I touch Rhys’s wrist and he turns back to me, halfway through the living room door. I’m going to have tea with your mum.
He spins round and throws his mother another glare, before turning back to me. You really don’t have to do that.
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘You set up the DVD.’
Rhys hesitates, looks at his mother again and shrugs reluctantly. I go into the kitchen to find his mother already pouring out water from the kettle. Either she has a super-speedy kettle or she’d been planning this.
‘How do you take your tea?’ Sandra asks me with a smile.
‘Just milk,’ I say, hovering over a kitchen stool then forcing myself to sit on it.
Sandra busies herself making the tea without speaking, and the silence hangs over us, awkward and loud.
‘Thanks,’ I say finally when she rests the cup in front of me.
‘I’m so pleased you’ve been able to help Rhys settle in,’ Sandra says, sitting on a seat opposite me. ‘It’s such a relief for me that he’s been able to make such a good friend.’
Did she emphasize good friend, or am I just being paranoid? I try to smile, but it doesn’t feel very convincing so I take a scalding gulp of tea instead.
‘Rhys says you’d like to work with animals,’ she says.
I’m so surprised I can’t even nod. They really must have talked about me if they got to the level of detail that includes my wish to work with animals.
‘I’ve been thinking about getting a dog,’ Sandra continues gamely. ‘I’d quite like a bit of company.’
‘You should adopt,’ I blurt, thrilled to have something to say. ‘I work at the kennels in town, and there are some really sweet dogs that need homes.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Sandra says. ‘Well . . .’ She stands up, and I understand that I am now allowed to leave the kitchen. What was that all about? Weird. ‘I wanted to let you know that you’re welcome here any time,’ she adds.
‘Thanks,’ I say. I swallow my tea in three sickening swallows and plonk the cup down on to the table. I inch out of the kitchen, throwing out another ‘Thank you!’ as I go.
When I go through to the living room, I see that Rhys has created a tiny fort out of cushions and blankets, closer to the screen than I’d usually sit and with a careful amount of space between what is obviously his main cushion and mine. The sofa, which takes up the length of the back of the room, has been stripped bare.
Rhys’s back is to me and he is playing with the remote, scrolling through subtitle options. I walk over to him and settle on to my side of the faux fort. He glances at me and smiles. Hi. Sorry about my mother.
That’s OK. She just wanted to say hello. I gesture around me. What’s this?
He pauses and I see anxiety sweep across his face. I thought it would be better to watch it like this. That way we can watch and talk. Is that OK?
I smile, understanding. Our cushions and TV make a kind of triangle, making it possible for us to communicate while we watch. On the sofa, it would have been more awkward, bunched up on either side. Here we have space. Great idea.
He relaxes, the familiar beam reappearing. Great. Ready to start? Oh! He raises his finger and then jumps up. Popcorn. Be right back.
Popcorn. The way he put up his finger as his face pinged like a microwave. He’s so adorable. Oh God, I think I love him.
I stand up to look around the room, stepping towards a family portrait above the fireplace. Rhys, who must be about ten or eleven in the picture, is standing between two other boys – one older, one younger – and in front of his parents. They look like the perfect family, standing all proud together. I find family portraits of nuclear families fascinating.
I decide that Rhys doesn’t look much like either his mother or his father, though he is almost identical to his older brother. They have the same grin and the same warm, slightly mischievous eyes.
I hear the sound of Rhys returning and I glance behind me to smile, hoping it won’t look weird that I’m just standing here staring at a photo of his family. You look a lot like your brother, I say.
Rhys is holding a giant bowl of popcorn, so he shrugs and smiles rather than reply, putting the bowl on the floor between our cushions and then coming to stand beside me.
Aled’s at university, he explains now his hands are free. I nod, remembering that he told me that a couple of weeks ago. Edinburgh. Pharmacy, like my dad.
Your dad’s a pharmacist?
He nods. Mum is too. That’s how they met.
Your dad is from Guyana, right? I have to fingerspell Guyana and I get it wrong, adding in at least one extra A, feeling my face warm.
But he smiles, patient, and fingerspells it correctly for me. Yes.
Have you ever been there?