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“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.
* * *
SOME FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER THEY were standing outside Dr. Myers’s office door, listening to noises from within.
“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?”
