A Quiet Kind of Thunder(70)

Are you OK?

I nod, but I feel how hesitant it is and know there’s no hiding it from him. I push myself away from the radiator with both hands and walk towards the bed, climbing up on to it beside him. The mattress and quilt sinks under my knees.

He takes my hands and squeezes, nudging his nose against mine. He is saying, It’s OK. It’s us. It’s you and me. He doesn’t need to sign or say this for me to know that it’s what he means. Maybe that sounds strange to people who use speech as naturally as breathing. Or maybe everyone has a silent language with the person they love. Either way, I relax. I nudge his nose right back.

When we kiss, it’s gentle at first. He’s half sitting, half lying and I’m sitting sideways on my right thigh. Only our faces touch and it’s almost tentative, like we’re doing it for the first time. His fingers graze my arm and land on my jaw. I can feel his thumb begin to trace circles on my neck and a shot of something hot and surprising whizzes through my entire body. It’s me that opens my mouth first as we kiss and when his tongue touches mine I feel as if I’ve been set on fire.

In a very, very good way.

Rhys pulls me down beside him and slides his hand to my waist, his other still on my face. We are on a bed, I’m thinking. We are on a bed! I’m also thinking, This didn’t take us long, and Oh my God oh my God oh my God and I need to pee. Shut up, no you don’t. Be in the moment.

A rumble comes from somewhere between us and for a second I’m confused, before realizing it came from one of our stomachs. It must be mine, because he hasn’t reacted, and if it was his own rumble he’d have noticed it, right? So now I need to pee and I want to eat. Way to be passionate, Brons. And suddenly I’m laughing, slightly hysterical with panic and – yes – lust, and I break away from the kiss. Sorry. I try to calm down. Sorry!

What’s wrong? he asks, looking worried. Did I . . . ?

No, it’s me, I flail. My stomach.

Your stomach? He looks at me incredulously for a second, then starts to laugh. Your stomach, he repeats, then properly cracks up. He pulls me towards him and bear hugs me into the bed, grizzling against my neck, and by then I’m laughing so hard I really might pee there and then. I disentangle myself, punctuating my withdrawal with kisses, and go to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I take a second to look at my reflection; my hair is wild around my face, my eyes shiny and happy. My mascara has smudged slightly around my eyes, but I’m not sure if this happened on the coach or on the bed. This is the face of a girl on a city break with her boyfriend, I think, and I beam at myself.

When I go back into the bedroom, Rhys is sitting cross-legged on the bed with a map spread out in front of him. Shall we go somewhere for dinner? he asks. The hotel has a restaurant, but it doesn’t look that great.

OK. Where? I’m not quite sure whether he means right now or later. If he wants me to come back to the bed so we can . . . you know. Pick up where we left off. That’s probably what I’m meant to do, right?

Pizza? His expression is hopeful. I’m really hungry too. Shall we go now?

My stomach lets out another happy rumble and I smile. Pizza.

By the time we get back to the hotel after dinner – Pizza Hut, because who needs luxury when you’ve got pizza? – I am fuzzy with happiness and sleep. So far, Edinburgh – lit up in the darkness and somehow even more beautiful – is everything I’d hoped it would be. We walk hand in hand in silence and it feels so nice I want to sink into the moment and stay there forever.

In the room, Rhys showers while I change into my pyjamas. I’m so nervous I get under the covers and huddle there until he comes out. When he does, he is wearing nothing but a towel and still glistening with water droplets. Oh, hello. Hello.

‘Um,’ I say.

He grins. It’s the grin of a boy who knows he has abs and is very happy with them. The grin of a person who hasn’t grown up watching adverts that tell him everything he should hate about his own body. Lucky sod. I slide further under the covers and scrunch them around my neck.

I’m going to brush my teeth, I sign, then bolt out of bed and into the bathroom before he can get a proper look at me. Why did I choose these pyjamas? They’re old novelty pyjamas from Canada. They have mooses on them. Find me something less sexy than a moose.

I take out my nerves on my teeth, swish mouthwash for longer than is technically required, then breathe in slowly. I put my hands on the sink and meet my own gaze in the mirror. ‘You can do this,’ I whisper. ‘You can totally do this.’

I turn off the light and walk back into the main room. I’m not sure what I should say to Rhys, how to kick-start us both into the mood we were in earlier, but my hands drop to my sides when I look at the bed. Rhys is lying on top of the covers, wearing a Yoshi T-shirt and a pair of boxers. He’s on his back and his arm is splayed back against the pillows.

He’s fast asleep.

Well, thank God, really. It’s more of a relief than anything else. I turn off the light and slide under the covers beside him, my heart rate slowing as I relax against the pillows. Tonight, we’ll sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll . . . well. We’ll see, won’t we?

I can smell his hair, freshly shampooed, just inches away from me. I can hear his soft breath. We’re sleeping together for the first time, I realize, and the thought makes me smile in the darkness. I reach over the covers and run my fingers down his arm, closing them around his hand. ‘I love you,’ I whisper into the ether, and squeeze his hand.