by Sara Barnard
stefstef: yeah . . . but why would that be embarrassing?
rhysespieces: some people get self-conscious. i had a friend once say they felt like they were performing every time we were out together in public
stefstef: a friend said that to you?
rhysespieces: he wasn’t trying to be mean. besides, i’m used to it. its just another thing that comes with being deaf in a hearing world. people take speech communication for granted and they think anyone who communicates differently is weird or different. some people don’t like having to face that
stefstef: i don’t think of talking like that, though
rhysespieces: but, stef, of couse you do – you spent most of your childhood trying to learn how to talk in public, didn’t you? because not talking somehow wasn’t acceptable to society?
stefstef: well . . .
stefstef: wow
rhysespieces: mind blown?
stefstef: yeah. i never though of it like that before
rhysespieces: anyway, i just wanted to check. that it wasn’t a problem for you, i mean
stefstef: it’s not. at all. i’m really sorry i made you think i might be ashamed. i’m really not. i promise
rhysespieces: <3
stefstef: are we ok?
rhysespieces: of course
stefstef: are you upset with me?
rhysespieces: not even a tiny bit
stefstef: i’m still learning how to be a girlfriend
rhysespieces: MY girlfriend. that’s what’s important to me ☺
stefstef: xxxxx
rhysespieces: are you ok?
stefstef: yes. are you?
rhysespieces: yes xx
stefstef: xxx
Tuesday
rhysespieces: you looked extra pretty today ☺
stefstef: ☺☺
Wednesday
stefstef: Sally the puppy has been adopted!
rhysespieces: NOOOO!
rhysespieces: i didn’t even get to say goodbye ☹
stefstef: oh, she’s not going yet. they don’t go till about 12 weeks.
rhysespieces: is the new owner nice? they better be nice
stefstef: i don’t know, i didn’t meet them! Ivan just told me about it during my shift
rhysespieces: i’m already bereft
stefstef: there’ll be other puppies!
rhysespieces: BEREFT.
stefstef: try harder to convince your mum. get a puppy of your own.
rhysespieces: i’ll try.
stefstef: i’m going to send you some pics of Rita from when she was a puppy
rhysespieces: can you send some of you too?
stefstef: ☺
Thursday
stefstef: do you have any plans tomorrow night?
rhysespieces: yes, I’d like to spend some time kissing my girlfriend
stefstef: ☺☺
rhysespieces: want to come over to mine?
stefstef: yes, but I can’t. my mum’s invited you over for dinner.
rhysespieces: ah! the mother!
stefstef: yeah . . .
rhysespieces: sure.
stefstef: she’ll be nice
rhysespieces: i know! i’m not worried.
stefstef: i am a bit.
rhysespieces: why? mothers love me. i’m adorable.
stefstef: you are adorable.
rhysespieces: you’ll see. i’ll make you proud.
stefstef: xxxxx
rhysespieces: xxxx
Rhys turns up at my mother’s house on Friday wearing a shirt and tie, which is the most perfect thing that has ever happened in my life, second to kissing him. He smiles a bashful, nervous little smile when I open the door.
‘Hi!’ I say, unable to stop the word spilling from my mouth. You look great.
He beams. It’s my brother’s tie. He takes hold of the tip and looks down at it, then back at me. Is it too much?
I shake my head, grinning. No way.
‘Hi!’ Bell comes steaming down the stairs wearing her favourite purple and silver fairy costume. ‘Hi!’ She launches herself at Rhys, waving her wand up to his face.
‘Belly,’ I say, reaching for her shoulders and pulling her gently back from him.
‘Hi!’ she shouts, spinning around and hugging me.
I pick her up, rolling my eyes and smiling at Rhys, who looks slightly alarmed. Come in, I say with one hand.
‘Hiiiiiiii!’ Bell chirrups insistently.
‘Hi,’ Rhys says obediently. He smiles at her. ‘I’m Rhys.’
‘Your voice is funny,’ Bell says.
‘Bell,’ I say disapprovingly, squeezing her hip. ‘Don’t be rude.’
