A Quiet Kind of Thunder

by Sara Barnard

  We kiss for a while and then head back into the house together, hand in hand, to get fresh drinks. The kitchen has emptied since we were last here, and from the sounds coming from the living room most people have moved in there. Karam is leaning against the counter talking to a boy wearing a hockey jersey and a mask pulled up to rest on the top of his head. He catches my eye and smiles in the automatic way friendly people smile at people they recognize, and lifts his hand in an acknowledging wave. His smile is warm and easy, and I realize I understand why Tem likes him so much.

  This thought makes me wonder where Tem is, then remember how she once told me that her strategy was never to be ‘too clingy’ at parties with boys she likes. But still, I’m sure it won’t be long before she’s back by his side, wherever she is.

  Are you having a good time? Rhys asks me.

  I nod, an uncontrollable smile spreading over my face. Are you?

  He touches my hand. Definitely.

  I don’t add what I’m thinking, which is that this is the first time I’ve gone to a party (or really anything remotely social) where I haven’t gone off to hide in the bathroom and cry. There’s being open and honest with your boyfriend, and then there’s just overshare. Yours is the best costume here, I say instead.

  He laughs. You’re just saying that because you’re my girlfriend.

  ‘Hey!’ Karam has come to stand beside us. ‘How’s it going?’

  Rhys gives him a thumbs up and smiles. Karam glances at me, and I nod enthusiastically. The silent duo.

  ‘It’s cool watching you speak to each other,’ Karam says, settling himself against the kitchen counter. I watch him, taking in how easily he fits himself into any space and any conversation, hoping to pick up some tips. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Maybe I’d be the same, if it had never occurred to me that I might be unwelcome. ‘Maybe I should learn sign language,’ he muses. ‘It’d be a good skill for a doctor to have, right?’

  Rhys nods. ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Do many doctors speak it?’

  Rhys shrugs. ‘Not really.’ Something about the way he says this makes me think it’s not a topic he’s comfortable discussing. ‘There are interpreters, sometimes.’

  ‘I guess it’s the kind of thing you learn if you need to,’ Karam says. ‘It’s not like learning French. I mean, we’ll all go to France at some point, right? But you only need BSL if you . . . need BSL.’

  I worry that he’s talking too much for Rhys to follow, but when I look at my boyfriend – my boyfriend – he is moving his head in a bit-of-yes/bit-of-no motion.

  ‘I think more people should learn it,’ he says.

  ‘Me too,’ I pipe up.

  ‘It must be quite isolating,’ Karam says. He talks with the ease of someone who has never been made to think what he has to say is unimportant. ‘Being so cut off from the world.’

  I see a frown pass over Rhys’s face, but he covers it with another smile. ‘The hearing world,’ he says. ‘But there’s a deaf world, too.’

  ‘And Rhys can talk and read lips,’ I say. ‘So he’s not isolated.’

  ‘How come you can speak it?’ Karam asks me. ‘Sign language, I mean. You can hear just fine, right?’

  ‘I was a selective mute,’ I say, going for the simplest explanation.

  ‘Oh right, yeah,’ Karam nods. ‘Tem said.’ He smiles at Rhys, friendly but slightly patronizing. It’s the classic doctor look you get before they tell you to be more careful roller skating next time. ‘Lucky for you, right?’

  ‘What’s that?’ Rhys asks. I’m not sure if he’s asking Karam to repeat himself because he didn’t catch it, or if he’s saying he doesn’t understand what he means. It occurs to me that this is probably deliberate, and it makes me fall a little bit in love with him even more.

  ‘Finding a girl who speaks your language,’ Karam says. He grins. ‘So to speak. It must make things easier.’ He glances back to me. ‘And you too, actually. Not having to talk out loud so much?’

  I’m saved from having to reply to this by Ron Weasley, Indiana Jones and my very own Panda Tem, who walk into the kitchen arguing about gnomes.

  ‘Hello!’ Tem yells, throwing her arms around me.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ I say. I stretch carefully round her and take the cup from her hand, sliding it out of her reach on the kitchen table. ‘Want some water?’

