Chapter 35: Before

BEFORE

“She’s coming,” Hannah said to Ryan, looking up from her mobile phone. As promised, Hugh, stationed in a room above the Porters’ Lodge, had texted her when the group of actors came in through the main gate. “They’ll be here in five. Someone turn off the music.”

Where are you????she texted to Emily as the lights dimmed.

There was a kerfuffle behind the bar and, in the nick of time, the sound of Beck’s Odelay got muted and everyone went silent, or as close to silent as a room of fairly drunk students could pass for. “Turn the bloody lights back on!” someone grumbled from the far side, but the barman shook his head good-naturedly.

“Ah, give ’em a break, it’s only five minutes, mate.”

They crouched there in a greenish darkness, lit only by the illumination from the fridges behind the bar and the glow from the emergency exit signs. There was a momentary squeak of excitement as the main door creaked open, but it was swiftly quelled by Hugh’s voice whispering, “It’s only me, they’re right behind me,” as he slipped in beside Hannah, behind a table.

The silence was thick with tension, and when Hannah’s phone beeped, there was a gust of nervy laughter. Getting it out of her pocket was awkward, given her crouched position, but she knew it was probably Emily, hopefully on her way but running late.

It was Emily. But she wasn’t running late.

Sorry. Work.

Hannah stared down at it, half-shocked, half-furious. Sorry. Work. was all Emily could manage? The exams were over. April was supposed to be her friend. But there was no time to compose a response. The door to the bar was swinging open once again, wide this time, letting in a gust of summer night air, and Hannah heard April’s distinctively carrying tones.

“… and I said to him, that’s a bloody joke and a half, and I’m not having it. Hey, what’s happened to the lights?”

“Surprise!” The shouts rang out across the room, and the lights came up. The little group of cast members were standing just inside the door in full costume, looking appropriately stunned. April was squealing and putting her hands to her face in a very good impression of someone who had no idea this was happening, even though, as Hannah knew full well, she had helped direct everything from the guest list down to the exact proportions of the signature Medea cocktail.

“Oh my God!” she was saying, hugging person after person, wiping away what Hannah was pretty sure were nonexistent tears. “You guys! You didn’t! I can’t believe you did all this.”

“Congratulations, April,” Hannah said. “You were amazing, all of you.” She walked across and gave April a hug, feeling the unfamiliar roughness of April’s wig against her cheek, and very much hoping that the terra-cotta makeup wasn’t coming off on her top. “But especially you,” she whispered.

“Bloody well done you, putting all this together,” April whispered back. Then she pulled away and did a twirl, her toga fanning out as she did. “Like the getup?”

“Very much! I wasn’t expecting you to be in full costume, though. What brought this on?”

“Well, it was already half nine when the curtain came down. I thought no point in wasting more time when we could be drinking. Luis and Clem brought a change of clothes in a bag. I don’t know about Rollie or Jo.”

“Do you want to go up and change?” Hannah asked. “We can hold off on the speeches until you get back.”

“There are speeches?” April said in mock horror, and Hannah grinned.

“I’m joking.”

“No, bring it on! I want all the glory. But no, don’t worry, I’ll go up in a sec. I want a drink before I do anything else. Where is my cocktail?”

“Come over here, I’ll treat you and the other players to the first round.”

“No,” April said firmly. “I’m going to treat you. Oy, gang!” she hollered over the rising babble of voices and music, waving an arm at the little gaggle of actors. “Come over to the bar, I want to buy you all a drink!”

---

IT WAS ALMOST AN HOURlater when April stood up from her seat at the head of the big table in the center of the bar, swaying slightly. She was holding her phone in one hand and a champagne coupe in the other, and for a moment Hannah thought she was going to get up on the table, but she didn’t, she only raised her voice above the sound of the hubbub.

