A Quiet Kind of Thunder(44)

‘Sorry, sorry,’ I say quickly, reaching out to her. ‘Sit, it’s OK.’ I look at Rhys, grinning. She’s not used to so much noise.

Rhys bounds towards me and tackles me on to the bed, tickling me until I shriek. He kisses me, and goosebumps prickle all over my skin. His hand strokes the side of my face, his thumb on my neck. Oh my freaking God, I am thinking. And also, There is a boy on my bed. No, There is a boy on top of me.

And then there’s a cough in the doorway and I leap away from Rhys as if he’s electrocuted me. He looks confused for a second until I smooth my hair back and smile nonchalantly. ‘Hi, Dad.’

‘Hi,’ Dad says, looking like he can’t decide whether to be amused or horrified. He attempts a smile that looks more like a suspicious grimace. ‘Hello, Rhys.’

‘Hi, Mr Brons,’ Rhys says, scrambling off the bed and then hovering awkwardly right beside it, Rita skittering at his feet.

Dad gives an odd little nod, then looks at me. ‘Keep the door open, OK?’

I flush scarlet and he hurries away before I can reply.

Rhys coughs. I look at him to see that he’s just as red as I am. Sorry. I swear my heart swells to three times its size.

Don’t be. I move across the bed on my knees and put my head against his chest, closing my eyes for a moment so I can appreciate his steadiness, his smell, the Rhysness of him. After a second I feel him set his hand gently on my hair.

When I lean back and sit up properly, we’re both smiling. He drops a kiss on to my forehead and I have to resist the urge to tell him I love him. It’s too early for that. (Right? Right.)

We don’t pick up the conversation about Ives and his friends until we’re getting into his car to drive to Owen’s house, and by then it’s too late to properly get into it.

Give me the basics, I beg as he parks outside a row of houses and turns off the engine. What do I need to know?

Rhys holds up three fingers. Lewis, Owen and Mete. All good guys. They like football. Lewis is the Mario Kart master. Plus Alyce – Owen’s girlfriend.

Are they all deaf?

Mete is completely deaf. Owen and Alyce both have cochlear implants. Lewis has some hearing in his left ear. But we use BSL together all the time. Ready? He puts his hand on the door handle and smiles expectantly.

I can’t think of a reason to delay him any longer, so I nod. I’m trying to remind myself that this isn’t like all the other times I’ve gone to some kind of social event. This isn’t me trying to hang out with Tem’s other friends. It’s not like that time I went to my cousin’s birthday party and ended up crying in the toilets. This is different. This is Rhys’s friends. We all speak the same language.

We head up the driveway together and then wait on the doorstep as Rhys presses the doorbell. It makes the usual noise but through the front windows I see a blue light flash three times.

The door opens and a gangly, curly-haired boy with glasses and a huge grin is standing there. Hi! He claps Rhys on the arm and steps back so we can come in. I’m Owen, he says to me. Good to meet you! He puts a hand to his chest and beams. I’m the good-looking one.

Yeah right, Rhys replies, giving him a shove.

I’m Steffi, I say. I can feel how static my signs are compared to the two of them. They move so loosely; their whole bodies a seamless part of the conversation, while I move from sign to sign carefully, thinking through each one as I go. Nice to meet you too.

Rhys is grinning from Owen to me, unmistakeable pride on his face. I smile back but my skin feels prickly. I can do this, I think. I can I can I can.

We go downstairs to the basement, which is clearly the designated Owen Space of the house. There’s a big TV and at least three games consoles, a raggedy sofa with sagging seats and a mini-fridge in the corner. Two boys are sitting on the sofa, having a rapid-fire argument about . . . I squint, trying to catch some words.

Owen leans over the sofa and cuts through their conversation with an arm swung lazily between them both. He points at us. Look! It’s the girlfriend!

The two boys turn to stare. Two heads poke over the ridge of the sofa back, eyes wide. I glance at Rhys and realize he’s looking at me too. In fact, everyone in the room is looking at me, waiting for me to say something.

Oh, hello, nightmare come to life.

Hi, I manage, and then my mind goes blank.

Before this can get any worse, there’s a clattering on the stairs and a girl is suddenly beside us. She’s small and round, with a mass of frizzy curls and a lanyard round her neck that reads ALYCE BREENE – CATERING (SS).

Hi! Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch. As she signs she is unwinding her bag from where it has tangled at her waist and throwing it on to the carpet. Oh my God! Are you the girlfriend? She points at me, beaming, then swings around to Rhys. OK, she’s real. I’m sorry I doubted you, Gold.

Rhys takes a step towards me and I feel his hand curl at my elbow. It’s meant to be reassuring, I know, but in reality all it does is make me realize that the anxiety that’s building inside me must be clear in my face.

Want a drink? one of the boys on the sofa asks me.

Shit. Does he mean alcohol? Can I handle alcohol right now? Should I ask for water?

Coke? the boy prompts. He leans over to the fridge and pulls out a can.

I nod in relief and he throws it at me. Miraculously, I manage to catch it, but I’m so flustered by the throw and surprised by my catch that I fumble and drop it anyway. It bounces on the carpet and rolls under the sofa.