I reach up and kiss him on the cheek. He beams. I’m really happy, I tell him.
The hotel is on the corner of an old street. There are at least three pubs in sight of our window and about six within a minute’s walk. When we check in, the woman at the reception desk barely blinks at my silence and Rhys’s unusual voice, as if she’s used to seeing young couples with communication difficulties checking in alone. She talks normally, not raising her voice or making exaggerated hand gestures. When she hands Rhys our key, my heart jumps. I think part of me had expected her to tell us we were too young to book a hotel room. Too young to . . . be in a hotel room together.
Anyway. We’re here.
Rhys collapses on to the bed and lets out a happy groan, rolling on to his back like a cat. I’m filled with a sudden, ridiculous shyness and I hang back by the window, the warm metal of the radiator against my skin. Rhys and I have been alone together lots of times, of course, but there’s always been someone on the other side of the door or waiting for one of us to get home. Now it really is just us. Us and a bed.
Rhys sits up a little and looks at me, a small smile on his face. Is he nervous too? Do boys get nervous about stuff like this?
Are you OK?
I nod, but I feel how hesitant it is and know there’s no hiding it from him. I push myself away from the radiator with both hands and walk towards the bed, climbing up on to it beside him. The mattress and quilt sinks under my knees.
He takes my hands and squeezes, nudging his nose against mine. He is saying, It’s OK. It’s us. It’s you and me. He doesn’t need to sign or say this for me to know that it’s what he means. Maybe that sounds strange to people who use speech as naturally as breathing. Or maybe everyone has a silent language with the person they love. Either way, I relax. I nudge his nose right back.
When we kiss, it’s gentle at first. He’s half sitting, half lying and I’m sitting sideways on my right thigh. Only our faces touch and it’s almost tentative, like we’re doing it for the first time. His fingers graze my arm and land on my jaw. I can feel his thumb begin to trace circles on my neck and a shot of something hot and surprising whizzes through my entire body. It’s me that opens my mouth first as we kiss and when his tongue touches mine I feel as if I’ve been set on fire.
In a very, very good way.
Rhys pulls me down beside him and slides his hand to my waist, his other still on my face. We are on a bed, I’m thinking. We are on a bed! I’m also thinking, This didn’t take us long, and Oh my God oh my God oh my God and I need to pee. Shut up, no you don’t. Be in the moment.
A rumble comes from somewhere between us and for a second I’m confused, before realizing it came from one of our stomachs. It must be mine, because he hasn’t reacted, and if it was his own rumble he’d have noticed it, right? So now I need to pee and I want to eat. Way to be passionate, Brons. And suddenly I’m laughing, slightly hysterical with panic and – yes – lust, and I break away from the kiss. Sorry. I try to calm down. Sorry!
What’s wrong? he asks, looking worried. Did I . . . ?
No, it’s me, I flail. My stomach.
Your stomach? He looks at me incredulously for a second, then starts to laugh. Your stomach, he repeats, then properly cracks up. He pulls me towards him and bear hugs me into the bed, grizzling against my neck, and by then I’m laughing so hard I really might pee there and then. I disentangle myself, punctuating my withdrawal with kisses, and go to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I take a second to look at my reflection; my hair is wild around my face, my eyes shiny and happy. My mascara has smudged slightly around my eyes, but I’m not sure if this happened on the coach or on the bed. This is the face of a girl on a city break with her boyfriend, I think, and I beam at myself.
When I go back into the bedroom, Rhys is sitting cross-legged on the bed with a map spread out in front of him. Shall we go somewhere for dinner? he asks. The hotel has a restaurant, but it doesn’t look that great.
OK. Where? I’m not quite sure whether he means right now or later. If he wants me to come back to the bed so we can . . . you know. Pick up where we left off. That’s probably what I’m meant to do, right?
Pizza? His expression is hopeful. I’m really hungry too. Shall we go now?
My stomach lets out another happy rumble and I smile. Pizza.
By the time we get back to the hotel after dinner – Pizza Hut, because who needs luxury when you’ve got pizza? – I am fuzzy with happiness and sleep. So far, Edinburgh – lit up in the darkness and somehow even more beautiful – is everything I’d hoped it would be. We walk hand in hand in silence and it feels so nice I want to sink into the moment and stay there forever.
In the room, Rhys showers while I change into my pyjamas. I’m so nervous I get under the covers and huddle there until he comes out. When he does, he is wearing nothing but a towel and still glistening with water droplets. Oh, hello. Hello.