“Attention, maddafakkas,” she called, pointing round as the table of amused, slightly drunken faces turned towards her. “I would like to propose a toast. This year is almost over, and it’s been a hell of a start to the rest of our lives—am I right?”

“Hear, hear!” called someone, and others raised their glasses.

“That old fart the Master would probably tell you that coming to Pelham is about work or learning or some academic bullshit like that. But I’m here to tell you that’s a lie—it isn’t about work. It’s about… friendship.”

Here she raised her glass to Hannah, and Hannah felt a flush rise up her cheeks.

“Because friends, good friends, are fucking hard to find,” April said. She was clearly very drunk, swaying slightly, even, but she was holding it together. “Friends who’ve got your back, friends who would never betray you. So when you find one, you have to hold on to that person. Am I right?”

“Yes!” someone called from the other side of the table.

“Okay then, so that’s my toast. To friends. To true friends!” April said, and she held up her glass, spilling red juice down her arm.

“To true friends” came back the roar from around the table.

“To you, April,” Hannah said, holding her own glass high, and April did a slightly theatrical bow, her wig slipping over one eye, and grinned back.

“And now, if you will forgive me, I am retiring to my boudoir to change,” she announced.

“Isn’t it rather late?” Hannah said doubtfully. “It’s getting on for eleven. They’ll be chucking us out soon.”

“Not a bit of it,” April said grandly. “And as for you”—she stabbed a finger at Hannah—“none of your slipping off to bed while my back is turned, young lady. I’m coming back down to party on until I’m thrown out, and I’m expecting you all to be here. That goes for the rest of you too,” she said, swinging her gaze accusingly round the little crowd huddled around the table. “It’s Saturday, and it’s almost the end of term. You swots can afford to let your hair down for once.”

With that, and a dramatic swirl of her toga, she disappeared out the door. Hugh raised one eyebrow at Hannah, who laughed, feeling a little disloyal.

“I know, I know. But you know what she’s like. It is her big night. And she was so disappointed about Will not coming.”

“I don’t blame him for scarpering,” Ryan muttered. “She’s treated him like shit all this week.”

“Yeah, I gotta say, she may be a great actress but she’s a royal pain in the butt,” one of the actors from the play said. Hannah wasn’t sure of his name, but thought he might be the one April had referred to as Luis. “A week was about all I could take of her. Respect to the dude who’s put up with that drama queen for the best part of a year.”

“Maybe they’ve broken up?” Clem put in. Hannah had the impression that she was trying to steer the conversation away from April’s failings. “I mean, that speech—all that stuff about friendship. It felt a bit sisters before misters to me. It’s the kind of thing you say when you’ve just been dumped.”

“Does that mean April’s back on the market?” asked Rollie. “Should I join the queue? I mean she’s a pain, yeah, but she’s still hot.”

“What d’you mean back on? The way I hear, she was never off it,” his friend said, pulling a drolly lecherous expression. They both burst out into guffaws of laughter, but Hannah wasn’t laughing. Nor, she saw, was Ryan. In fact, his face looked like thunder.

Across the room, the first bell rang out, and Hannah stood up.

“I’m going to the bar for last orders. Anyone want anything?”

“I’ll have a pint,” Ryan said rather shortly.

“Anyone else?”

“I’ll have a Guinness, ta,” Luis said. Clem shook her head.

“I’ll have a bottle of something,” said Rollie. He spoke like he was addressing a barmaid. “What have they got here? Sol? Estrella?”

“I’ll find out,” Hannah said curtly.

“I’ll have a lager,” Hugh said, “but let me come with you, you’ll need a hand carrying.”

Hannah nodded, waited as Hugh extricated himself from the narrow bench, then turned and threaded her way through the crowded room to the bar. It was three minutes to eleven, according to the clock over the counter. April had been gone for nearly twenty minutes, and the bar would be closing soon. It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes to walk to New Quad and back. Add on a generous ten to remove her wig and makeup—had she changed her mind? Invited someone back to the room instead?

