Chapter 31: Before

BEFORE

When Hannah awoke the next day it was slowly, painfully, crawling up from dark dreams of being chased and hunted down and beaten. As she came back to consciousness, she became aware that the aching muscles and bruised bones were not part of the dream but real. She was still fully clothed under the covers, and she could feel the crusted blood on the inside of her thigh, and the pull of the denim where it had dried into the cut. There were grazes on her cheekbones and chin where her face had been ground into the gravel, and every joint seemed to have seized up overnight.

For a long time she simply lay there, blinking and trying to come to terms with what had happened and what she could do about it, but then she became aware of something else: the unmistakable sounds of sex coming from April’s room.

All of a sudden Hannah knew that she couldn’t stay there, listening, wondering if it was going to be Will, bruised lips in a sheepish grin, sidling out of Hannah’s doorway, or someone completely different slipping out unseen. She didn’t want to know. Either possibility was unbearable.

Instead, she grabbed her towel and a change of clothes and headed out of the flat down to the landing where the bathroom was.

Beneath the hot water, the cuts and abrasions were even more painful, the bruises on her skin even more clearly delineated. She had to do something. She had to say something. It didn’t matter, surely, that she had been climbing a wall. She wasn’t trespassing—she was a member of the college, who didn’t deserve to be assaulted.

But who could she tell? Obviously not the other porters—though they were supposed to be the first resort for immediate security threats. And not the Master. Hannah had never met him, but she had seen him at the top table at formal dinners and attended his address at the beginning of term, and she couldn’t imagine going to such an austere, remote figure with a problem like this.

Which left… Dr. Myers…? She couldn’t think who else she could approach.

For a while, she stood under the stream of hot water considering the problem, trying to imagine bringing it up with Dr. Myers, trying out the words in her head. He assaulted me? No, that wasn’t quite right. That sounded more… sexual than she wanted it to, though the memory of Neville’s crotch pressing into her backside was still uneasily vivid in her mind.

He tackled me. That was closer to the mark. But did it sum up the seriousness of what had happened? Did it convey the real fear she had experienced, feeling Neville’s crushing weight on hers, his arm on the back of her neck, his body pinning her to the gravel as he ground her face into the dirt?

He hurt me.

No. That had the pathetic ring of a child in a playground scrap, even though it was true.

At last, Hannah gave up and turned off the tap, toweling herself gingerly, trying not to open up the partially healed scrapes and grazes from last night. She got dressed and then stood, uncertainly, her towel and pajamas in one hand, her wash bag in the other.

What she should do—the logical thing to do—was go back up to her room and drop off her things before heading to breakfast. But she couldn’t face it. April’s visitor might still be there and Hannah wasn’t sure which would be more awkward, confronting April in a potential betrayal of Will, or bursting in on their makeup sex and having to deal with Will’s concern and pity over her bruised face.

Neither appealed—at least not before coffee.

Instead, Hannah rolled her pajamas up inside her damp towel, tucked it under her arm, and headed down the stairs to the hall, and breakfast.

She heard Emily’s voice before she saw her, waving an arm from the other side of the hall and pointing to an empty place on the bench beside her. Taking a deep breath, Hannah waved a hand back, and then began to edge her tray of coffee and cheese on toast through the breakfasting students.

When she got to the table she was half fearing Emily’s reaction, but Emily was busy talking to Hugh, sitting opposite, and didn’t seem to clock the bruises on Hannah’s face. Feeling an odd sense of relief, Hannah slid into the free space with her head down and said nothing as she began to eat.

“Well,” Hugh said at last, pushing away an untouched slice of toast and standing up, “I’d better get going. I’ve got my first exam at two and I haven’t done nearly enough prep.” He looked almost sick with nerves, and Hannah found herself wondering, vaguely, why he had allowed himself to be talked into attending April’s play the night before his prelims when he was clearly so worried. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Hannah said, and smiled encouragingly at him. As she did so, her face caught the light filtering through the high leaded windows, and Hugh stopped. He put his tray back on the table and adjusted his glasses with a frown.

“Hannah, what happened to your cheek?”

