A Quiet Kind of Thunder

by Sara Barnard

  Tem:

  So, how did it go?

  Steffi:

  SEPTEMBER.

  Ooh this sounds promising.

  . . . or a disaster?

  SHIT BRONS. REPLY TO ME.

  HE LIKES ME

  Woohoo!!!!!

  Tem:

  (Also, OBVS he does, you plank.)

  Steffi:

  HE KISSED ME

  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  ☺ ☺ ☺

  TELL ME EVERYTHING.

  How did it happen?

  Is he a good kisser?

  HOW FAR DID YOU GO?

  Oh screw this, I’m calling you.

  YOU BETTER ANSWER.

  [stefstef is online]

  rhysespieces: ☺ ☺ ☺

  stefstef: hi ☺

  rhysespieces: just wanted to say goodnight

  stefstef: goodnight xxxx

  rhysespieces: goodnight xxxx

  rhysespieces: ☺

  stefstef: ☺

  [rhysespieces has logged off]

  Tem is even more excited than I am. She comes tearing round to see me the following morning, her whole face alight.

  ‘OK, tell me everything,’ she commands, sitting cross-legged beside me on the bed. The bed I am still in, by the way. There are very few boundaries between me and Tem. ‘Everything.’

  So I do. No detail is too small for her, no description too rambling. When I describe the expression on his face as I told him I liked him too, she almost combusts. I finally realize why she was so frustrated by my comparatively lacklustre response to her Karam-related excitement. This is what she wanted.

  ‘So are you together?’ she asks. ‘How did you leave things? This is very important.’

  ‘Define together,’ I say.

  ‘Together is not having to say “define together”,’ she says. ‘Together is “He asked me to be his girlfriend!” or “He declared undying love!” and so on.’

  I laugh. ‘I’m quite glad he didn’t declare undying love, to be honest.’

  ‘You know what I mean. I say again – how did you leave things?’

  ‘He walked me home. Well, to the end of my road, so my dad couldn’t ambush him – my suggestion – and he kissed me goodbye. We said we’d see each other on Monday. And we had another goodnight kiss thing on jackbytes.’

  She listens carefully and when I get to my final sentence she glows. ‘That’s like the equivalent of a goodnight phone call for the two of you, right?’

  I smile. ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Oh, Steffi!’ Tem actually claps her hands together, then drums her fists on my covers. ‘I’m so happy right now.’

  ‘Do you think he should have asked me to be his girlfriend?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No, this is all fine. Better than fine. Perfect. You can take things all cute and slow.’

  ‘Like you and Karam?’ I say this because I think it’ll make her happy, but her face falls a little.

  ‘Maybe,’ she says.

  I’m about to ask her to elaborate – where’s her bouncy, Karam-induced happiness? – but my phone dings beside me and I grab it. Rhys.

  Rhys:

  Good morning, beautiful ☺ xx

  ‘Oh my God,’ Tem sings, beaming. ‘He’s got it bad.’

  I shove her away, grinning, drinking in the words on the screen. Beautiful. He thinks I’m beautiful?

  ‘I thought you guys used jackbytes,’ Tem says, peering over my shoulder.

  ‘We do,’ I say. ‘We text too. Jackbytes is like a phone call. The conversation isn’t recorded, but texts we can keep. Now, help. What should I reply?’

  ‘Whatever you want,’ Tem replies. ‘He likes you, Stef. Not me. Say whatever you want to say.’ I reach over impulsively to hug her and she yelps in surprise, then hugs me back. ‘My little Steffi,’ she says, pressing her head against mine. ‘Kissing a boy.’

  I twirl my phone in my fingers, smiling against the familiar scrunch of her curls against my face. ‘Am I all grown up?’

  ‘Almost,’ she says. I feel rather than see her grin. ‘Almost.’

  At school, Rhys and I are shy and tentative with each other. When we first see each other, he does a kind of awkward two-step where he starts to lean in to kiss me and then changes his mind. He takes my hand instead, but then realizes almost immediately that we can’t talk if we’re holding hands, so he drops it again.

  Hi, he says, his smile embarrassed.

  Hi, I say, grinning. I reach up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek.