‘My voice sounds different because I’m deaf,’ Rhys says to her.
‘Deaf?’ Bell repeats slowly, questioningly. I hear footsteps behind me and glance round to see Mum coming out of the kitchen.
‘That means I can’t hear like you can,’ Rhys explains, tapping his left ear and then hers. ‘My ears don’t work like yours.’
‘I hope you’re not being rude, Belly,’ Mum says, coming to my side and squeezing Bell’s cheek. She turns to Rhys and smiles. ‘Hello, Rhys. I’m Joanne.’
‘Hello,’ Rhys says robustly, sticking out his hand for Mum to shake. He’s a bit too robust, actually, and he kind of knocks into her hand in an unintentional one-sided fistbump and they both let out awkward little laughs.
‘He can’t hear,’ Bell reports, jumping down from my arms and standing beside Mum, swinging her arms from side to side. ‘His ears don’t work.’
‘Belinda!’ Mum says sharply, and Bell’s eyes go wide. She only gets ‘Belinda-d’ when she’s done something really bad.
‘It’s OK,’ Rhys says. ‘She’s right; they don’t.’ He clears his throat. ‘Your home is really lovely.’
‘Well, thank you,’ Mum says. ‘Are you hungry?’ She turns to start to go into the kitchen, angling her face away from him in the process. ‘I’ve made a beef stew, so I hope you are!’
Rhys looks at me and I sign a quick translation.
‘Sounds delicious!’ he says, and we share a smile that is just for us. I take his hand and we head into the kitchen together.
By the end of the meal, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one falling in love with Rhys. Keir was won over as soon as he found out that Rhys likes video games, and we lost both of them for ten minutes while they compared stats on various games I’d never heard of. Bell learned how to fingerspell her name and sign Can I have some ice cream, please? and Rhys, in turn, learned the names of all the fish in the tank.
Mum, as ever, is harder to read.
‘Did you like him?’ I press. ‘Tell me that.’ Rhys has gone home, Bell is in bed and Keir is watching the football in the living room. Mum and I are sitting together in the kitchen, eating the remains of an apple tart straight out of the tray it was cooked in.
She smiles. ‘Of course I liked him, Steffi. He’s lovely. Very polite, very sweet. And I can tell he cares about you very much.’
‘Oh,’ I say. To be honest, I’m surprised she’s being so positive. ‘Well, good.’
‘You are going to be . . . sensible about this, aren’t you, love?’ Mum says.
I look at her suspiciously, parsing her words for trouble. ‘Sensible how?’
‘I know how exciting it is, being in love for the first time,’ she begins.
‘Oh God,’ I interrupt. ‘Let’s not. Please.’ I cast around the room for a distraction. ‘How’s Bell getting on at school?’
‘And Rhys is a very handsome, sweet young man,’ she continues.
‘Oh God.’
‘But you’re still very young. Try not to get carried away.’
‘OK, great, thanks. Got it. How’s work?’
‘Make sure you use protection.’
‘Mum!’
‘And remember there’s no shame in waiting if you’re not sure you’re ready. Waiting is good. I know how your generation is about sex—’
&nbs
p; ‘Oh, do you? How’s that, then?’
‘– But the first time is going to be a big deal for you. Even on a purely physical level.’
‘Mum!’ I’m in agony. ‘Stop.’
‘Make sure you get some practice in,’ she adds. Oh God, is that a smirk on her face? Is she enjoying this? ‘Your Aunt Louise gave me a vibrator for my sixteenth birthday – did I ever tell you that? Told me the same thing. And she was right.’
‘Are you trying to traumatize me?’ I’m trying to keep the level of shock and disgust in my voice down, but the matter-of-fact way she’s said ‘vibrator’ has cracked me up.
Mum, her face uncharacteristically open and flushed, grins at me. She seems pleased to have made me laugh. ‘Should I have got you one for your sixteenth?’
That does it. I’m laughing so hard I choke on a piece of pastry and have to spit it out into the sink.
‘Yes,’ I manage. ‘You should have. You failed the motherhood test.’