  ‘Water? Ew, no. I’m totally fine.’ She lets me go and moves beside Karam. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi,’ Karam says, an amused smile flickering on his face. He reaches up and twists one of her curls around his finger. ‘You doing OK?’

  She nods happily.

  ‘Want to go see what’s going on outside?’ he asks.

  Tem glances at me. Even in her drunk state she thinks of me, and this is exactly why I am so lucky to have her as my friend. I nod a little at her and she beams.

  ‘OK!’ she says to Karam, taking his hand. ‘Let’s go.’

  When they’ve gone, I turn back to Rhys. I’m not quite sure what to say.

  People say stupid things all the time, Rhys says, as if he can read my mind. Don’t worry about it.

  But I worry about everything.

  Is he right, though?

  Right about what?

  Is that why you like me? Why we like each other? Because we can communicate easier?

  Rhys smiles, his mouth widening and curving, his teeth flashing white. That’s how we met. It’s not why we like each other.

  What’s the difference?

  I realize after I’ve asked it that it’s probably not the best, nor the most flattering, question for a girlfriend to ask her new boyfriend, but anxiety has twisted my thoughts in that way it does, making me phrase things differently and inappropriately. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, anxiety. You worry so much about being wrong in a certain way that you screw it up anyway.

  But Rhys just laughs a little, his constant smile affectionate, and touches his fingers lightly to my cheek. I don’t feel like this about everyone I ‘communicate’ with. It’s got nothing to do with why I like you.

  Why do you like me, then? My need for reassurance has overtaken everything.

  Rhys holds one hand in the air and circles the other beside it, then leans the second hand back sharply. It’s like he’s reeling something in. I blink at him. He grins. Someone’s fishing.

  I can’t help it; I laugh, and the horrible swirling feeling in my stomach eases, just slightly.

  There are lots of reasons, he adds. He takes a strand of my hair in between his fingers and rubs it gently. Too many to mention.

  I take a step forward and lean my head against his chest. He puts his arms obligingly round my shoulders and squeezes gently, rocking us a little from side to side like we’re dancing to music that – because we are us – doesn’t need to exist. I let out my breath slowly through my mouth, counting the beats, feeling my heart calm.

  How to look after your very drunk friend

  Step 1: Find her in the bathroom, slumped against the towel rack.

  Step 2: Ask her if she needs to be sick. Try not to get offended when she yells that she’s NOT DRUNK, GOD, STEFFI!

  Step 3: Tell her it’s fine when she apologizes, bursts into tears and then falls asleep on your shoulder.

  Step 4: Accept gratefully when your boyfriend offers to get his dad to give you both a lift home.

  Step 5: Coax Tem out of the car, across her driveway and to her front door. Wave at your boyfriend through the window. Try not to beam like a five-year-old at the circus.

  Step 6: Root around in her front pocket for her keys. Make a joke about inappropriate touching. Laugh when she earnestly tells you that you could touch her anywhere, because nothing’s inappropriate when you’re best friends.

  Step 7: Write it down so you can mock her with it tomorrow, and for the rest of time.

  Step 8: Tell her mother that yes, you both had a great time. Pour two glasses of water, carry them both up the stairs. (Make her go first,
so you can catch her if she trips.)

  Step 9: Help her take off her make-up and convince her to brush her teeth. Put her to bed. Tell her it’s not a good time to start singing ‘My Name Is Panda’.

  Step 10: Wait until she’s snoring away, just in case. All is well. Go to sleep.

  I’m someone’s girlfriend.

  I, Stefanie Elizabeth Brons, silent and not-at-all deadly, am someone’s girlfriend. How did this happen? I actually don’t know. A boy I could talk to walked into my life and now I get to touch him whenever I want and when he talks to me he says nice things and looks at me like I’m special. Last night we talked on jackbytes for two hours. He told me that he loved my voice.

  My voice? I asked.

  Yeah, your voice. The way you talk. The words you use. The way you put them together. Your voice.

  He told me how when he was a kid he formed a band with his brothers. Rhys on the drums, Aled on guitar, Alfie taking lead vocals.