“What… oh.” She touched her fingers to the graze on her cheekbone and gave a self-conscious laugh. “Is it that bad?”

“Hannah?” Emily said. She leaned forward, drawing back the curtain of Hannah’s hair with one finger, and then her expression changed. “Whoa, did you fall off that wall?”

“No,” Hannah said. She felt a sudden wash of self-consciousness and something else… something closer to guilt, though she could not have said why. She twitched her hair out of Emily’s hand, letting it fall back over her cheek. “Not exactly. I got… well, someone caught me.”

“Someone caught you?” Hugh was frowning. “Doing what?”

“I climbed over the wall and, well—” She stopped, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone else was listening. Why did she feel so ashamed of what had happened? “One of the porters… kind of… tackled me.” She gave a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “I’m quite sore this morning. Makes me feel like maybe the rugby players earn those stupid blues after all.”

“One of the porters?” Emily said in a hard voice, ignoring Hannah’s attempts at diversion. “Hannah, which porter are we talking about? Not—?”

Hannah said nothing, but she nodded, and Emily’s face changed.

“Jesus Christ. What did he say? Have you reported this?”

“Not yet,” Hannah said. She kept her voice low, horribly conscious of Emily’s ringing indignation. “He didn’t say anything—I didn’t wait around to talk. Someone turned up and I ran off.”

“Oh my God.” Emily stood up, as if her anger was too much to be contained while still seated. “Hannah—this is. I don’t know what to say. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I felt—” Hannah stopped, she swallowed. “I felt—I didn’t—”

But Emily was shaking her head, and Hannah knew that she didn’t have to finish the sentence, that somehow Emily, like all women who’d ever been alone and afraid at night, understood the strange mix of guilt, disgust, and self-hatred she was experiencing, and knew exactly how she was feeling.

Hugh’s face, by contrast, was a mixture of alarmed and bewildered, and he looked first at Emily, then Hannah, then back at Emily as if seeking guidance.

“What—I mean, gosh. Do you—can we do something?” he forced out at last. His cheeks were flushed, though Hannah was not sure if it was with anger or embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, Hugh,” Emily said grimly. “I’ve got this. You get to your exam. Hannah, we’re going to report this.”

“I will,” Hannah said firmly, trying to claw back some control over the situation. But Emily shook her head.

“Not I will; do it now, while you’ve still got the bruises, while they can’t shake this off. We’ll go to the Master.”

“No.” Hannah’s voice was sharp, and now people really were looking. She lowered it, forcing herself to speak more calmly. “No, honestly, I think that’s too drastic. I was thinking about it in the shower this morning. I want to take it to Dr. Myers. He’s my professor and it says in the handbook that he’s first port of call for any pastoral issues.”

“Dr. Myers?” Emily looked doubtful. “Isn’t he that creepy one? The guy who’s always inviting students up to his room?”

“He’s had a couple of parties,” Hannah said wearily. “April and I went to one. It wasn’t exactly Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“Okay. So we’ll go to him. Ready?”

Hannah opened her mouth, and then stopped.

She wasn’t ready. She probably wouldn’t ever be ready. But she could see that Emily wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

“He’s with someone,” Hannah whispered. “We should come back.”

But before Emily could answer, the door opened, and a girl Hannah recognized from Dr. Myers’s party came out, swishing her long dark hair over one shoulder as she passed them in the hall.

“Have a good break, Dr. M,” she said over her shoulder.

“Au revoir, Rubye,” Dr. Myers called after her. “Until next year. Ah, Hannah,” he said in slight surprise. “We don’t have a tutorial this week due to exams—had you forgotten?”

“No,” Hannah said reluctantly. “I hadn’t forgotten. And if now isn’t a good time—”

“Hannah wanted to speak to you about something,” Emily cut in. “Something important. Do you have ten minutes, Dr. Myers?”

“Ten minutes?” Dr. Myers looked at his watch, and then nodded. “Yes, ten minutes I can do. Come in.”

