Chapter 20: Halloween, Again

I’ve never really got Halloween. What’s the point of it? What are we supposed to be celebrating? All the Evil things in the world? That seems a bit ... I don’t know ... Macabre? It’s actually All Hallows Eve, isn’t it? Or All Saint’s Eve, where All Saint’s Day on the first of November is the Christian Feast Day for all the good people, all the Saints, in the world. So is the idea that we celebrate all the Evil people before celebrating all the Good?

I just never really understood it, that’s all.

And it’s gotten worse as I’ve gotten older. I don’t really remember dressing up or doing Trick or Treat when I was younger. Oh, I saw it on TV shows and movies from America, but knocking on your neighbours’ doors begging for sweets never really struck me as a very British thing to do—do you know what I mean?

Anyway, it is what it is, and what it was for me was an annual fancy dress Ball, first in Micester and now at the University.

You could say my track record with Halloween Balls was stretchy at best, even though I’d only actually been to two of them. The first one, back in Micester with Clarissa, had started off really, really well, but ended very, very badly. The second one, last year, had started off with my initial reluctance to even go, then my anger that Amanda had arranged a date for me, but ended well simply because it had been so much fun teasing Hannah all night—and I suppose the fact that she was dynamite in the sack afterwards helped.

But I was actually kind of excited about The Ball this year. So much so, that I even wanted to get my costume right, whereas in previous years I’d left it until the last minute and just hired whatever was left in the shop. So as I sat down for lunch with Hannah on Monday, I handed her a sealed envelope with a few twenty-pound notes in and told her to get us coordinated costumes. She gave me a stern look and told me I didn’t need to pay for her costume, but I simply refused to take the envelope back from her.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head then said, “Okay, I’ll have a look online. There’s this place that can do next day delivery, or at least in time for Friday. I’ll see what they’ve got. I was thinking we could—”

“No,” I said, holding up my hand. “Don’t tell me. Surprise me. Just make it fun.”

“Oh, it will be,” she said. “It will be.”

Alannah and I had our first match of the tournament after the usual club session on Wednesday and it was as easy a win as we could have hoped. And this time she was waiting for me in the foyer to walk her back to her apartment after I’d showered.

She was limping a little again as we walked—although not as bad as the week before. She’d also skipped the runs around campus with Lily on Thursday and Tuesday. I was worried, but she insisted she was fine, so I didn’t press it.

Lily was already back at the apartment when we got there and had already set out a place for me at the dinner table. Who was I to argue? I guess dinner at theirs on Wednesdays was a thing now.

Although Halloween itself was on Thursday, The Ball was the next night—presumably because no-one would have any lectures or seminars on Saturday. My costume had been delivered to Hannah’s place on Wednesday and she dropped it off on Thursday evening. I left it unopened until after I got back to the house after my last lecture on Friday afternoon.

“What’s it supposed to be?” I asked Imogen and Vanessa after opening the package and holding up what appeared to be a battered maroon tailcoat.

“It’s the Mad Hatter,” Vanessa said, picking up a flattened top hat with a bright red, curly wig attached to it.”

“Oooh, that must mean that Hannah’s got an Alice in Wonderland costume,” Imogen said.

“Yeah,” said Vanessa, “Probably a scandalously short blue gingham pinafore dress with a white apron to show off those incredible legs of hers. I’m so jealous of her legs.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your legs,” I said. She smiled.

“And really low cut to show off her ridiculous cleavage,” said Imogen with a grin. “What is it with you and girls with great cleavage?”

I shrugged.

“Notice how he didn’t immediately compliment me on my cleavage,” she said, still grinning.

I just shook my head.

“Okay, out. I need to get ready. And so do you two.”

Hannah had indeed gone with an Alice in Wonderland costume. And it was indeed scandalously short and ridiculously low cut.

She looked amazing.

As did her four housemates, who were also dressed as characters from animated movies. So, feeling foolish dressed as the Mad Hatter, I accompanied slutty-looking versions Alice, Belle, Aurora, Snow White and Jasmine through the Student Village, over the footbridge and through the campus to The Student’s Union. We met up with our friends in the bar as usual and, in all honesty, it was much like any other night in The Union with the exception that everyone looked either ridiculous or ridiculously sexy and a moderately famous band from Liverpool did an hour long set at about nine o’clock.