  You can play the drums?

  Yeah!

  You never told me.

  You never asked.

  It’s not the most obvious question to ask a deaf person – Can you play a musical instrument? – but I learn my lesson. I try not to assume anything about him. Or, at least, assume less.

  He tells me his family is very musical and so it was always a part of his life. His parents encouraged him to try playing different instruments to see if he felt drawn to any of them, and with drums he could feel the music. It’s all about the beat, and you don’t need to hear to feel that.

  I had thought I’d got to know Rhys pretty well over the last few weeks, but I’d barely scratched the surface. Every little piece of information makes me like him even more.

  It’s a Thursday, just a few days after we officially got together, and I’ve gone to Rhys’s house after school. Unlike last time, it’s empty. Rhys explains that his mother and Alfie are at the orthodontist and his dad is still at work.

  Want to see my room? he asks.

  I follow him up the stairs, keeping my eyes on a small hole at the ankle of his sock. Javert the cat is licking himself at the top of the stairs, one leg straight in the air. ‘Very glamorous,’ I say softly, reaching down to rub his head.

  Rhys pauses in the doorway of his room, his smile a little shy. Here, he says, gesturing. My little corner of the world.

  The room is smaller than my own and I try to take in as much of it as I can as quickly as I can, sketching it into my mind so I can return to it later rather than stand there and gawp, which is what I really want to do. It’s neat – far neater than I’d expect a boy’s room to be – with navy-blue walls and an off-white carpet. In the corner is an entertainment unit complete with TV, Xbox and some kind of LEGO tower. Over the radiator hangs a kind of woollen shelf, and I’m about to ask what it’s for when Javert ambles in and hops up on to it. Ah. Cat seat.

  I turn to grin at him. Did you tidy up for me?

  He laughs. No, I just like to keep things nice.

  In the corner of the room I see what must be his drum set, though it has a dust cover over it so I can’t say for sure. I consider asking him to play for me, but I’m too worried that I won’t be able to successfully feign enthusiasm, so I don’t. Instead, I bridge the small gap between us and tilt my face towards him. Kissing Rhys in his bedroom is different from kissing him anywhere else, even though his door is open and we stay standing several paces away from his bed. There’s an intimacy to it that makes my heart fizz in a whole new way.

  Seeing inside his room feels like a step, so I offer another.

  The following Monday, the first big meeting of our relationship takes place: Rhys meets Rita.

  And my dad. But mostly Rita.

  Rhys walks me home from school and I stop in to grab my dog, who scrambles all around my legs, whining in delirious excitement at the sight of both me and the lead. When we get outside, she spots Rhys. Her tail goes rigid and her ears twitch.

  ‘Rita,’ I say, squatting to her level and putting my hand at the furry scruff of her neck. ‘This is Rhys. He’s very important. So be nice.’ I look up at Rhys and grin hopefully. This is Rita, I sign.

  Rhys hesitates, then kneels down in front of us. Hello, Rita, he signs. My name is Rhys. It is excellent to meet you.

  Rita cocks her head.

  ‘Paw,’ I murmur into her ear.

  Rita lifts a paw to Rhys and his whole face lights up. He takes it, beaming at me, and gives it a little shake.

  See, she likes you! I say, getting to my feet and curling my fingers through the coil of Rita’s lead. Come on. Let’s go for a walk.

  Later, he meets my dad and Lucy. Dad is guarded but polite, squinting at Rhys under his glasses at every opportunity. Lucy seems pleased to have someone to host and has made a beef Wellington in honour of the occasion. Both of them, adorably, try to use sign language to talk to Rhys. It’s not the greatest success ever, but I can tell Rhys doesn’t mind.

  A few hours later, Mum calls. ‘So when am I going to meet this new boyfriend of yours?’ I love how she says ‘new’, as if he’s the latest in a long line instead of the first boy I’ve ever even kissed.

  I turn my phone away from my mouth so I can sigh, then return it to speak. ‘How did you know about that?’

  ‘Your father told me. It’s just the kind of information every mother loves to hear from her ex-husband. Her teenage daughter’s milestones.’

