Page 39 of Lyrebird

‘Hi, love, everything all right?’

‘Yes. Fine … Em. I’m on my way to you and I’m bringing somebody with me.’

‘Bo?’ That wary tone, though of all the members of the family she tries to hide it the most, always trying to be respectful to the various other halves she has not taken a liking to.

‘No, not Bo – she’s really sorry, but she couldn’t get out of that guest lecture she has. It’s a big honour, and she can’t miss it,’ he explains, covering all angles, and doesn’t know why he bothers, always apologising to other people on other people’s behalf when none of those people ever care.

‘Of course, of course, she’s a busy woman.’

‘It’s not that she’s too busy, it’s just that it’s important. Not to say that your birthday’s not,’ he backpedals.

‘Solomon, love,’ he hears the smile in her voice. ‘Don’t worry. You worry too much, you’ll tie yourself up in knots. Who are you bringing? Can he stay in your room? I’m tight on space,’ she lowers her voice. ‘Maurice is after arriving with Fiona and his three children. God love him, a widower and all, but the three children. I’ve put them in the room that was supposed to be for Paddy and Moira, but Moira couldn’t come. Her back again. Paddy’s in with Jack and he’s in a right huff – sure the two of them don’t get along at all, but what else can I do?’

Solomon smiles. ‘Don’t worry about it. They should be grateful they’re there at all. I can stay in Pat’s.’

‘You will not stay in Pat’s when your bedroom and home are right here. I’ll hear nothing of the sort.’

‘He’s a she, Mam. So that will make it difficult for you. If you insist on us staying she can stay in my room, I’ll go on the couch.’

‘No son of mine will sleep on the couch. Who is she, Solomon?’

‘Laura. Laura Button. You don’t know her. She’s from Macroom. She’s the subject of this new documentary we’re doing. She’s twenty-six. We’re not, you know, together.’

Pause.

‘I’ll put her in Cara’s room so.’

‘No, Mam, you don’t have to do that, really. She can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch. She’s better in a room on her own.’

‘No one is sleeping on the couch,’ she says firmly. ‘Particularly not my own son. I haven’t planned this for a year to end up with people on couches.’

As the owner of an eight-bedroom guesthouse, Solomon’s mother is a nurturer, a feeder, someone who insists on others’ comfort almost to the point of their own discomfort. Always putting herself last. But as welcoming as she is, she’s old-fashioned in her views: none of her children are allowed to share a room with girlfriends or boyfriends until they are married.

‘When you meet her, you’ll understand. She’s different.’

‘Is she now?’

‘Not like that.’ He smiles.

‘We’ll see,’ she says easily, with a laugh that’s trapped in her words. ‘We’ll see.’

Solomon ends the call and waits for Laura. They’ll see, indeed. Laura is standing beside the roadwork traffic cones, where four men in high-vis jackets and jeans below the cracks of their arses attempt to work while she stands beside them mimicking the sound of the jackhammer.

When she sees that Solomon is off the phone, and content her mimicry has been perfected, she joins him.

‘We’re going to get in the car now and continue our drive to Galway, if there’s anything else you’d like to stop and see or hear, feel free. In fact, do it as much as you like because the longer it takes us to get there, the longer it takes us to get there.’

She smiles. ‘You’re lucky to have your family, Sol,’ she says in Bo’s voice.

‘Say it your way,’ he says.

‘Solomon,’ she says, and he smiles.

Every time he connects with her he has to purposefully de-link himself. It happens a lot. Then just as he’s in the process of untwining his soul from hers, she mimics his awkward throat-clear and he laughs.

They return to the car that Solomon abandoned in an awkward position when she decided to flee the vehicle while stopped at red lights to explore the source of the jackhammer.

‘What is a lyrebird?’ she asks as they drive.