not doing a sound check, you’re on last at seven forty-five.’ She lowers her voice to an excited whisper, ‘You are going to love what they’ve done. Let’s go.’

She starts walking and Lyrebird and Solomon follow.

‘Have you been on the happy pills, Bianca?’ Solomon asks, and Laura smiles.

‘Fuck off, Solomon,’ Bianca says.

‘There she is. Our girl is back.’

Bianca struggles to keep the smile from her face. She leads them to wardrobe and when they step inside they see Bo, with a man that Laura has never met before.

‘Laura, Solomon,’ Bo says, a little nervously, looking from one to the other. Laura feels her face burn at the thought of what she and Solomon have done that day. Her cheeks betray her and Bo must notice, but she doesn’t say anything. ‘This is Benoît. He’s the artistic director for tonight’s final. He worked with Jack on his previous tours and Jack asked him to come back for you. He’s an absolute magician in his field,’ Bo says, barely able to contain her excitement.

Benoît is bald, wears head-to-toe black, but the most stylish black silks and velvet that Laura has ever seen. He wears gold round glasses and is elegant in his stance and posture. When he speaks, his voice is relaxing, hypnotic, lyrical.

‘It is an honour to meet you, dear Lyrebird,’ Benoît says, taking Laura’s hand warmly. ‘I’m a great fan of your work. I hope you will like what we have done for you this evening.’

‘No trips to the woods?’ Solomon asks.

Benoît looks insulted and also offended by the idea of repeating the semi-final disaster. ‘No, dear, this show is in the hands of the professionals. We do not have much time,’ he says eagerly.

‘I’m so glad you’re here!’ Caroline welcomes Laura. ‘My goodness, have we saved the best for last.’