Page 36 of Lyrebird

Solomon watches, hoping she won’t make the sound aloud.

‘Yes,’ Rachel says loudly, ready to eat the leg of the table. She fires off her order first.

‘So let me just read that back: two sausages, two eggs, two tomato, mushrooms, two rashers … the rashers are from Rafferty’s, local farmer. They’re excellent. Award-winning.’

‘Washers,’ Laura says suddenly, mimicking the waitress perfectly. She’s not even looking at her, she’s buttering her toast and speaking as though she doesn’t notice the words are coming from her mouth. ‘Weady … bweakfast.’

The waitress pauses her order-taking and stares at Laura.

Bo feels no sensitivity towards the waitress who thinks she’s being mocked, just watches, amused and intrigued, as hungry for this scene as Rachel is for her double Irish breakfast. Solomon of course feels the sweat trickle down his back from the discomfort of the situation.

‘Wafferty,’ Laura says.

‘She’s not teasing you,’ Solomon says awkwardly, and he can tell the others are surprised he’s even addressed it.

The anger that flashed in the waitress’s eyes calms as she looks at Laura differently. Then Solomon realises that she thinks something else of Laura, that there’s something wrong with her.

‘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.’