A Quiet Kind of Thunder(60)

Daniel, who I haven’t seen since Clark’s funeral, and even then it was from across the room. Clark. Clark, who would be twenty-three.

‘Hi yourself!’ He puts both hands on the bar and grins. ‘Holy hell. Little Steffi Brons. You grew up.’

‘I guess I did,’ I say, laughing. Rhys taps my arm and looks questioningly at me. This is Daniel, I explain quickly. For some reason I can’t quite bring myself to explain that I know him because of Clark, so I skip over it and turn back to Daniel instead. ‘This is Rhys,’ I say, gesturing. ‘My boyfriend.’

‘Cool,’ Daniel says, nodding. He leans over to shake Rhys’s hand. ‘All right, mate?’

‘He’s deaf,’ I add, but to my surprise Rhys shoots me a look of annoyance. Am I not supposed to tell people this? That’s new.

‘You doing OK?’ Daniel shifts his attention back to me. ‘Damn, how long’s it been since I saw you last?’

‘Three years? Four?’ I hedge.

‘Christ. And now you’re in a bar,’ he says. ‘And you’re talking.’

‘Oh, that.’ It’s true – the words are coming far more easily than I would have thought they would if I’d imagined this scenario. But I’m not going to question it. ‘Yeah, I talk now.’

He smiles, wide and sincere. ‘Awesome. What do you both want to drink? It’s on me.’

‘Aw, thanks, but you don’t have to,’ I say automatically.

Daniel shrugs, flashing a wider grin. ‘Course I do. Least I can do for Clark’s little sister.’

My heart clenches. Am I still a little sister if the older brother is dead? For one crazy moment, I want to ask him. Instead, I force myself to smile. ‘Go on, then. Just a Coke for me. And . . .’ I look to Rhys. Beer?

He nods, but his expression is unusually unreadable.

‘And a pint for Rhys,’ I say.

Daniel pauses, his gaze flicking over to Rhys. ‘Is he eighteen?’ he asks me.

‘Yes,’ Rhys says.

‘Oh, sorry, mate, didn’t realize you could talk,’ Daniel says, and I wince, glancing at Rhys, wondering if I should tell Daniel that he’s being rude. Rhys looks back at me, his eyes unusually fiery, and I take the hint and say nothing. ‘Greene King?’ Daniel’s already holding the glass in front of the tap. ‘Hey, Steffi, how are your parents?’

‘They’re doing OK.’ This is mostly true, I think. ‘How is everything with you?’

‘Can’t complain.’ He gives an easy shrug. ‘Air in my lungs, and all that.’ A sad smile flickers on his face, but it’s quickly swallowed by a grin. He puts two glasses in front of me.

‘It was good to see you again.’

‘You too.’ He gives me a brotherly wink and I suddenly miss Clark so much I almost start to cry.

I take the two glasses and begin to turn away, taking a deep, quiet breath.

‘I’ll get it,’ Rhys says, frowning, touching my wrist. I look at him and see he’s holding his debit card between two fingers.

‘It’s covered,’ Daniel says. ‘No worries.’

Rhys looks at me, a frustrated crease in his forehead. I don’t want him to pay for your drink, he signs.

I can’t sign with the two glasses in my hand, so I just shake my head. I try and say, Don’t make a fuss, with my eyes.

‘You just look after this one,’ Daniel says, gesturing to me with a jovial, oblivious smile on his face.

Rhys still looks perturbed. For God’s sake. Bloody boys. ‘Come on,’ I say, injecting perkiness into my voice. ‘Thanks, Daniel,’ I add, smiling as I turn away.

We get back to the table and Rhys takes his pint glass from me, taking a swig without meeting my eyes. I watch him, wondering if he’s annoyed with me and, if so, exactly why. I put my Coke down on the table. What’s wrong?

Rhys looks at me, twists his lip between his teeth, then sets his glass down beside mine and pulls me in for a hug. I settle into it, resting my head against the steadiness of his chest. I feel him press a kiss to the side of my head.

When we break apart, we both sit on the same side of the table, on the bench that’s set into the wall. I curl my legs up on to the seat so I can face him. I think about telling him who Daniel is, but that would mean talking about Clark, and I just don’t want to do that. Even seeing Daniel and remembering the two of them as boys has made my heart feel chafed. So I don’t. What was all that about?

He doesn’t try to pretend he doesn’t know what I mean. Sorry if I was grumpy.

But why? I hesitate, then go ahead and ask anyway. Do you have a problem with me talking to other boys?

To my total relief, he laughs. An easy, genuine laugh. No, he says, definitive. He shakes his head, smiling. Sorry to make you think that. He pauses, his eyes lifting up as he thinks. I can tell he’s trying to decide how to express whatever it is he’s feeling. It is difficult to watch you talk, he signs finally.

I frown. What?

It makes me feel distant from you, he signs carefully. Like we are . . . separate.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say out loud. Frustration, and something a little like guilt, is building in my chest. Like maybe my subconscious knows exactly what he means, even if the rest of me hasn’t caught up yet.