‘I’m so glad you called,’ I said, flinching as yet another strobe of lightning flickered beyond the open window.
‘Is it still bad outside?’
I looked at the rain teeming down like bullets from artillery fire.
‘Yes, it’s wild here. And the lightning still hasn’t passed.’
‘On a scale of “slightly bothered” to “really terrified”, where are you right now?’
‘Is there a “paralysed with fear” option?’
The terror must have still been there in my voice, because I heard the rustle of bedcovers, as though they’d been hastily tossed aside.
‘Just hang tight. I can be there in about twenty minutes.’
‘What?’ I said, and I knew I must have been feeling better when my first thought was of my sweaty body and perspiration-drenched hair. ‘No. You don’t need to do that. The roads will be treacherous in this rain.’
‘That’s not important,’ he said, and I heard the sound of a zip being hastily pulled up. A totally different kind of heat flooded into my cheeks, because I knew it belonged to his trousers.
‘Honestly, Rhys, please stay where you are. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you on the road because you were on your way to me.’
There was a jingle that I guessed was probably his car keys, and I found myself holding my breath for what felt like an eternity before they clattered back down.
‘Are you absolutely sure, Ellie? I hate the thought of you being there all alone and terrified.’
For just a second or two I wondered if some of the reason he’d offered to come over was because he too was scared. But that idea couldn’t find a foothold. I truly couldn’t imagine Rhys being frightened of anything.
‘I can’t have you racing over to comfort me every time there’s thunder and lightning or it rains. We live in the UK. You’d be dashing over every five minutes.’
I could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Well, I didn’t say I’d do it every time.’
My lips curved in response and then I heard the sound of the zip again, this time being tugged back down. That took the grin from my face and made swallowing suddenly difficult.
‘Will you stay on the line though, for just a minute or two longer?’ I asked, wincing at another roll of thunder.
‘Of course I will,’ he said, and although I couldn’t hear it, I imagined the sound of bed springs taking his weight as he lay back down.
‘So, what do you want to chat about?’ he asked, before adding on a lighter note, ‘Now that the good old English standby of the weather is off the menu.’
I laughed nervously. Rhys’s ability to defuse what had been an explosion of fear within me was nothing short of miraculous. On one level I knew I could probably tell him that I’d unbelievably forgotten the death of my only living relative, and he wouldn’t judge me. But it still felt too soon, too raw to share that confession with anyone. Even him.
‘I don’t know. Anything. What did you do today? What did you have for dinner? What kind of music do you like?’
‘I designed a book jacket. Spaghetti carbonara. And country.’
‘I’m going to need more background on answers one and three. The spaghetti one we can ignore.’
‘Ah, but that’s the one worth talking about. It’s my signature dish. I’ll have to make it for you sometime.’
‘I’d like that.’
Friends could cook for each other, couldn’t they? That wasn’t stepping over any line, was it? My conscience must have been feeling kindly towards me following the panic attack, because it offered no argument.
We talked for hours, long after the storm had passed and the rain had died down to a very non-terrifying drizzle. Rhys’s voice had soothed and relaxed me like a fine wine flowing through my veins. At some point I’d lain back down on the bed, curling onto my side, with the phone now off speaker and nestled against my ear, because it felt more intimate to hear his voice that way. My eyes were growing heavy, and it was getting harder to disguise the yawns that were punctuating my side of the conversation. But Rhys never said he was tired or that he wanted to hang up. I think he was regaling me with a story about a trip to Alaska that he’d taken in his twenties when my eyes eventually fluttered to a close.
I don’t remember drifting off to sleep and have no idea how long he kept talking to me after I’d fallen silent. But when I woke up in the morning, my mobile was still in my hand and sunlight was streaming in through the open windows. I Iooked down at the phone screen. There was a new message that I clicked on even before I lifted my head off the pillow.
Goodnight. Sweet dreams. R