A Quiet Kind of Thunder(47)

Before I fall asleep I check my phone and see a message waiting for me. The first two words make my heart leap into my throat.

Steffi:

I love kissing you. You taste like stars. xxx



I hug my phone to my chest, roll on to my back and beam at the ceiling.

The ten best things about having a boyfriend

1) Kissing. (It’s pretty great.)

2) Getting to learn sign language. (Note: may only apply to Rhys Gold.)

3) Sharing private jokes.

4) Coming up with your ship name together. (Rheffi )

5) . . . And your superhero/outlaws/explorers/pop duo name (Bronze & Gold, natch).

6) Learning silly little things about him that most people will never know. (Rhys still sometimes has nightmares about the Groke from the Moomins trying to eat him. Adorable.)

7) Frequent compliments, usually accompanied by 1) – Kissing.

8) Holding hands.

9) Having someone duty-bound to listen to your complaints/rants/rambling stories.

10) Kissing.





At work the following Saturday, Rhys’s mother Sandra arrives at the kennels near the end of my shift. I’m on litter-tray duty in the cattery – my least favourite job – and so it’s Ivan who comes to find me to tell me she’s there.

‘There’s a woman here to see you,’ he says. ‘She says she’d like to have a look at the rescue dogs? Sandra Gold.’

‘Oh!’ I say. I pause, looking down at the pile of litter trays I still have to clean.

‘It’s fine,’ Ivan says. ‘You’re off the hook this time. I’ve asked Michael to take over.’ As he speaks, Michael appears behind him, looking sulky.

‘Thanks!’ I say, peeling off my gloves, beaming at Michael. ‘I owe you.’

Michael mutters something that I ignore as I leave the cattery and follow the path round to the front office. Sandra is standing in the reception area, reading a leaflet.

‘Hi, Sandra,’ I say, pausing by the desk and then hovering a little awkwardly.

‘Hello, Steffi!’ she says, her smile warm. She puts the leaflet back on the pile and taps her hands together. ‘I’ve come to meet Lily.’

‘Who?’ I ask stupidly, then remember. ‘Oh!’ She means Lily the three-legged beagle that I’d mentioned way back at Rhys’s birthday dinner. ‘Lily’s already been adopted.’ Lily got scooped up within about a week of her arriving at St Francis. She was adorable.

Her face falls. ‘Oh. Oh dear.’

‘We have others,’ I say quickly. I try to gesture grandly with my hands, but it doesn’t quite work. ‘Let me give you the tour.’

We have twenty-five rescue dogs currently staying at St Francis, and I already know which of them will eventually be adopted and which won’t. It’s the kind of thing you pick up quite quickly if you work at a rescue centre like this, whether a dog is adoptable or not. It’s a combination of breed, age and temperament. An old, quiet Labrador is almost guaranteed a new family. A boisterous Staffie is not, much as it breaks my heart.

I lead Sandra down through the kennels, stopping at each run to introduce the dog within. I leave the biters and the growlers behind their gates, but for the friendlier ones I unlock the door for a proper greeting. Sandra is hesitant around the dogs, standing slightly behind me and only reaching a hand to the dogs when I assure her they’re safe.

‘What kind of dog were you thinking of?’ I ask after a while. When I’m in my St Francis uniform, my voice comes easy.

‘A gentle one,’ Sandra says with a little laugh. ‘Not too much energy.’

‘Maybe an older dog would suit you,’ I say. ‘In fact . . .’ I skip the next couple of kennels and come to a stop. ‘You know what? I think this is the perfect dog for you.’

Petal is an eight-year-old spaniel who was brought to St Francis a couple of months ago after her elderly owner died. She’s the sweetest dog, but incredibly mopey – even getting her out for her daily walks is a trial sometimes.

I rattle through the basics, squatting on to the floor next to Petal, who shuffles over to me and rests her head on my knee. ‘She’s got a lovely temperament,’ I say, stroking her ears. ‘And she’s very low-maintenance.’

‘Hello,’ Sandra says softly, awkwardly sinking down beside me. ‘Hello, Petal. Oh, you’re very beautiful.’

‘Shall we take her out for a run?’ I suggest cheerfully. ‘To help you visualize her being your dog?’

Two hours later, I’m back at reception with Sandra, this time accompanied by Ivan and Petal. Sandra, looking a little shell-shocked but happy, is filling in a pile of forms and Petal is sitting at her feet.

‘We’d usually arrange a home visit first,’ Ivan is saying. ‘But as Steffi knows you and I trust her judgement I’m willing to waive that this time. So long as you don’t mind her checking up on you quite a bit in the first couple of months.’ He gives me a small, understanding smile. I smile back happily.

‘Oh, I think I’ll be very grateful for Steffi’s visits,’ Sandra says, and my smile grows into a beam.

Petal is an extra excuse, if I ever needed one, to spend more time at the Gold house. She’s so well trained there’s not really much need to worry, but Rhys’s mother has never owned a dog so I go through all the basics, explaining about feeding times and regular walks. This is a topic I’m most comfortable with and that, plus the fact that I love the entire Gold family, builds my confidence in everything from my abilities to my speech.