Page 14 of Lyrebird

Bo is looking at him in that same uncertain way.

‘I told her my name before we had sex,’ he snaps. Jimmy prickles, Bo glares at him.

‘Are you going to get her?’ she asks.

‘Not if he’s going to arrest her.’

‘I’ve nothing to arrest her for. I need to talk to her, find out who she is and why she’s on Joe’s property. If she’s a squatter, those laws are complicated, and if Tom gave her permission, there’s not much we can do. I’m only here to put Joe’s mind at ease. And I went and hit the feckin’ dog,’ he says guiltily.

‘So what do you want me to do?’ Solomon asks, feeling the pressure build.

‘Go to the cottage and see what she wants,’ Bo says.

‘Okay, Jesus,’ he curses, running his fingers through his hair, retying it in a knot on the top of his head. He walks up the trail to the cottage; the other two follow him but stay close to the bat house when he goes to the cottage.

Solomon’s heart pounds as he approaches the door and he has no idea why. He wipes his clammy hands on his jeans, and prepares to knock but before he even lifts his hand, the door opens. He can’t see her, assumes she’s behind the door and so he steps inside. As soon as he’s in, the door closes. She locks the door and stands with her back to it, as if to reinforce it.

‘Hi,’ he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

‘He’s by the fire,’ Laura says, eyes barely able to settle on him. She seems nervous, worried.

Even though she introduced herself earlier, Solomon is almost surprised to hear her speak. In the woods she had a wild girl feeling about her; here in her home she seems more real.

Mossie is lying on his side on a sheepskin rug before the log-burning stove, his chest rising and falling with his slow breaths. His eyes are open, though he seems unaware of what’s going on around him. The fire blazes beside him, a bowl of water and a bowl of food sit untouched by his head.

‘He’s not eating or drinking anything,’ she says, getting on the floor beside Mossie, arms over him, protecting him.

Solomon should be looking at the dog but he can’t take his eyes off her. She looks up at him, lost, worried, beautiful enchanting green eyes.

‘Is he bleeding?’ He goes to Mossie and slides beside him, opposite Laura, the closest they’ve been. ‘Hiya, boy.’ He places a hand on his fur and gently rubs.

Mossie looks at him, the pain obvious from his eyes. He whimpers.

Laura echoes Mossie’s whimper in an astonishing likeness that forces Solomon to study her again. ‘He’s not bleeding. I don’t know where his pain is, but he can’t stand.’

‘He should see a vet.’

She looks at him. ‘Will you take him?’

‘Me? Sure, but we could ask Joe, seeing as he’s his dog.’ And then, at the look on her face, he adds, ‘Too.’

‘Joe doesn’t like me,’ she says. ‘None of them like me.’

‘That’s not true. Joe isn’t used to change, that’s all. Change makes some people angry.’

‘Change with the change,’ she says, but her voice has drastically altered. It’s lower, deeper, Northern England, someone else’s.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Gaga. My grandmother. That’s what she used to say.’

‘Oh. Right. Will you come with me to the vet?’ he asks. He wants her to come with him.

‘No. No. I stay here.’

It is a general statement. Not, I will stay here. But I stay here. Always.

Her clear skin is illuminated by the firelight. It’s so calm and serene in this room, despite Mossie’s struggle to survive and Laura’s quiet panic.