“What can I get you?” the barman shouted across. Hannah raised her hand.

“Hi, yes, I’m next,” said a big bloke in a rugby shirt, shoving into the gap beside her. The second bell went, and Hannah made up her mind.

“I think we’ve missed the boat,” she said to Hugh.

“Agreed. What are you going to do? Turn in?”

Hannah nodded, and she and Hugh made their way back to the table where Ryan and the others were still sitting.

“I’m really sorry, I couldn’t get near the bar.”

“Should have sent a bloke!” said Luis’s friend. “You need a bit of muscle to make last orders.”

Hannah felt her smile thin.

“I think I might turn in, actually, I’m really knackered. Sorry to be a party pooper. It was really nice to meet you guys,” she said to the little group of actors.

“Huh?” Ryan looked up from where he was deep in conversation with a guy Hannah vaguely recognized from Cloade. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Well, that just makes you a fucking Marxist, then, doesn’t it!” the other man crowed, ignoring the interjection.

“I’m heading back,” Hannah said, raising her voice. “Sorry I didn’t get your pint, I couldn’t get served.”

“No worries,” Ryan said. “Look, Rich, if you want to call basic redistributive fiscal policy Marxism—”

“I’ll, um, come with you,” Hugh said to Hannah, rather diffidently. “Walk you over and all that.”

Hannah smiled at him gratefully. Since her encounter with Neville in the cloisters, she had found herself glancing over her shoulder more and more at night. Running footsteps behind her set her heart racing and her adrenaline spiking, and since Dr. Myers had announced his intention of speaking to Neville about the “allegations,” she had lived in real fear that he might have done so, with or without her permission. The possibility that Neville might seek her out to ask her what the hell she was playing at, accusing him of assault, was all too real. The idea of having someone to walk her was immensely comforting.

“If you’re sure then, yes, please, Hugh,” she said. Hugh picked up his jacket from the bench and together they forged their way towards the exit.

They got there at the same time as a group of girls, and Hugh immediately stood back, opening the door for the first with a little bow.

“Yeah, all right, mate,” the girl said as she passed through. “I do have arms, you know. Christ, this isn’t the 1920s anymore.”

They pushed past Hugh, laughing, and disappeared across the quad.

“Thank you, Hugh,” Hannah said apologetically as Hugh held the door open for her. The air outside was pleasantly cool and clear after the fug of the bar.

“You’re welcome,” Hugh said a little sadly, and Hannah felt a sudden wave of protective anger wash over her. Hugh was so nice. He had been the only person to notice she didn’t want to walk back alone, and the only person who had been any real support in organizing tonight, in spite of the fact that April certainly wasn’t his best friend. In fact, she had always treated him with a kind of amused disdain, bossing him around, making him fetch and carry and generally do her bidding. And Hugh—Hugh just put up with it, with that good-natured smile. And so what if his courtesies were old-fashioned—it was his way of trying to relate to girls. Not everyone could have Will’s easy charm, or pull off Ryan’s goading banter. Holding a door open was hardly the crime of the century.

She laced her arm through his, squeezing it affectionately as they began to trace the familiar route back along the graveled path of Old Quad. It was hard to tell in the dim light from the moon and the lamps dotted around the quad, but she thought Hugh looked tired and drawn.

“How are you doing? Are you okay?”

“Oh, you know. All right,” Hugh said. He gave a little deprecating shrug. “I have to be honest, I’m pretty stressed about the prelim results. I’m fairly sure I fluffed the paper I took after April’s first night.”

“You are?” Hannah was surprised. She thought of Will saying Hugh was the brainiest chap in our year. “But—look, I’m sure you’re worrying over nothing. Everyone always thinks they flunked until they get the results. It’ll be fine.”

