Page 25 of Lyrebird

‘She doesn’t talk to them, she imitates them,’ Solomon explains. ‘There’s a difference.’

‘The imitator. The imitatress.’

‘Gendered titles, from a feminist such as yourself. You should be ashamed,’ Rachel teases, signalling the barman for another round.

‘Echoes of Laura.’

‘Perfect,’ Rachel says. ‘For True Movies.’

‘She mimics,’ Solomon says, thinking aloud. ‘She repeats things that she hasn’t heard before, a few times, until she gets it right. Maybe it’s to understand them. She makes distressed sounds when she feels endangered, like the barking, growling, car alarm sounds when we first met her. She associates those sounds with danger or defence.’

They’re both hanging on to his analysis.

‘Interesting,’ Rachel nods along. ‘I hadn’t realised there was a language to it.’

‘Hadn’t you?’ Solomon asks. It had seemed clear to him. The sounds were all different. Sympathetic when whimpering with Mossie, defensive, on the attack when she was surrounded. Mimicking Solomon’s throat-clearing when she recognises when he’s uncomfortable or generally an uncomfortable situation. The sounds make sense to him. Entirely peculiar, but there seems to be a pattern to them.

‘Laura’s Language,’ Bo says, continuing her search for a title.

‘So she’s a mimic,’ Rachel says. ‘Laura the Mimic.’

‘That’s deep,’ Bo laughs.

‘She doesn’t mimic actions or movements. Just sounds,’ Solomon says.

They both think about it.

‘I mean she’s not on all fours, growling like a dog, or running around the room and flapping her arms like a bird. She repeats sounds.’

‘Good point.’

‘Our friend the anthropologist,’ Rachel says raising her new pint towards him.

‘Anthropologist, now that’s a good idea,’ Bo says, reaching for her pen and paper. ‘We need to speak to one of them about her.’

‘There’s a bird somewhere, that imitates sounds,’ Solomon says, not listening to the two of them. ‘I saw it on a nature programme a while ago.’ He thinks hard, mind foggy from the jet lag and now alcohol.

‘A parrot?’ Rachel offers.

Bo giggles.

‘No.’

‘A budgie.’

‘No, it imitates all sounds. Humans, machines, other birds, I saw it on a documentary.’

‘Hmm,’ Bo reaches for her phone. ‘Bird that imitates sounds.’

She searches for a moment. Suddenly her phone starts playing loudly and as the customers turn to her again, she quickly apologises and lowers the volume.

‘Sorry. This is it.’

They huddle around to watch a two-minute clip of David Attenborough and a bird that mimics the sounds of other birds, a chainsaw, a mobile phone, the shutter of a camera.

‘That’s exactly like Laura,’ Rachel says, prodding the screen with her greasy salty peanut finger.

‘It’s called a lyrebird,’ Bo says, deep in thought. ‘Laura the Lyrebird.’