‘I’m so ashamed,’ Mum says, deadpan. She digs her spoon back into the tray. ‘Well, you’ve picked a nice boyfriend. So I can’t have done that badly.’
I smile at her. ‘He is a nice one, isn’t he?’
She nods. ‘Very nice.’
I sit back down and pick up my spoon again. I don’t think I’ve ever liked my mother quite this much.
rhysespieces: what are you doing this saturday?
stefstef: working!
rhysespieces: when till when?
stefstef: 10-4
rhysespieces: cool! want to come meet my friends? ☺
stefstef: !! really?
rhysespieces: yeah!
rhysespieces: only if you want to?
stefstef: of course!
rhysespieces: it’s my group of friends from my old school
rhysespieces: just hanging out at owen’s house. pizza. he’s got a pool table.
stefstef: cool ☺
rhysespieces: are you in?
stefstef: yeah!
rhysespieces: great! i’ll pick you up after your shift?
stefstef: are they deaf?
rhysespieces: yes, steffi, they are deaf.
stefstef: was that a bad question? are you offended?
rhysespieces: haha no!
stefstef: i’m nervous
rhysespieces: don’t be. they all want to meet you
rhysespieces: and you speak BSL! nothing to worry about ☺
stefstef: will meg be there?
rhysespieces: no – different crowd
stefstef: oh, ok
rhysespieces: they’re good guys. you’ll like them.
stefstef: will you prep me before?
rhysespieces: i’ll prep you anytime ;)
stefstef: rhhhhhhhhhhhhhys
rhysespieces: yes. i will prep you.
stefstef: i’m going to be nervous about this all week.
rhysespieces: i guess i’ll have to try and find a way to distract you then ☺
stefstef: ☺
rhysespieces: ☺
stefstef: xxx
rhysespieces: xxxx
It is, unfortunately, not an exaggeration to say I spend the next week worrying. My head has an ongoing conversation that goes something like this:
Bad brain: You know that thing on Saturday? It’s going to be a disaster.
Good brain: No, it won’t. It’ll be fine.
Bad brain: You’ll say something stupid.
Good brain: No you won’t.
Bad brain: Yeah. You will.
Good brain: OK, yeah, you will. But that’s not a disaster.
Bad brain: Yeah it is. Rhys will be like, damn, I’ve made a mistake here.
Good brain: No, he won’t.
Bad brain: Yeah. He will.
Good brain: That might happen, actually.
And so on.
By the time Saturday actually comes around, I’m sure I’ve been through every possible scenario. Twice. It’s like the multiverse theory playing out in real time in my head. All the potential outcomes I’ve already lived through. It’s almost enough to persuade me not to go.
But I have to go, because I’m someone’s girlfriend now, and with that moniker comes certain responsibilities. Responsibilities like meeting his friends and not flaking out of plans at the last minute.
Rhys turns up to meet me at the end of my shift at the kennels, all smiles, holding a single daisy between his finger and his thumb.
For you, he signs gallantly, tucking it into the front pocket of my overalls. It immediately falls out. ‘Oh,’ he says, instantly mournful.
We go back to my house so we can spend some time together and I can change. After an awkward few seconds, we agree that I will change clothes in my room while he waits in the kitchen with Rita. I can’t help but think about how one day I might undress in front of him and the thought alone makes me simultaneously terrified and giddy.
After I’ve changed he comes into my bedroom and we talk for a while. I’m sitting on the bed and he’s on the floor, Rita curled up in his lap, her head on his knee.
So what do I need to know? I ask.
He laughs. What do you mean? Nothing.
Your friends. Tell me your history and stuff. How did you meet? How long have you been friends?
Rhys considers, his fingers rubbing the scruff of Rita’s neck. A long time. Do you know about how my old school worked?
I shake my head. I know you must have gone to Ives. Right?
He nods. I guess that was obvious.
Ives Academy is the integrated school in our county that is known for accepting students of all abilities and needs. People call it a special school, but the whole point is that it’s not. You’ve got your deaf kids and your hearing kids, autistic kids and non-autistic kids, kids in wheelchairs and kids who have full mobility. And all of these kids take classes together, socialize together, share the same canteen. ‘A microcosm of society,’ the head teacher said in an interview once.