It was a lot of fun. Just like the previous year’s Halloween Ball, I teased Hannah relentlessly all night, only this year I wasn’t doing it because Amanda had set us up, but because both Hannah and I genuinely enjoyed it. A stroke of her arm here. A kiss on her neck or shoulder there. She responded to each touch with a shiver and a shy smile.

And as the night wore on, she became bolder herself. A hand on my chest here. Or my upper arm. Or my thigh if we were sitting. Her hand drifted down to my bum during a bump’n’grind session after the band had finished their set and the DJ returned, and she gave it a few good squeezes while rubbing her crotch against mine.

We were connecting. We were in sync.

It was wonderful.

But I knew that if we were going to take this further—and it looked a lot like we were tonight—then she deserved that I open up to her. To let her in. And I couldn’t do that until she knew just what she was letting herself in for.

When the current song ended, and before the next one got properly started, I pulled away from her. Three emotions flashed across her face in rapid succession—confusion, followed by doubt and then fear, or maybe worry is a better description.

I reached out to take her hand and then nodded towards the exit. She narrowed her eyebrows, but I began to walk off the dance floor, gently dragging her with me. I could hear her ask me where we were going as we fought through the throng, but I didn’t think there was any point shouting over the music to answer her, so I waited until we were in the foyer.

“Paul, what’s wrong? Where are we going? It’s too early to leave yet. Unless you’re planning to take me home and do it in the kitchen or something.”

I looked at her and smirked. “Is this a thing with you? Last week you talked about getting caught doing it on the stairs, this week it’s the kitchen. Do you have an exhibitionist streak or something?”

She blushed, which gave me my answer, but said, “No. Course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I just...” She shrugged.

“We’re not leaving yet,” I said. “And we’re not doing it in the kitchen or anywhere else in the house—other than my room, obviously. Imogen would kill me if I did that again.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Again?”

I shook my head. There was no way I was going to tell her about that time with Vanessa on Mark’s favourite chair.

“We’re going for a hot chocolate,” I said, heading for the stairs and again gently dragging her with me.

“Oh. Okay.”

The coffee shop downstairs was busier than last week, but we were still able to find a table away from everyone else. I ordered and paid this time, getting us both a regular hot chocolate rather than a flavoured one and lemon muffin each too.

Back at the table, we sat smiling at each other for a short time before I began to speak.

“Hannah, I ... I’ve really enjoyed tonight—”

She nodded and said, softly, “Yeah. Me too.”

I smiled. “—But before we ... er... take things any further—”

“You mean before you take me home and drown me in orgasms?”

I smiled again. “Only if that’s what you want.”

Her cute smile became predatory. “Oh, I want.”

“Fine. But before we do that, I think I ... I think you deserve to ... you know.” I shrugged.

She shook her head. “Paul?”

“Last week, you said we never talk about me. And you said I could tell you as much or as little as I felt I could. So ... I think I want to tell you a little bit more before we ... you know?”

She reached out to put her hand on top of mine. “You don’t have to, Paul.”

“I know. I know. But I want to. I think you deserve it.”

She squeezed my hand but didn’t let go.

I took a deep breath.

And began to talk.

I started with my parents—how I’d lost them at fifteen and how I’d blamed myself for their death for so long. Then I tried my best to explain about Micester and the Townies and the Villagers and The Great Divide. She nodded along but I’m not sure she really understood it. I don’t think anyone that hadn’t lived through it could really understand it. But I had to try and explain it before I got to the difficult bit.

“Her name was Clarissa. And she was my soulmate. At least, I think she was. We’d known each other—or rather, known of each other—for the entire time we were at Micester High. She was one of The Villagers, you see. The Head Villager, actually. Her parents, well, her dad, before he died, owned the majority share in that factory I told you about.”

She nodded. “Liddington-Phipps. I’m pretty sure my mom has some of their cushions. I remember her being really proud—chuffed actually—when she bought them.”