  But, for the most part, things are the same. We still talk and laugh in a language that feels like it belongs just to us. We sit together in Maths and chat to his interpreter after class. We go to the library during a free period we both share and carry on talking across the table, my BSL improving with every passing hour we spend together. We talk every night on jackbytes. On Thursday we go to Caffè Nero and kiss in the corner until his coffee goes cold.

  I think we’re both too shy to bring up the possibility of using big words like ‘girlfriend’ and ‘boyfriend’, because we don’t, though I have dreamily practised the signs to myself so I can be ready for when we do. The thing is that it doesn’t feel like we need to; everything is so soft and sweet and perfect. I’m in no rush to risk losing it with The Conversation.

  On Sunday, Tem and I take our little siblings to the park to feed the ducks. Bell is dressed as a fairy, complete with wings and a wand, and she sings to herself as we walk along, holding my hand tight. Davey, Tem’s five-year-old brother, takes one look at her and bursts into tears.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Tem demands, horrified. ‘It’s Bell. You’ve seen Bell before.’

  Bell, still clutching my hand, stares at him with distant interest. She gives her wand a swish and flick in his direction, and Davey wails even louder.

  Tem rolls her eyes at me, hoists her brother into her arms and carries him a little way off the path.

  ‘What a baby,’ Bell says primly, heaving a loud sigh.

  ‘Come on, Belly,’ I say, grinning. ‘Let’s get a head start on the ducks, shall we?’

  We sit on the bench nearest the side of the lake and I pull out the bag of stale bread I’d brought, already ripped into pieces perfect for small hands. I hold it open for Bell and she reaches in.

  Tem approaches, still holding Davey in her arms. She walks round the back of the bench and leans over so she’s hissing directly into my ear. ‘Davey wants to be a fairy.’

  I turn my head so I can see them both. Davey is staring at me, his cheeks still wet, his dark eyes wide and woeful.

  ‘He’s sad because Bell gets to dress like a fairy,’ she adds. ‘Isn’t that right, Davey-do?’ Davey nods mournfully.

  ‘Hey, Belly,’ I say, brightening my voice. She swings her head towards me, already beaming. ‘Can Davey be a fairy too?’

  Bell looks appraisingly at Davey. She shrugs. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Do you want to lend him your wand?’ I ask. ‘So he can be a fairy?’

  ‘Not my wand,’ Bell says seriously. ‘But he can have my wings if he wants.’ She wiggles out of the wings that are elasticated to her back and holds them out to Davey.

  ‘Go on,’ Tem coaxes, jiggling her brother in her arms. ‘Fairy it up.’ As Davey reaches a tentative hand out to take the wings – purple and sparkly – she grins at me over the top of his little fuzzy head. Tem and I are determined that Davey and Bell will grow up as best friends who fall in love. It has to happen. It’ll be the cutest thing ever.

  Tem sets Davey – bewinged, all smiles – on to the ground and sits next to me. ‘Go on, you two,’ she says encouragingly, pointing the kids towards the lake. ‘Go and give the ducks their treats.’

  Bell hops off the bench and trots the few steps down the bank to where the ducks are clustered. Davey follows, shaking his back as he goes so his wings flap.

  ‘So,’ Tem says as soon as they’re out of earshot, ‘how’s it going with your beau?’ She grins at me. ‘Full details, please
.’

  ‘I’ve told you everything,’ I say, laughing. ‘Nothing new has happened since yesterday, I promise.’

  ‘You told me the basics,’ Tem says. ‘I want the details. How do you feel about everything? Do you like him more now you’re kissing or less? How many times does he message you in a day? Do you think you’ll get together properly soon?’

  I try and answer her questions as best I can – more, lots, I hope so – even though no level of detail seems like it’ll be enough for her. She is still giddy on my behalf, happier than I can quite allow myself to be yet, while it’s all still in the possible stage. I tell her about sitting with Rhys in Caffè Nero, how he’d walked me home and we’d argued the whole way about whether the best Pixar film is Toy Story or WALL-E (‘Clearly Finding Nemo – you’re both idiots’), how we’d had to keep stopping in the middle of the street if we became entangled in a particularly long sentence.

  And then Tem says it.

