Chapter 15: Before

BEFORE

“Oh, Hannah,” Dr. Myers said, as Hannah closed her folder and stood up, ready to leave at the end of their session. “Could you stay back for a moment? Miles, you’re free to go.”

Hannah’s tutorial partner nodded and left, leaving Hannah standing slightly awkwardly, wondering what Dr. Myers was about to tell her. Had she slipped up? He had seemed pleased with her essay this time, but the same couldn’t be said for some of her earlier efforts. It was a moment before she realized Dr. Myers was talking—and she wasn’t paying attention.

“… little drinks party,” he was saying. “I always have one at the end of every term. I invite a few particularly promising students along—we make connections—it’s rather fun.”

Hannah stood, holding her breath, not wanting to make an assumption that might swiftly be shot down. Particularly promising students. Was he really talking about her? But surely he wouldn’t have mentioned the drinks party if he didn’t intend to invite her?

“It’s this Friday,” he said. “Very informal—just a glass of sherry in my rooms. At least you won’t have any trouble finding it!”

Hannah gave a laugh, and then, lacking anything else to say, said, “Thank you. So much. I mean—yes, I’d love to come.”

“Wonderful. Eight p.m.”

“Can I bring anything?”

“No, just yourself.”

Outside, in the corridor, she leaned against the wall, feeling a smile spreading across her face. Particularly promising. Could it really be true?

The big question, of course, was what to wear. Very informal, Dr. Myers had said, which was the worst kind of invitation. At least with the ones that said “white tie” or “academic gowns,” you knew where you stood. Very informal could mean anything from party dresses to jeans.

“Jeans,” April said decisively when Hannah asked her advice, “and a pleated poplin camisole, very high at the neck, no sleeves, single pearl button fastener behind. Business at the front, party in the back.”

“Yes,” Hannah said impatiently, “but I don’t have a—” What was it? A pleated something something? “A top like that. Friday is two days away. I haven’t got the time to go shopping.” Or the money, she thought but did not say. Such considerations didn’t weigh with April.

“You may not have one,” April said, “but I have. Come through here.”

Hannah had not been into April’s bedroom for several weeks—with a joint sitting area, they didn’t need to go into each other’s rooms to socialize, and since Will was a frequent visitor, Hannah was always half-afraid of what she might find if she knocked.

Now, she was amazed afresh not just at the difference between April’s room and her own—a difference which had seeped out into the living room, where the boring, regulation university furniture was slowly being replaced or supplemented by April’s own luxuriously expensive taste—but by the mess. There were clothes everywhere: Designer garments piled up in corners. Beaded tops slung over lamps. Jimmy Choos hanging casually by a strap from a desk chair. But not just clothes. Half-drunk cups of coffee languished on the windowsill, sporting an extravagant coating of mold. Books were scattered like splay-winged birds. An open bottle of pills spilled across the nightstand. A half-eaten doughnut leached grease into a pile of essays, and a makeup palette lay burst open on the rug, colored powder ground into the carpet pile.

In one corner a lamp burned, low and golden, and April clutched her head.

“Oh shit, every time I come in here I’m shocked at how awful it is. I wish I could pay Sue to sort it, but she’s such a bitch.”

“She’s not a bitch,” Hannah said reflexively, “she’s just busy,” but she was eyeing the chaos and silently agreeing that it was going to take more than April to sort this out. There were weeks of mess here, and university rules stated that they had to clear their rooms for the Christmas break. “How do you find anything?”

“Well at any rate, I know where the camisole is. I tried it on but it’s too big for me so you might as well take it.”

She picked her way through the mess to the far corner, near a long gilt-edge mirror that looked like an antique, and began rooting through a pile of clothes there.

“Aha!” Her voice was triumphant as she held up a crisp, starched top in old ivory. “Here it is. It’ll be perfect. Try it on. Go on!”

She made no move to turn around or give Hannah her privacy, so after a slightly awkward pause, Hannah turned her back and stripped off the T-shirt she was wearing, sliding the camisole over her head.

Then she turned around.

“So?”

She could tell at once, even without looking in the mirror, that April was right—the top suited her. April’s expression told her that. She clapped her hands together and spun Hannah around so that she could do up the single mother-of-pearl button at the back of Hannah’s neck.

“Oh, that is perfect,” April breathed, reverentially and seriously. She turned Hannah around again, facing the mirror. “Bend over?”

Hannah bent, obediently, and April tutted.

“Well you can’t wear a bra. The whole point of that top is the back; look, when you stand straight it’s totally demure.” She demonstrated, holding up a hand mirror so that Hannah could see behind herself. “And when you bend or twist…” Hannah did so, seeing the sliver of creamy spine that immediately showed between the pleats. It was indeed completely spoiled by her very basic supermarket bra showing through the gap. “But you don’t need a bra, oh, you’re going to look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said, rather awkwardly. “And—I mean, should I dry-clean it before I return it? Wash it?”

“I told you.” April sounded impatient. “It’s yours.”

“But April—” Hannah plucked at the tag still dangling from an inner seam. “I can’t take this—it’s brand-new. If I don’t cut the tags you could return it, and—” Her eyes alighted on the price. “Jesus Christ! April, this was eight hundred quid!”

“I’m not going to return it,” April said carelessly. “So if you don’t take it, it’s just going to rot in the corner there.”

She stood back, appraising Hannah seriously, and then said, “The jeans are fine, but you need proper shoes. Have you got any heels?”

