The It Girl(68)

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.



* * *



“HANNAH! OVER HERE!”

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.