  ‘Aren’t you worried about people looking?’

  I pause. I realize that I’m still holding a piece of stale bread between my fingers. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, like, you don’t talk because it makes people notice you, right? But doesn’t talking with your hands in public make people notice you more?’

  My heart stills. That’s what it feels like – not a thundering panic or a twist of pain; it goes quiet, like it’s bracing itself. I can feel something building in my head. Something coming that will ruin everything, that will take me back to where I used to be, that will spoil what I have with Rhys. Six small words that can root in my head and never leave. Aren’t you worried about people looking?

  Tem looks at me, expectant. Her expression is open but placid, like she doesn’t realize the potential avalanche she’s created in my addled brain. Doesn’t she know? Doesn’t she get it? That in anxious heads like mine all it takes is a few words to bring a careful foundation tumbling down? All I can think is, Oh please. Please don’t take this away from me, please. Please let me have this.

  I gather myself. ‘It’s . . . different.’

  ‘Why?’ It’s a genuine question and I know she’s not trying to destroy me. But my head is going, Yeah, Steffi, why? It makes no sense. Of course people will look.

  ‘Because . . .’ I try really, really hard to come up with a reason why it’s different. For my own sake as much as hers. I hit on, ‘Because it’s still just ours. No one knows what we’re saying. What I’m saying. Just Rhys. So . . . it’s different.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’ She nods, considering this. ‘So it’s not the sound of your voice that’s the problem, but the words you actually say? What makes you not talk, I mean.’

  Here’s the thing about anxiety: it’s not rational. It’s not rational, but it’s still real, and it’s still scary, and that’s OK. That’s one of the things my therapist used to tell me. It doesn’t make it any less difficult because it doesn’t make sense. But that’s pretty hard to explain to people like Tem, who are too pragmatic to worry about much of anything.

  ‘Mmmm,’ I say. ‘Look, I’m just crazy, OK? Can we talk about something else?’

  Tem’s brow furrows. ‘You’re not crazy, Stef.’

  ‘Whatever.’ My entire body is fizzing with anxiety. My fingers are twitching. ‘Belly,’ I call, desperate for a distraction. My sister spins on the spot. ‘Don’t put your feet in the water, OK?’

  ‘OK!’ she calls back sunnily.

  Tem changes the subject. ‘Hey, can I ask you a favour?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, my eyes on my little sister, who is adjusting Davey’s wings with an expression of absolute concentration.

  ‘Karam is having a Halloween party next Saturday and . . . I really, really want you to come.’

  ‘OK . . .’ I say slowly, waiting for more. Tem knows how I feel about crowds, noise and alcohol, which is why she’d never usually ask if I’d come to a party with her. She has other friends for crazy-fun-party-time.

  She turns slightly on the bench to face me. ‘His mum is going to be away so it’s just his dad, but his dad will be there, so it’s not going to get really crazy, or anything. He says his dad is really, like, chilled out, you know? I know you don’t usually like this kind of thing, I get that, honestly, but this will be different. I’ve thought it all through. See, it’s Halloween, so you can come in costume, and you can get something that covers your face if you want, so no one will even know it’s you.’ Her voice is starting to speed up, words falling over each other. ‘Or we can go as pandas! Pandas, Stef! Remember how we used to dress up as pandas together?’

  We have literally not done this since we were eight years old.

  ‘Karam wants me there, so obviously I’m going to go, but I think it would be really great if you came, too. Then you can meet Karam, and you can tell me what you think. And – this is the best bit, Stef – you can invite Rhys. That way it’ll be like a social occasion that’s not school or anything to hang out together, plus I can meet him – and I really want to meet him – and you know you can always be with me or him, so you won’t ever be on your own, and you won’t have to talk if you don’t want to.’ She stops abruptly, practically breathless. She looks at me, her lip slightly dented from where she is clearly biting it from inside her mouth. Quietly, she adds, ‘I know it’s a big ask, Stef. But it would really mean a lot to me if you came.’

  The thing is, that’s all she really needed to say. There are some people you will do anything for if they really need you. And this is Tem.

