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.’
‘What is?’ Bo asks, confused, searching through emails on her phone.
‘The waitress’s “r” sound. I had it as a kid,’ he says to Laura.
Bo looks up, surprised. ‘You never told me that.’
Solomon shrugs, cheeks going pink with the memory. ‘I had to go to a speech therapist till I was seven to sort it out. My brothers have never let me forget it, gave me a horrible time about it. To this day my brother Rory is still called Wawwy.’
‘I was wondering why they always say that,’ Bo laughs. ‘I thought it was because he was the baby.’
‘He was. He was my baby Wawwy,’ Solomon says, and they laugh.
Suddenly a cappuccino machine fires up to steam the milk. Laura jumps at the sound, she looks around for the root of the sound while mimicking it.
‘What is she doing?’ Bo asks quietly.
‘I’d say percolating,’ Rachel replies.
‘Wow,’ Bo says, picking up her phone and recording.
The diners at the table beside them turn to stare, two kids watch Laura, open-mouthed.
‘Don’t stare,’ their mother says calmly, quietly, all the while keeping a close eye on Laura over the rim of her teacup.
Solomon fights the urge to tell more people that there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with Laura.
‘It’s the coffee machine,’ Solomon says, reaching out and placing a hand on Laura’s shoulder, to centre her, calm her.
She looks at him, pupils dilated, scared.
Solomon points behind the counter across the room. ‘It’s a coffee machine. They’re steaming the milk for the latte or cappuccino.’
She watches it, imitates the sound again before becoming comfortable with it and turning her attention to the table again. The children go back to playing on their computer games.
Laura zones in on them, imitating the beeps, the shooting. The little boy puts his game down and kneels up on his chair to peer over the top at her. She smiles at him and once spotted, he sits down quickly. Their mother orders them to switch the sound off.
The waitress brings their food to the table. The full Irish for Solomon and Rachel, a grapefruit for Bo, who doesn’t acknowledge it as she taps away on her phone, and two boiled eggs for Laura.
‘Thank you,’ she says to the wary waitress.
There’s silence as they dig into their food, then Laura looks at Rachel’s plate, examines its content and mimics the waitress so perfectly, innocently and without any cynicism or sarcasm. ‘Wafferty’s Washers.’
The three of them crack up laughing.
‘I really think I should go to Galway with you,’ Bo says suddenly as they’re checking out. Laura is helping Rachel carry the bags to the car and Solomon and Bo are alone at the desk.
‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that about going to my family,’ he jokes lightly, though it is true. When Laura has left the hotel, he runs his hands through Bo’s hair.
She smiles and looks up at him, arms around his waist. ‘Your family hate me.’
‘Hate is a very strong word,’ he kisses her gently. ‘My family don’t like you.’
She laughs. ‘You’re supposed to lie and tell me they adore me.’
‘Adore is a very strong word.’
They smile.
‘I think we’ve got something special here, Solomon.’
‘That’s so romantic, Bo,’ he mimics her dreamy tone, knowing she’s talking about Laura and not their relationship.
She laughs again. ‘I think we should be filming the Galway trip. This is Laura stepping into the world for the first time and we’re missing it. Like this morning at breakfast, that stuff is priceless. She is sound-bite fucking heaven.’
‘You know why we can’t film,’ he shrugs, pulling apart, annoyed by Bo’s greediness all of a sudden. ‘We’re not ready. Rachel has to get home, you’ve got your fancy university lecture. The prodigal student returns.’
She groans. ‘If it wasn’t for the lecture I’d go with you.’
‘I recall you booking this date specifically so you would miss my mam’s birthday.’
‘True.’
‘Karma’s a bitch.’