The reasonable question at this point would be, ‘So, Steffi, how come you didn’t go to this amazing school?’ and the answer is that you have to be either located within a strict radius of the school or able to demonstrate that you will ‘genuinely benefit’ from the ‘resources available’. To cut a long story short, I could not demonstrate this, and that is because I was coming to the end of primary school when I met the admissions team and was in a good place, mutism-wise. I thought I was doing just fine, and so did everyone else. And then secondary school happened and it was too late.
My parents actually considered moving me to Ives after the first disastrous year, but I refused, because I couldn’t bear the thought of not being with Tem. Swings and roundabouts, you see? Everything is a choice.
My close group of friends are all deaf, Rhys begins. The deaf kids kind of stuck together at Ives – just made things easier, you know? And most of us knew each other through our local NDCS.
NDCS?
National Deaf Children’s Society. There’s a strong local group here.
What about Meg?
Meg’s different. He pauses, then gives a rueful grin. Do you want to hear the Ives story or the Meg story?
Both!
OK, fine. Meg can hear just fine, but her parents and her sister are all deaf. So she is the only hearing person in her family, and I am the only deaf person in mine. We bonded! We’re like opposites of each other. We met at an NDCS event when we were kids and our families both thought we’d be really good for each other. And we have been. She’s great.
I bet your parents wanted you both to fall in love.
He laughs, and I know immediately that I’m right. No way. Just friends.
Does she go to Ives?
Yeah, but even though we’re best friends we didn’t hang out much at school. She has her own friends, and like I said I have mine. Ives is like its own little world. It has its own rules.
Sounds weird.
He shrugs. Most things sound weird from the outside. The corners of his eyes
crinkle. Like you and me.
I grin. You think we sound weird?
Yeah! The deaf boy and the mute girl.
‘Hey,’ I say, pointing a finger at him. ‘Look, this is me talking. Hear me roar.’
I can’t, he replies, deadpan. That’s the point.
We both start to laugh and Rita jumps to her feet, alert.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I say quickly, reaching out to her. ‘Sit, it’s OK.’ I look at Rhys, grinning. She’s not used to so much noise.
Rhys bounds towards me and tackles me on to the bed, tickling me until I shriek. He kisses me, and goosebumps prickle all over my skin. His hand strokes the side of my face, his thumb on my neck. Oh my freaking God, I am thinking. And also, There is a boy on my bed. No, There is a boy on top of me.
And then there’s a cough in the doorway and I leap away from Rhys as if he’s electrocuted me. He looks confused for a second until I smooth my hair back and smile nonchalantly. ‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Hi,’ Dad says, looking like he can’t decide whether to be amused or horrified. He attempts a smile that looks more like a suspicious grimace. ‘Hello, Rhys.’
‘Hi, Mr Brons,’ Rhys says, scrambling off the bed and then hovering awkwardly right beside it, Rita skittering at his feet.
Dad gives an odd little nod, then looks at me. ‘Keep the door open, OK?’
I flush scarlet and he hurries away before I can reply.
Rhys coughs. I look at him to see that he’s just as red as I am. Sorry. I swear my heart swells to three times its size.
Don’t be. I move across the bed on my knees and put my head against his chest, closing my eyes for a moment so I can appreciate his steadiness, his smell, the Rhysness of him. After a second I feel him set his hand gently on my hair.
When I lean back and sit up properly, we’re both smiling. He drops a kiss on to my forehead and I have to resist the urge to tell him I love him. It’s too early for that. (Right? Right.)
We don’t pick up the conversation about Ives and his friends until we’re getting into his car to drive to Owen’s house, and by then it’s too late to properly get into it.
Give me the basics, I beg as he parks outside a row of houses and turns off the engine. What do I need to know?
Rhys holds up three fingers. Lewis, Owen and Mete. All good guys. They like football. Lewis is the Mario Kart master. Plus Alyce – Owen’s girlfriend.