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Of course I’ll come.’

  stefstef: hello!

  rhysespieces: hello there ☺

  stefstef: how are you? what are you up to?

  rhysespieces: ok, you? just playing minecraft.

  stefstef: haha

  stefstef: wait, really?

  rhysespieces: !! ☹

  stefstef: sorry!!! i honestly thought that was a game for kids

  rhysespieces: ☹☹☹☹☹

  stefstef: AGH can i start again?

  rhysespieces: go for it

  [rhysespieces has logged off]

  [rhysespieces has logged in]

  stefstef: hello!

  rhysespieces: hello there ☺

  stefstef: so I have a question for you

  rhysespieces: cool. i’m listening.

  rhysespieces: hahaha ‘listening’

  stefstef: are you doing anything next saturday?

  rhysespieces: i hope so

  stefstef: oh, ok. Have you already made plans or something?

  rhysespieces: what? no, i mean i hope that i’ll be doing something with you

  rhysespieces: like seeing you, not DOING something

  rhysespieces: oh fuck

  stefstef: ☺

  rhysespieces: i am so much smoother in my head

  stefstef: i hope for your sake that’s true

  rhysespieces: ask me again

  stefstef: are you doing anything next saturday?

  rhysespieces: no plans yet. why?

  stefstef: my best friend is going to a halloween party and she’s invited us both. fancy it?

  rhysespieces: stefanie brons, are you inviting me on a date?

  stefstef: yes.

  rhysespieces: interesting

  stefstef: HEY, you know how I have massive anxiety?

  rhysespieces: haha sorry sorry. of course. sounds great. costumes?

  stefstef: ☺ yes

  rhysespieces: MATCHING costumes?

  stefstef: steady on, i don’t think we’re there yet

  rhysespieces: damn, i bet you’d be cute as hell as one half of a horse

  stefstef: i’m going as a panda

  rhysespieces: ok i take it back. THAT sounds cute as hell.

  stefstef: ☺

  rhysespieces: i am definitely in. let me know location and times and stuff?

  stefstef: i will. i don’t know them yet, but i’ll tell you when i do.

  rhysespieces: cool, and let me know what alco
hol to bring

  stefstef: oh. you don’t need to worry about that for me.

  stefstef: i mean, just bring whatever you want

  rhysespieces: you don’t drink?

  stefstef: not party drinking, iykwim?

  rhysespieces: ok, gotcha. i won’t either, if you want?

  stefstef: aw ☺ it’s fine.

  rhysespieces: sure?

  stefstef: yes. i have to go to bed, see you tomorrow?

  rhysespieces: yep. sweet dreams xx

  stefstef: ☺ xxx

  [stefstef has logged off]

  On Saturday, I spend the afternoon at Tem’s house so we can get ready together. And by ‘get ready’, I mean she gets dressed and then talks me down from a panic attack. While she sips a premixed vodka and Coke from a can, I hold a glass of iced water to my forehead and try to calm myself.

  ‘Which heels do you think I should wear?’ Tem holds up two different shoes, both sporting heels higher than I have ever even attempted.

  ‘Those,’ I say, pointing at the shorter of the two. ‘They’ll be easier to walk in if you get drunk.’

  ‘I’m taking flats in my bag,’ Tem says, peering into the mirror and putting a speculative hand on her curls. ‘So that’s not an issue.’ She throws a grin over her shoulder at me. ‘Or Karam could be carrying me.’

  I can’t help grinning back, because her mischievous enthusiasm is infectious. ‘What kind of panda wears heels, anyway?’

  ‘A teenage one trying to impress a boy,’ Tem says promptly. Her head is bent and she’s rooting through her make-up bag, lining up lipsticks on her dressing table.

  ‘Does it matter that I’m wearing Converse?’ I ask, my brain seizing on something new to panic about.

  ‘Of course not.’ Tem leans into the mirror, carefully running the lipstick over her bottom lip. ‘You can be a grunge panda.’ She presses her lips together and pouts at her reflection. ‘Do you know what Rhys will be wearing?’

  ‘No, he wants it to be surprise. How about Karam?’

  She shrugs. ‘Zombie doctor. OK!’ She claps her hands and steps away from the mirror, turning in a circle so I can admire the full package. ‘What do you think?’