A Quiet Kind of Thunder(27)

Excellent decision-making, Steffi. You genius.

But I can’t back out now, mainly because I can’t think of a way to do it without being rude or, at the very least, transparent.

‘I bet he tells you he loves you,’ Tem says, which is both helpful and incredibly unhelpful.

‘Please don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t,’ I say.

‘I won’t if you won’t,’ she replies.

Dad drives me to the Italian restaurant and doesn’t even get annoyed with me when I sit motionless in the front seat for five minutes.

‘Shall we talk through what’s worrying you?’ he asks, patient as a saint.

‘People.’

‘The Gold family, or the staff at the restaurant?’

‘Both.’

‘Because you’ll need to talk to them?’

I nod.

‘The Gold family invited you,’ Dad says. ‘They’ve spent an evening with you before, and they enjoyed your company. They’ve invited you to share an evening with them again. Because they know they will enjoy your company again. And why wouldn’t they? You are a sweet, kind, interesting girl.’

I can’t help thinking that my mother would have kicked me out of the car by now and told me to stop being such a self-obsessed drama queen.

‘I thought that taking medication would stop me feeling like this,’ I confess. My throat is both tight and thick, like a tennis ball has got caught inside it.

Dad is quiet for a moment. ‘Before the medication, I’m not sure you would even have agreed to go, love,’ he says softly. His words surprise me; I hadn’t even thought of that, but he’s right. I probably would have just said no straight off the bat. ‘Think of the staff at the restaurant. They see and speak to hundreds of people every day. To them, you’re just another customer. They won’t even notice you.’

I let out a long, slow breath. ‘They won’t even notice me.’

‘Not even a little bit.’

‘Thanks, Daddy.’

Dad smiles and ruffles my hair. ‘Have a good time, kid. Just call me when you need me to pick you up.’

I get out of the car and wave through the window before he drives off. For a moment I think I see my own anxiety mirrored on his face, but he’s driving away before I can look twice. I can’t imagine Dad getting anxious. He has the quiet confidence I have always depended on. He is solid as a rock.

I head towards the restaurant, walking fast so my brain can’t convince my feet to head in the other direction, and walk into the restaurant behind another family. I scan the tables quickly, hoping to spot the Golds before attracting the attention of a friendly waitress and, thank God, there they are.

I dart round a waiter and scurry over to them, my heart kicking up a storm in my chest. As soon as I lock eyes with Rhys I will be OK. As soon as I sit down I will be OK.

Rhys sees me just as I reach the back of his father’s chair and his face breaks into a beam that sweeps my oncoming panic away. He is happy to see me. It is a good thing that I’m here. He stands as I approach and pulls out a chair for me. Hi!

Hi. I let him hug me, wondering if he can feel the pounding of my recovering heart. I smile at the table and actually manage an only slightly garbled ‘Hi!’ before throwing myself into the chair and reaching for the nearest menu.

‘Hi!’ The unfamiliar voice comes from my left, and I look over. ‘I’m Meg.’

Meg is pretty in a natural, elfin kind of way; her hair falls in long auburn waves and her face is a mass of freckles. She doesn’t seem to be wearing any make-up, and her smile when our eyes meet is warm and immediate.

‘Hi,’ I say.

‘It’s so nice to meet you,’ she says. Like Rhys’s family, she signs as well as speaking. I realize that my determination to not ask about Meg means I know nothing about their history or their friendship. How did they meet? How come she can speak such perfect BSL?

It doesn’t seem the time to ask these questions, though, so I smile back and sign that it’s nice to meet her too (I’m not entirely sure whether this is a lie) and then busy myself with the menu. Sandra, Rhys’s mother, asks me about the kennels and it’s a topic I am so comfortable with I talk freely. She is still thinking about adopting a dog, so I tell her about Lily, the three-legged beagle who arrived this week, and Scout, the collie cross who was left tied to the kennels’ front gate overnight, in the rain.

How’s Sally getting on? Rhys signs.

She’s good, I reply. She misses you.

See! Rhys swings round to make a face at his mother. I told you! Adopt Sally. She’s so cute.

‘The dog is for me, not you,’ Sandra says, laughing. ‘And I want to adopt a needy dog. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people willing to take on a cute Labrador puppy.’ She smiles at me. ‘Maybe I could come and visit the kennels and meet Lily.’

‘I work on Wednesdays and Saturdays,’ I offer. ‘If you visit on those days, I can show you around.’

As Sandra nods and the waiter arrives to take our order, I make a mental note to tell my therapist about this when I next see her. I made plans! I offered to show an almost-stranger around the kennels! How’s that for progress?

Meg turns out to be friendly and chatty – basically my total opposite – which is both a blessing and a curse. Chatty people are great to have a conversation with if you’re shy, because they fill your silences without making you feel awkward about it – it’s one of the reasons Tem and I gel so well. But the flipside is that it means Rhys is at the very least very close to a girl who is my total opposite in the most important way. Not only can she talk, she talks A LOT. And she speaks word-perfect BSL. What hope is there for me?