“Will it?” Hugh’s face twisted. He looked, Hannah thought with shock, as if he was trying to keep back tears. “You know they don’t let you fail medicine. If you don’t keep up, you’re politely asked to leave. This year… well, it’s been a bit of a shock, to be honest. Carne wasn’t exactly tolerant of slackers, but it felt like the masters were on your side, helping you to keep up. Pelham… it just feels like you’re struggling alone, afraid of letting everyone down. Do you know what I mean?”

Hannah said nothing. She wasn’t sure what she could say. The truth was, she didn’t feel that way, and she hadn’t found the jump nearly as hard as she had feared. She had never felt particularly like anyone at Dodsworth was on her side. Sure, they wanted her to do well, but she was just one out of hundreds of students in her year. And she certainly didn’t feel scared of letting anyone down. They were just delighted she had gotten this far.

Of all the group, Hannah thought as they rounded the corner, she probably knew Hugh the least. Brash, witty Ryan; dry, sarcastic Emily—she had known them for less than a year, and yet it felt like a lifetime. She had heard their worn anecdotes, she knew their catchphrases, she had heard about their friends from home and their first times and their nightmare exes. With April she shared the easy intimacy only roommates can, the person who sees you first thing in the morning, who hears you groaning over your essay, who knows when you’ve got period pains, who sees you swigging milk from the carton.

Even Will, who was emotionally reserved in a way that the others were not, she knew about his time at boarding school, his militarily minded father, his softhearted mum, his acrimonious breakup with April’s friend Olivia. She knew which tutors he hated and what he planned to specialize in next year.

But Hugh—Hugh she had known none of what was going through his head, until he told her. Now she felt a rush of sympathy for him, dealing with his academic worries by himself. Sure, he had Will, but Will had dozens of friends—and April, of course. Hugh had just one, and for the first time she realized how lonely it must be for him when Will was away, or wrapped up with April.

“You should have said something,” she said now. “I had no idea you were so worried. And why did you come to April’s first night? You should have told her to piss off.”

“Oh well.” Hugh’s face twisted. “I just… she was so worked up, you know? And April… she’s not very easy to say no to.”

Hannah said nothing. That she could understand.

“I can’t afford to cock this up,” Hugh said as they passed underneath the Cherwell Arch, which separated Old Quad from the Fellows’ Garden. “My parents aren’t well off, you know. Not like Will’s. My father’s just a GP, my mother’s a stay-at-home mum. They really scrimped and saved to send me to private school, and Pelham—well, it’s all they’ve ever wanted. My dad went here, and he was so proud when I got in after him. I’m an only child so I’m really—I’m all they’ve got. I can’t let them down. I just can’t.”

“You won’t,” Hannah said, surprised by the desperation in his voice. She squeezed his arm, feeling his thin muscles tense beneath his jacket. “And you know what, even if you have failed, which I don’t think you have, so what? They’ll still love you, won’t they?”

Hugh only shrugged again, and then, as if trying to change the subject, he cleared his throat and said, “I can feel your goose bumps. Do you want my jacket?”

It was folded over his arm and Hannah stopped, facing him, and touched his face for a moment.

“Hugh, why are you so kind?” she asked, and Hugh gave a little shrug.

“I don’t know. Just that kind of ass, I suppose.”

“You’re a lovely ass,” Hannah said, and smiled. “And thank you.”

She took the jacket, slung it over her shoulders, and turned to face the Fellows’ Garden, the grass silvered with dew. An idea occurred to her.

“Do you… fancy breaking the rules? It’s the last week of term. They can hardly send us down.”

For a moment Hugh didn’t seem to understand what she was saying. Then his worried face broke into a smile.

“You’re on.”

They unlinked arms and ran across the pristine, untouched expanse, the dew-soaked grass soft beneath their feet. When they got to the other side, they were both breathless and Hannah looked back and saw the imprints of their footsteps, a dark guilty green against the pale jeweled tips of the untouched blades, and stifled a sudden desire to laugh.