He stood back, and Hannah and Emily edged past him into the little office. The blinds were drawn against the summer sun, casting the room into pools of light and shadow. Hannah perched, rather nervously, on the edge of the chair she used in tutorials, letting her hair fall around her face, while Emily took the armchair in the corner and folded her arms with a grim expression.

“What can I help you with, Hannah?” Dr. Myers said pleasantly. Hannah felt a flutter in her gut at the thought of what she might be about to set in motion, but then steeled herself. John Neville had gone too far this time. She had to say something.

“It’s about one of the porters,” she said. Her throat was dry and she swallowed, wishing she’d had something to drink at breakfast other than strong coffee. “John Neville. He’s the very tall one.”

“Yes, I know Mr. Neville,” Dr. Myers said, frowning, as if he didn’t understand quite where all this was leading.

“He caught me last night climbing over the wall behind Cloade’s,” Hannah said. Her heart was beating fast. “And he—well, he rugby-tackled me. To the ground. He—” She swallowed again. It felt like something was blocking her throat, making it hard to breathe. “He threw himself on top of me. I couldn’t move. It was—” She stopped, unable to think how to go on. “It was—” she managed again, and then shut her eyes.

“Hannah’s hurt, Dr. Myers,” Emily broke in furiously. “Look at her face. It was totally disproportionate. And it’s part of a pattern of really threatening behavior towards Hannah and—”

“Ladies, hold up, hold up,” Dr. Myers said, raising a hand. “What’s this about your face, Hannah?”

Reluctantly, Hannah pulled back the curtain of hair shielding her bruised cheek and leaned forward, into the pool of sunlight. Dr. Myers looked at the marks in silence for a few moments and then folded his arms.

“I see. Run me through what happened step-by-step, Hannah. You were climbing over the wall? Why were you climbing over the wall?”

“I didn’t—” Hannah started, and then stopped. She had been going to say, I didn’t want Neville to see me going through the lodge, but now she was worried that would sound like she had a preexisting grudge against Neville. “It was a shortcut,” she finished, rather lamely. “The Cloade gate was shut.”

“Very well, so you climbed the wall, and what happened next?”

“I was climbing down the other side, and I felt someone grab my ankle.”

“Someone? You didn’t know it was Neville at first?”

“No, I didn’t know it was him at first—it was dark—and I was scared, so I kicked out, and ran away.”

“And he ran after you?”

“Yes, he called out something like stop, or stop, trespasser. I can’t remember.”

“Very well, and then what happened?”

“He caught up with me by the cloisters,” Hannah said. The words felt thick in her mouth. She heard again Neville’s pounding footsteps behind her, the whiplash sensation as he grabbed her collar, jerking her back. “He grabbed my coat and then tripped me and I fell, and he threw himself on top of me. He had his arm across the back of my neck. I couldn’t—” Her breath was coming fast, her heart was knocking in her ears. “I couldn’t breathe. I started to see stars.”

“And then?”

“And then someone else came along and said something like, what’s going on, and he stood up, and I—I just ran. I was so scared.”

“But you saw it was him?”

“When he tripped me, yes. I knew it was him.” Her voice was shaking now. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I’m absolutely certain it was him, I recognized his voice and his—” She stopped. She couldn’t bring herself to say his smell. It implied a level of intimacy she wished she didn’t have. “And th-there was someone else there,” she said instead, stumbling over the words. “A man. I think it was a member of college staff. Whoever it was spoke to Neville—he’ll corroborate my story, confirm it definitely was Neville who tackled me. And it’s not just my face, look.” She stood up, yanking at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up to show her torso, the scarlet scrapes, fast darkening into blotched purple bruises. “Look, I’m not making this up.”

Behind her Hannah heard Emily suck in her breath at the sight of her battered ribs, and she let the T-shirt drop and sat back down, her cheeks flaming.

“Well look, let me say first and foremost I’m absolutely not trying to cast doubt on what you experienced,” Dr. Myers said slowly. He stood up too, pacing to the window as if trying to give himself time to consider his response. “It sounds… well, deeply unpleasant and I’m not at all surprised you’re shaken up by it. But I’m just trying to understand the sequence of events from Neville’s perspective—you say yourself that you didn’t realize it was Neville until he tackled you?”

