Lyrebird: Beautiful, moving and uplifting: the perfect holiday read. Cecelia Ahern

were always things everywhere: glass jars, collections of things in them, twine, buttons, herbs, stones, fabrics. Potions, lotions, emotions …’ She smiles as if remembering a private joke. ‘That’s what Gaga always said about the house. The three of us filled the house with potions, lotions and emotions.’

      ‘Gaga and your mum – can I call her Gaga? – ran a dressmaking and alterations business. I spoke to people who live locally, they said it was a successful business, popular.’

      Both last night and this morning, Bo had disappeared from the hotel to do ‘research’. It had been left to Solomon to entertain Laura, they’d played cards until Bo returned at midnight, with the smell of beer on her breath and smoke on her clothes. Solomon had been disappointed when she’d returned. He’d wanted more time with Laura, listening to her sounds, her mimicking the sound of the cards shuffling, the ice in his glass melting to find a new place to settle. It was like music. Her company was relaxing, slow, nothing urgent or panicked. Time was no issue, it was as if it didn’t exist. She’d no phone to check, no watch on her wrist. She was simply there, present in the now, the soft line of her mouth, the way her long hair brushed and tickled his arm as she reached across for the cards. Everything subtle was big. His heart had never felt so content yet fluttered so much at the same time. It is only when he is away from her that the guilt, the conflict, the comparison to Bo begins, the inner silent terror that leaves him feeling cold.

      ‘They ran a successful business,’ Laura agrees. ‘They had a loyal base of customers that they made dresses for – weddings, communions, parties … With so many huge families here, there was always some occasion. I loved the dressmaking. They used me when they were pinning, they couldn’t see movement on the mannequins. I used to love twirling around in them, pretending it was my wedding, or my birthday, and it would drive them crazy.’ She smiles at the memory. ‘When the dressmaking side died down, it was just alterations, and then Mum did some housekeeping for a few elderly people living alone, shopped for them, washed and ironed their clothes, whatever needed to be done. There were a lot of people in remote places, here. Most of their children moved to the cities for university or work. People stopped coming home. Work dried up for Gaga and Mum.’

      ‘Did the customers come into the house?’

      ‘No. The studio, there’ – she points at the garage – ‘was their workshop. They didn’t like people coming to the house.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘They were private. They wanted to keep their business separate to the house.’

      ‘They didn’t want anybody to see you, did they?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Why do you think that is?’

      ‘Because they were private.’

      ‘Do you mind putting the question in your ans—’

      ‘They didn’t want anybody to see me because they were private,’ Laura snaps a little. It comes out harsh, not something they could use. Too aggressive, too defensive.

      Bo leaves her to settle for a moment, pretending that she’s checking the sound with Solomon.

      ‘It’s perfect.’ He winks at Laura when Bo’s back is turned. Rachel eyes him.

      ‘I have two questions about that. One I’ll ask you now, one I’ll save for later. What do you think their desire for privacy meant to you at the time?’

      Laura ponders that. ‘I could see that they were happy with each other’s company. They talked and laughed all the time. They worked together, lived together, they’d stay up late, drinking and chatting, until the early hours. They always had something to do, a project, whether it was a dress, or a recipe. They liked planning, discussing, looking at a bigger picture. They were patient, they had long-term plans, so many going on at once because if they did that it meant that something was always happening, a project or an experiment was always coming to its end, like being given a gift. They would marinate beech leaves in vodka for months, they’d have bottles and bottles of it in the pantry,’ she laughs. ‘Then they’d have late nights drinking and dancing, singing and telling stories.’

      It reminds Solomon of his family, no different.

      ‘They didn’t need anyone else,’ she says softly, yet it doesn’t sound as though she felt left out, merely that she recognised it was a glorious thing. ‘They were enough company for each other. I think they had a kind of a love affair together. Just the two of them.’

      This reminds Solomon of the Toolin twins. Perhaps Isabel and Tom had more in common than anyone thought.