As they passed through the wrought iron gate into New Quad, she was grinning, and she opened her mouth to say something—later she could never remember what—and then stopped. A figure was coming out of one of the staircases. A figure that looked very like… it couldn’t be.

She stopped short.

Hugh continued for a couple of paces and then realized that she had ground to a halt, and turned to see what was wrong.

“Hannah?”

“Shh!” she hissed peremptorily, and then pointed to the other side of the quad. They were standing in the shadow of a tall yew, and she was fairly sure that they were not visible to the man opposite as he plodded slowly down the far side, making his way towards the cloisters.

“Hugh,” she whispered urgently, trying to keep her voice low but loud enough for him to hear. “Hugh, is that, is that—Neville?”

Hugh peered after the departing figure, then took off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, and put them back on, squinting at the shape as it disappeared towards the cloister side of the quad.

“Um… could be? He’s about the right build. Why?”

“Because I’m fairly sure he was coming out of staircase seven. Out of my staircase,” she spelled out, as Hugh looked at her blankly.

“Do you think he was looking for you?” Hugh asked, after a long moment’s pause. Hannah wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly she was shivering, in spite of the balmy summer night.

“I don’t know.”

“I mean, he might have just been doing his rounds,” Hugh said, rather lamely.

“What rounds?” Hannah said. “What could he be doing prowling around the staircases at this hour?”

“Someone could have called him,” Hugh said, but there was no conviction in his voice. Hannah’s hands were trembling now and she clamped them under her arms, trying to quell her rising unease. Suddenly she just wanted to get home—back to her room, where April would probably be slumped on the couch in full makeup, snoring her head off, and Hannah could lock the door and curl up under her duvet with the hottest hot water bottle she could manage.

John Neville had passed out of sight now, at the far side of the quad, beneath the cloisters, and without speaking, Hannah set off again, her pace quickening. Hugh, after a moment’s hesitation, followed her at a jog.

They skirted the quad in silence until they got to the foot of staircase 7.

“Are you sure he came out of here?” Hugh asked at last, as Hannah stopped in the lighted shelter of the staircase, looking up at the darkness above.

She shrugged.

“I can’t be certain. But I think so. You really didn’t see him coming out?”

Hugh shook his head.

“I’m quite nearsighted. I didn’t see anything until after you pointed him out. Look, I’ll wait until you’re inside.”

“You don’t have to, he’s gone—” Hannah began, but Hugh was shaking his head firmly.

“No, I want to. Just send me a text when you’re safely in, and then I’ll go, but I’d rather know you’re okay.”

He looked tense and worried, Hannah saw, the light from the staircase lamp casting ridged shadows onto a brow that looked too anxious and furrowed for a nineteen-year-old.

“Okay,” she said at last.

The first step into the shadows was always the worst. It was like a leap of faith—stepping into the darkness of the stairwell, before the sensor at the turn of the stairs caught your movement and the lights above flickered on.

But as she climbed, Hannah found herself relaxing. There was something so familiar, so comforting about the smells and sounds of staircase 7. She could hear Henry Clayton’s booming voice coming out from behind door 4; he and his neighbor Philip were obviously having one of their long-running political debates, which Hannah knew from experience would probably last until 3 a.m. On the landing below, someone was having a late-night shower, the smell of Dove body wash filtering up the stairwell along with the sound of splashing water.

Dr. Myers’s room was silent, but there was a glimmer of light showing under his door. He must be awake, and probably marking papers. For some reason the sight made Hannah feel better. So what if John Neville had been up here with another one of his lame excuses. April had probably told him to fuck off and sent him away with his tail between his legs.

Her own door, though, was open, just very slightly. As if April had come back in a hurry and hadn’t closed it firmly enough. It wasn’t the first time she had left it ajar—it was something people did quite often, if a roommate had forgotten a key, or just to signify that they were home and open for visitors. Not usually this late at night, though.

Hannah put her hand to the door and stepped inside.

And then—