  Is she teasing or berating me? I really can’t tell.

  ‘I was going to tell you,’ I say. ‘When I saw you.’

  ‘Steffi, any news that makes you happy I want to hear immediately,’ she says. ‘Even small things. But especially big things, like first boyfriends.’

  ‘I’ll tell you about the next one,’ I say. I’m joking, but even the thought makes me feel disloyal to Rhys.

  ‘Can I meet him?’ she prompts. ‘How about the two of you come over for dinner on Friday?’

  ‘I’ll see if he’s free,’ I say. I can decide if I’ll tell him about this phone call later.

  Sunday evening

  rhysespieces: do you believe in god?

  stefstef: no. do you?

  rhysespieces: i don’t know. i think so.

  stefstef: is your family religious?

  rhysespieces: we go to church, but not massively.

  rhysespieces: i definitely believe in life after death

  stefstef: really?

  rhysespieces: yeah. you don’t?

  stefstef: i’d like to. i wish i could believe i’d see clark again.

  stefstef: or that he’s somewhere good, still keeping an eye on me

  rhysespieces: he might be

  stefstef: mmm.

  rhysespieces: you surprise me. i didn’t have you pegged as a sceptic ☺

  stefstef: just too realistic, maybe?

  rhysespieces: energy doesn’t disappear. it changes. and we’re energy, right? ☺

  stefstef: ☺ that’s a nice idea

  rhysespieces: can i ask you about clark?

  stefstef: no need, i can guess the questions. he was my stepbrother. he died in a car accident on the way home from his first year at uni.

  rhysespieces: shit

  stefstef: the guy in the other car had a heart attack at the wheel and rammed him head on. clark didn’t have a chance. but it wasn’t the other guy’s fault.

  rhysespieces: did he die too?

  stefstef: yeah.

  rhysespieces: that must have been awful

  stefstef: it was.

  rhysespieces: were you guys close?

  stefstef: no one could have had a better stepbrother. can we talk about something else?

  rhysespieces: of course. i’m sorry xxx

  stefstef: how’s alfie?

  rhysespieces: he’s good. how’s rita?

  stefstef: she’s sulking because i haven’t taken her for a walk yet.

  rhysespieces: poor rita. you should do that.

  stefstef: yeah, i guess i should. at least
it’s stopped raining.

  rhysespieces: want some company?

  stefstef: is the company you?

  rhysespieces: yes.

  stefstef: then yes ☺

  rhysespieces: on my way.

  stefstef: xxxx

  rhysespieces: xxxx

  Monday

  rhysespieces: can i ask you something?

  stefstef: of course! we still have the pact, right? ☺

  rhysespieces: yeah! ok so, you know how when you’re with my family you sign while you talk out loud?

  stefstef: yeah . . .

  rhysespieces: how come you don’t do that with your friends?

  stefstef: um, god, i don’t know . . . is that really bad? have i done something wrong?

  rhysespieces: no! i’m just asking, honestly

  stefstef: i havent even thought about it

  stefstef: should i sign as well? it’s just because they don’t know BSL, so i guess i just didn’t think i needed to?

  rhysespieces: i know, but the BSL would be for me . . . you know?

  stefstef: i’m sorry ☹☹☹ i thought you read lips when you’re in the hearing world

  rhysespieces: i do, but because i have to, not cos i want to

  stefstef: oh

  rhysespieces: like, i miss so much of what’s going on in a group if people are talking. you know at karam’s halloween party? you guys were talking away and i basically had no idea what was going on

  stefstef: i feel awful

  rhysespieces: i’m not trying to make you feel bad. i just wanted to check that it wasn’t me.

  stefstef: ??

  rhysespieces: that you weren’t . . . you know. ashamed of it. of me.

  stefstef: WHAT?! NO.

  stefstef: do you really think that??

  rhysespieces: not now i’ve spoken to you. but you wouldn’t be the first hearing person who gets embarrassed about signing in public

  stefstef: why would anyone be embarrassed?

  rhysespieces: well, communicating with BSL is so different from what hearing people are used to. it’s so visual, you have to be expressive. you know what i mean?