“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 HOUR later 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.