A Quiet Kind of Thunder(20)

Rhys grabs hold of Alfie’s hood and pulls him in for an affectionate headlock. ‘Dinner?’ he says out loud to me, his hands occupied.

‘Um.’ I hadn’t planned to stay for dinner.

‘Dad cooked,’ Alfie pipes up. ‘And Mum set you a place at the table. And she put out the nice placemats.’

‘Sure,’ I say to Rhys, trying to smile. ‘Why not?’

When I head home a couple of hours later, I am feeling very pleased with myself. For one thing, I’m so stuffed with food – metemgee, which is a type of stew from Guyana and which I’m pretty sure has changed my life – I’m practically rolling down the street. For another, I managed to get through the entire meal without a) saying anything stupid or b) failing to say anything at all. This is, frankly, huge for me.

One of the times I find speaking hardest is when there are more than two people in the room. I’m mostly fine when it’s one on one, but if there’s a group I find it almost impossible to say anything out loud. A lot of that is because I can’t insert myself into conversations; I literally don’t know how. (What if I speak at the same time as someone else? What if no one hears me and I have to repeat myself? What if I say something stupid and they all look at me weirdly? Why would anyone care what I have to say anyway?) My brain and my mouth freeze and I just stand there, dumb, until I’m rescued (usually by Tem). Even if it’s a group of friends or family, I am almost always the person watching from the side, smiling gamely, nodding, laughing at jokes, but contributing absolutely nothing.

So that’s why I was so nervous about agreeing to dinner with the Gold family. All I could hope was that they would be kind enough to let me sit there and eat without doing what people usually do, which is ask me loud, patronizing questions in a bid to get me to ‘open up’. I told myself that Rhys was there, and if all else failed I could always sign to him.

But the dinner turned out to be a revelation. I talked! I answered questions! I made a joke about fish! And they laughed!

I love the Gold family.

From the moment I sat down, it was different from any other dinner. They all talked with their hands, faces and bodies as well as just with their mouths, so casually and easily that it didn’t seem to matter which method any of us chose at any one time. When Rhys’s mother asked me what I wanted to drink, I signed Water, please and no one acted like it was strange I hadn’t also spoken. And then, a few minutes later, when I signed The film was great, I said it out loud as well, and, again, no one acted like it was strange that this time I had spoken.

This might sound like nothing to most people, but it made my heart swell three sizes. It made me beam. Druglike, it made me want more. So I talked more. I told them I wanted to study Zoology with Animal Behaviour at Bangor University. I told them about Rita and how her ears had to be pinned up when she was a puppy because one kept flopping over.

It felt so normal. I felt so normal.

For the first time, I think I understand what my Uncle Geoff had wanted for me when he took it upon himself to teach me BSL all those years ago. It wasn’t about the language itself – it was about giving me a choice. It was showing me an alternative to speech, showing me that I could express myself how I wanted, and that that was OK.

I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to learn this lesson, but at least I got to learn it eventually.

I’m in such a good mood I decide to take a detour on the way back to Dad’s so I can drop in on Mum. It’s been a week or so since I last saw her and I want to share my good news with someone. It’s after 8 p.m., so I’ll have missed Bell, but at least I can see Mum.

My key to their house is in my bag at Dad’s house, so I knock. It’s Keir who opens the door.

‘Hi!’ I say, and the look of surprise on his face – at my presence, my greeting or both – pleases me.

‘Hi, Steffi,’ he says. He steps back so I can walk past him and turns slightly. ‘Joanne, Stefanie’s here.’

Mum comes out of the kitchen, her brow furrowed. She opens her mouth to say something, but it’s at that moment that Bell, my tiny, excitable half-sister, comes flying down the stairs, wearing a Tinkerbell nightie. ‘Steffi!’ she shrieks, then launches herself at me.

Bell is at the age where everything and everyone is exciting. As her big sister, I am basically goddess incarnate.

‘Hello, Belly,’ I say, hoisting her into the air. She shrieks again, then throws her little arms round my neck. Bell is five, but she’s very small for her age. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’

‘Yes,’ Keir says meaningfully, raising his eyebrows at her. ‘Belinda should be in bed.’

Bell rests her chin on my shoulder and nuzzles my neck. ‘Can you tuck me in?’ she asks me.

‘That’s why I’m here,’ I say.

‘See?’ Bell says to her father. ‘I was waiting.’

Keir rolls his eyes, but he smiles. ‘Go on, then – off with you.’ He turns to me. ‘Cup of tea?’

‘Yes, please.’

Keir tried to do the chummy stepfather routine for years, but we never really got along. For one thing, it always felt like he was trying too hard, especially in the days when I couldn’t speak to him. Things changed around the time Clark died, when I was thirteen. I came and stayed with him and Mum for a while to give Dad and Lucy time to grieve on their own, and he was so patient and kind to me it was pretty hard to stay antagonistic towards him. He doesn’t try to act like my dad any more, but I let him be a friend.