Louis Hannibal NezHannah
Hannah Stevenson, a girl from a modest working-class district, is treating herself to one of life’s luxuries by getting into an expensive nightclub in the coastal district.
The music pounds against her chest before she manages to smile her way through to the crowded bar. She raises a hand among shoulders, glasses and violet flashes. No one looks at her. She tries again, standing on tiptoe this time.
Tonight she has chosen what she considers her sexiest dress: green, her favourite colour, fitted to her slender torso, low at the top and short at the bottom. She is also wearing, for the first time, the black high heels her mother gave her for her birthday. She has even been to the hairdresser for a very distinctive style, with waves in her light brown hair, cut to reach halfway down her back.
“Hello!” she shouts.
The bartender passes in front of her carrying three glasses lit by tiny strips of light around their rims and does not even turn her head. Hannah wrinkles her nose. She looks around as though someone might explain why buying a drink suddenly requires a military strategy.
The dance floor is packed. On a circular platform, two DJs mix beneath a framework of screens spilling images of digital waves over the crowd. Every beat of the bass makes the bottles lined up behind the bar vibrate. Outside, through the misted windows, Shoretown is a succession of wet lights, signs, taxis and rain. Hannah smiles; she is radiant.
She has been here forty minutes, has spent more than she should on admission and still has not managed to get a drink, but everything is fine; she feels happy.
“Hey!” she calls again.
This time the bartender sees her.
“What do you want?”
Hannah points to a row of translucent cans inside an upright refrigerator.
“Frost Frutilla. Large.”
The bartender takes a pink can, snaps it open and pours it over crushed ice. She adds something clear from a dispenser, a slice of synthetic fruit, and pushes the glass towards her.
“Thirty-two.”
Smiling, Hannah holds her phone to the terminal. A red light appears, followed by the words PAYMENT DECLINED on the screen. Her smile lasts a second longer than it needs to.
“Again.”
The bartender says nothing, just looks at her. Hannah holds her phone up again. Another red light and PAYMENT DECLINED.
“It must be the connection.”
“No, it isn’t the connection.”
“It goes down sometimes.”
“It isn’t down.”
Hannah looks at her phone screen. Her available balance appears beneath a notification she would rather not have seen. She has just eleven point forty-seven eCoins left. She bites the inside of her cheek.
“I can transfer some from another account.”
She does not have another account. The bartender rests a hand on the glass.
“When you can pay for it, you can have it,” the bartender tells her, moving the glass away.
“Yes, of course. One second.”
Hannah turns, searching for a solution among three hundred people who do not know she has exactly eleven miserable eCoins. She could message her mother, but better not: her mother does not even know she is in Shoretown district, so far from home and somewhere so expensive. She could message Marina, but that would be worse. The best thing would be to go home, though she feels that should not even be an option now that she has managed to get in.
She opens a banking app, closes it. Opens another. Looks at an old virtual card she knows perfectly well is empty. She tries it anyway, but there is that damned red light again.
“My God,” she murmurs.
“Put it on my account,” someone says.
The voice comes from her left. Hannah turns. The woman beside her does not seem to think she has said anything extraordinary. She wears an impeccably cut white suit, which stands out strikingly against her dark skin. Her hair is as black as it is thick around her face, and her metallic makeup catches the blue light from the bar. She has a glass in one hand and, in the other, a black payment bracelet with a silver stripe. Hannah sees it and knows exactly what it is.
The bartender recognises her before Hannah can react.
“On the Platinum?”
“Yes.”
The bracelet touches the terminal. White light. PAYMENT APPROVED. The bartender takes her hand off the glass and slides it towards Hannah.
“Thanks,” Hannah says, still looking at the stranger. “I’ll pay you back when I can.”
“There’s no need,” she replies with a smile.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Seriously.”
“It’s thirty-two eCoins.”
“Exactly.”
The woman studies her for a moment, amused.
“Do you have thirty-two eCoins?”
Hannah looks at her phone.
“Not right now.”
“Then you can’t pay me back.”
Hannah opens her mouth, closes it and ends up laughing.
“That sounded rather humiliating.”
“It wasn’t meant to.”
“Even worse.”
The woman smiles for the first time. It is a lovely smile, but not an innocent one. Hannah does not know why she thinks that. She picks up the Frost she ordered and raises her glass.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m Hannah.”
“Denise.”
They clink glasses. The music changes. The crowd answers with a roar and someone shoves Hannah from behind. She stumbles, spills part of her drink over her own wrist, and Denise catches her arm before she hits the bar.
“Perfect,” Hannah says, looking at the pink drops. “I had thirty-two eCoins’ worth of dignity left and I’ve just lost those too.”
Denise laughs.
“Do you always talk this much?”
“Only when I’m nervous.”
“Are you nervous?”
Hannah drinks.
“No, I mean, of course not. It’s a figure of speech.”
Denise laughs again. Hannah smiles too. She likes her immediately, though she does not know why.