Hannah nodded, and went through to her own room to find the pair of black Dolcis heels her mum had bought her for formal events and interviews just before term started. When she returned wearing them, April made a face of barely concealed disgust.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but those shoes are an insult to that top. What size are you?”

“Six,” Hannah said. She knew her expression must look mutinous. The shoes were basic, but they looked totally inoffensive to her eye. And so what if she couldn’t afford April’s designer sandals? Not everyone was the heir to a city fortune.

But April wasn’t paying her any attention, she was too busy rooting through a tangle of shoes in the bottom of her wardrobe. Two pairs of Louboutins flew past Hannah’s knees, followed by a single Jimmy Choo sandal. And then April straightened, holding a pair of deep green Manolo Blahniks. They were crocodile embossed leather, open-toed, and about three inches higher than Hannah’s usual style.

“There. These are a loan, by the way, they’re one of my favorite pairs. But don’t worry about scuffs, I’ve worn them outside already.”

Done protesting, Hannah slipped her feet into the shoes. They were extremely high, and for a moment she teetered, but then she caught her balance and stood, looking at herself in the mirror. Behind her, April pulled Hannah’s hair out of its clip and shook it loose over her shoulders. A different person looked back at Hannah from the mirror. Taller. More confident. Rocking her designer top and shoes like she was born to it. The shoes picked out the green in her eyes, and the ivory set off her pale skin and dark hair. She looked like she was beautiful. She looked like she was one of April’s friends.

“There,” April said, her face so close to Hannah’s that Hannah could feel her breath on her ear. “You look majestic.”

---

IT WAS JUST A COUPLEof days later that Hannah found herself putting the poplin top back on, braless this time, and making up her eyes with smoky eyeshadow and liner. Finally, she put on a swipe of dark red lipstick—but she knew as soon as she’d done it that it was a mistake; it made her mouth look comically huge and with the dramatic eyes, the effect was clownishly overdone. Instead, she wiped it off with a tissue, leaving a faint flush that somehow made her mouth look as if she had just been roughly kissed. That unaccustomed stranger from the other day stared back at her from the little mirror above her desk.

“April,” she called, picking her way carefully out into the living room. “What do you think?”

There was the rattle of a door handle, and April appeared in the doorway to her room. She was wearing makeup herself, pale face and scarlet lips, and a devastatingly simple black silk sheath that showed the hollows of her collarbones and the lines of her white throat and made her golden hair glow like it was electrified.

“Perfect,” she said, smiling broadly. “You look a million dollars.”

“I ought to,” Hannah said ruefully. She looked down at the shoes. “I’d better not ask how much these cost or I’ll be terrified of snapping a heel. Are you going out?”

“I am,” April said, and her smile turned wicked. “But not far. I’m coming with you.”

Hannah felt her insides turn over.

“Oh… April, I’m so sorry—it’s a party for his students. And not all of them—he didn’t invite Miles even. I’m sorry, I feel really bad. I should have explained.”

“You did,” April said. She knelt down beside the minifridge in the corner of the room, where Hannah kept the milk for her morning coffee, and pulled out a bottle of Dom Pérignon. “But I don’t care. I’m coming. Oh, don’t worry,” she added, as Hannah began to protest. “I’ll make it clear you didn’t invite me. But gatecrashing is my very favorite occupation.”

She straightened, tucking the bottle under her arm.

“Anyway. Dr. Myers is rather dishy. I’m not letting you have him all to yourself.”

For a long moment Hannah just stood, looking at April in helpless exasperation, unsure whether to be angry or push back—and then she caved.

“Fine. I guess I can’t stop you. But don’t follow me in, or it’ll look like I invited you.”

“Fine,” April shot back. “In fact, you know what, I’ll lead the way.”

And before Hannah could stop her, she opened the door to the set, stalked across the hallway, and rapped loudly on Dr. Myers’s door.

The door opened and the sound of chamber music carried across the hall on a wave of student laughter, followed by Dr. Myers’s voice, full of welcome and bonhomie.

“Hello!” And then, slightly puzzled, “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

“Hi.” There was no embarrassment in April’s voice, and peering through the crack in the door, her face flushed with preemptive mortification, Hannah saw her stick out a hand and lean confidentially in towards Dr. Myers. “I’m your neighbor, April. I heard a rumor that your end-of-term drinks parties were the hottest ticket in Pelham, but my friend…”—she paused just long enough to make Hannah nervous—“Joanne told me that I would never get in, because I wasn’t clever enough. She bet me a bottle of champagne that I wouldn’t get past the door, but I thought perhaps I could persuade you to drink the winnings…?”

She held out the bottle of Dom Pérignon and trailed off, smiling up at Dr. Myers, her expression an intoxicating mix of pleading, adoration, and just a tiny little touch of flirtation.

“Well.” Hannah heard Dr. Myers’s voice take on an amused quality, and she saw him look April up and down, taking in the willowy limbs, the slim fragile neck, the expensive sheath dress with—Hannah strongly suspected—no underwear beneath. Finally his eyes alighted on the champagne. “Dom Pérignon Oenothèque. Well, well, well. We can’t have Joanne furthering the reputation of this college as an elitist establishment, can we?”

The door opened slightly farther and Dr. Myers stood back.

April gave a dazzling smile and stepped forward into his rooms, but as she did she turned, momentarily, and Hannah saw her give the smallest of winks over her bare shoulder. And then she disappeared and the door closed behind her.