“And?” Hannah said angrily. She took a shaky breath, realizing that her voice had become shriller and more accusatory than she meant it to be. “No,” she said, more evenly. “No, that’s correct, I didn’t.”

“So it’s very likely that Neville didn’t recognize you either. He simply saw someone breaking into the college and—quite properly—asked them to stop, and then pursued them when they didn’t.”

“Dr. Myers, did you see those bruises?” Emily said, standing up in her turn. Her voice was calm, but dangerously so, and Hannah could tell she was only just keeping her temper in check. “And have you seen Hannah’s face? He didn’t just pursue her, he leaped on top of a defenseless female student and ground her face into the dirt until she couldn’t speak, and more to the point this isn’t the first time that he’s targeted Hannah, in fact—”

“Well, that’s just it,” Dr. Myers broke in. “That’s what I’m trying to understand here. Because obviously if you’re saying, Ms.…?”

“Emily Lippman,” Emily said shortly.

“Ms. Lippman, that this is part of a pattern of inappropriate behavior, that’s quite a serious allegation, but I can’t see how this fits with that. From Hannah’s own admission it was a very dark night and she didn’t recognize Neville until he was actually tackling her. I’m not sure, under those circumstances, how Neville was supposed to have been targeting Hannah specifically. As far as I can see he just tackled a supposed intruder—maybe a little harder than necessary, but…”

“He broke into my room,” Hannah said. Her heart was thumping. “He came into my room while I was out—”

“And did anything inappropriate happen while he was there?”

“Fuck inappropriate, he shouldn’t have been in a goddamn student’s room in the first place!” Emily shouted.

Dr. Myers’s face changed at that. He held up a hand.

“Ms. Lippman, I’m sorry, I’m going to have to request that you lower your voice and if you swear at me again, I will be asking you to leave this office. It’s Hannah’s account I would like to hear. Hannah, did anything happen? When he came to your room?”

“He said he had a parcel,” Hannah said. Her throat was dry and she looked away from Dr. Myers now, out of the window. Her eyes were prickling again and she blinked hard, trying to squeeze back the tears that were threatening to fall. She would not, she would not cry in front of Dr. Myers. “He wouldn’t give it to me when I asked.”

“And did he have a parcel?”

Hannah said nothing. She shut her eyes and nodded.

“Well,” Dr. Myers said, in a slightly brisker, I’m sympathetic but this interview is coming to a close tone. “I’m very sorry you’ve had what was clearly a very unpleasant experience, but can I suggest that in the meantime you refrain from climbing over college walls and enter in the appropriate way like everyone else. Now, I’ll speak to Mr. Neville about this—”

“What?” Hannah broke in, horrified. “No! Please, no, don’t tell him I told you all this.”

“Well, I can’t address these—these allegations, without hearing Mr. Neville’s account of what happened,” Dr. Myers said. His expression was exasperated now, the sympathy receding further, and he paced to the window, turning his back on them both, before returning to the desk to perch on the corner, one thigh hooked over the edge, smiling with what was clearly an effort at being conspicuously understanding.

“Look, Hannah, the bottom line is, I can take this further if you would like me to. But not without talking to Mr. Neville to hear his version of events. Which is it to be?”

Hannah looked at Emily. She had her arms folded across her chest, plainly only just containing her fury, but didn’t speak, only raised her shoulders in a tight this is your decision kind of way.

Shit.

Dr. Myers consulted his watch. He did not make a pretense of hiding it.

“Can I think about it?” Hannah asked. Her voice sounded small and uncertain in her own ears. It did not sound like the voice of someone making a credible accusation.

“Certainly.” Dr. Myers stood up again, all warmth and bonhomie now. “Take your time.” He moved to the door, plainly signaling that the interview was over. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have to prepare for my ten o’clock. I’ll look forward to seeing you for our final tutorial next week, Hannah? Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Lippman.”

But as they filed out into the corridor Hannah knew, with a depressing certainty, that one thing was sure. She would not be back to Dr. Myers’s tutorial next week. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she could ever face him again.