A Quiet Kind of Thunder(77)

‘Hello,’ the man says, looking almost amused. ‘Not experienced climbers, then, are we?’

This strikes me as a bit of a knobbish thing to say, all things considered, but I’m too me to say so, so I just shake my head like an idiot.

‘All right, chap,’ the man says to Rhys. ‘I’m Stuart. Let’s take a look at you before we try moving you any more.’

‘He’s deaf,’ I say.

‘Are you his interpreter?’ he asks me.

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m his girlfriend.’

Stuart looks right past me and makes a long-suffering face at Connie, who smiles uncertainly back. ‘Do you speak sign language?’ he says to me, his voice an exasperated sigh.

‘Yes.’

‘Fantastic,’ he says pointedly. ‘That’ll make things a bit easier.’ He turns back to Rhys. ‘Now, chap. What happened?’

‘His name is Rhys,’ I say.

Rhys waves, gets my attention and then makes a series of gestures with his working hand, his face moving through a variety of expressions. He points at his foot, then moves his hand in a circular motion.

‘He tripped,’ I say to Stuart. Rhys coughs. ‘On a rock,’ I add.

‘Fell awkwardly, did you?’ Stuart says gamely. As annoying as he’s being, at least he doesn’t raise his voice when he talks to Rhys. ‘Let’s take a look.’ With gentle hands, he takes Rhys’s injured arm. ‘It looks like you’ve dislocated your elbow,’ he says. ‘The ankle could be broken or just sprained – you’ll need an X-ray to know for sure. Did you hit your head?’

Rhys looks to me and I sign a quick translation. He shakes his head.

‘No,’ I say.

‘That’s lucky, then. Let’s get you down to the ground, shall we?’





With Stuart’s help, it’s definitely easier to manoeuvre Rhys down the green slopes of Holyrood Park, but it still takes a while. Rhys gives up trying to be stoic and groans pretty much the whole way down. After the first few sympathetic winces and worried signs, I stop bothering and instead listen in on Stuart and Connie, who are bonding over the fact that they’re both wearing North Face jackets. Loki is lolloping along beside me, and I tell him in soft whispers about Rhys and me, our Edinburgh adventure. Like all dogs, he’s a good listener.

Connie’s car is a small olive Golf. Books cover the back seat and she apologizes as she hastily sweeps the lot into one corner. One slips out of her grip and bounces on to the concrete. ‘I’m a school librarian,’ she says. ‘I read a lot.’

Stuart laughs and says something about how she should see his own car; it’s full of medical journals and issues of New Scientist. I’m already imagining how they’ll tell this story on their wedding day – ‘And then she opened her car door . . .’ ‘. . . And all the books fell out!’ Pause for laughter – and I quirk an eyebrow at Rhys, grinning, but he just looks at me in confusion. Of course, he’s missed the entire thing.

I wonder how the two of us will feature in the retelling of this story. The deaf boy with the busted ankle. The girl who couldn’t speak. But then, I have spoken. So who am I? Just the girlfriend?

Stuart helps to ease Rhys into the front seat of the car, having pushed it as far back as it will go so Rhys has room if he needs it. I sit in the back seat and tap Rhys’s shoulder. How are you?

He wiggles his hand. So-so.

Does it hurt a lot?

Yes.

When Connie slides into the front seat and starts the car, I realize Stuart isn’t coming with us. He gives us a friendly wave as Connie reverses out of the space. I want to ask her if she got his number, but I don’t know how. What would Tem say? She’d make a joke out of it. She’d be so funny and charming that Connie would be laughing all the way to the hospital.

Rhys leans his head against the rest and I see him close his eyes. There are pain wrinkles in his forehead.

‘He’ll be fine,’ Connie says, and I realize she’s looking at me in the rear-view mirror.

Have I even said thank you to this woman?

‘Thanks for . . . um. Doing this.’

‘Oh, it’s no trouble,’ Connie replies easily. ‘Nothing like a spot of mountain rescue on a Saturday afternoon!’

‘I don’t really . . .’ I stop, embarrassed, but then the silence is so expectant and awkward I have to finish. ‘I don’t really know what I’m doing.’

There’s a pause as Connie slows for traffic. She glances at her rear-view mirror again and smiles at me. ‘What did you say your name was? Steffi?’

I nod.

‘No one does, Steffi. No one knows what they’re doing.’

‘Stuart seemed like he did,’ I say, and Connie laughs. I made a joke! And she laughed!

‘Some people pretend better than others,’ she concedes. ‘It must be tough for you, having a deaf boyfriend?’

‘No,’ I say, defensive on his behalf. ‘He’s brilliant.’

She smiles again, fond and a little wistful, even though she doesn’t know either of us. ‘I’m sure he is.’

‘He takes care of me,’ I add.

‘It seems like you take good care of him too.’