Twenty minutes later they are at a tall table near the windows, with their splendid views of the Shoretown coast. Outside, however, tonight as on so many nights, rain is falling on the streets of Stormport. In fact, it is pouring.
“I’ve discovered three things about you, mysterious Denise,” Hannah tells her, amused and a little drunk.
“Oh, really? Let’s hear them. Tell me what they are,” Denise challenges her, amused.
“First, you drink slowly.” They both laugh.
“Second?”
“Second: you really listen when someone talks to you.”
“That’s true.”
“Believe me, that’s not as common as it seems.”
“Not common at all. What else? You have one left.”
“Third... there’s a way you look at me that...”
For a brief instant that feels endless, Denise and Hannah look at one another, smiling, their eyes saying much more. Those long, intense looks make Hannah feel that everything she says ought to be a little more interesting than it actually is.
“So... Hannah, you told me you were fired from your job so they could replace you with some stupid artificial intelligence,” Denise says, getting in first.
“Tell me about it. Yes, twice.”
“Twice? Wow...”
“Not from the same company. That would be even sadder.”
Denise rests an elbow on the table.
“And what did you do at the first one? Tell me everything.”
“Digital customer service. Replies, enquiries, complaints, small campaigns. They brought in a new system, incredibly cutting-edge technology, all the things they say, and suddenly there were seven of us watching a screen that did our jobs better, faster and without asking for breaks.”
“And the second?”
“Content. Posts, engagement analysis, basic editing. I lasted six months. Then they bought an automation package and called us together one Monday morning to tell us how very grateful they were for all our hard work. Idiots...”
“They’re always very grateful for all the hard work.”
“Very. I was almost moved by the gratitude.”
Denise smiles.
“And now? What will you do?”
“Study.”
“What are you studying?”
“Economics.”
“Do you like it?”
Hannah pulls a face.
“I like it when I understand something, which doesn’t happen often.”
Denise bursts out laughing, and Hannah feels strangely pleased with herself.
“My father says I’m irresponsible.”
“Are you?”
“No.” She drinks. “Well, yes. A little. But not in a dangerous way.”
Denise looks at the phone still lying on the table.
“You had eleven eCoins left.”
“That was cruel.”
“I saw it by accident. Sorry.”
“And you remember it.”
“I remember numbers.”
“What a dreadful quality.”
“It comes in handy.”
Hannah takes a better look at her. Denise does not seem much older than she is, but she moves like someone who never hesitates before walking into a place. She does not look around to check whether anyone is watching. She does not fix her hair every ten seconds. She does not check the price before ordering. She does not seem to need permission for anything. Hannah thinks she would like to be like that for at least a week.
“And what do you do?” Hannah asks innocently, before taking another sip.
Denise also drinks before answering.
“I work.”
“What a fascinating description you’ve just given me.”
They both laugh.
“It takes a while to explain.”
“I have all this Frost, so go ahead.”
Denise smiles again but does not answer. A girl comes over to the table and touches Hannah on the shoulder.
“Found you!”
Hannah recognises Paula, an acquaintance from university she came to the club with and lost eleven minutes after they walked in.
“I’ve been here the whole time, Pau.”
“I’ve been looking for you for half an hour.”
“That’s statistically impossible.”
Paula looks at Denise.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“This is Denise,” Hannah says. “She saved my night.”
“From what?”
“My bank account.”
Paula rolls her eyes.
“I told you not to spend so much yesterday.”
“Yesterday was yesterday.”
“That’s exactly your problem.”
“Tomorrow will be another day too.”
Paula shakes her head, but smiles.
“Come on. They’re playing the one you like.”
Hannah looks towards the dance floor. She recognises it at once.
“No.”
“Yes, come on.”
“I can’t leave Denise here.”
Denise gestures towards the crowd with her glass.
“Go.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not going to disappear. I’ll be here.”
“That’s what everyone says before disappearing.”
Denise tilts her head.
“Then you’ll have to check.”
Paula pulls Hannah.
“Come on.”
She lets herself be dragged away. Before disappearing into the crowd, she turns. Denise is still there and is watching her.
Hannah dances as though no one could possibly be watching her. She simply does not think about it. She raises her arms, spins, laughs when Paula shouts something she cannot make out, and keeps moving while the screens send artificial rain pouring over the entire floor. A chorus she half knows comes through the speakers and Hannah sings it anyway, making up whatever she cannot remember. Life could always be this: music, a place full of people, nothing to decide or think about until tomorrow.
By the time the song ends, her hair is stuck to her forehead and there is barely any ice left in her glass. Paula is already talking to a tall man in a pale blue shirt. Hannah waits a few seconds. Then another five. Paula does not look at her again.
“Excellent,” Hannah says to herself.
She makes her way back to the table. Denise is gone. Hannah stops.
“Of course.”
She looks around. Nothing. She laughs at herself, though she feels a little disappointment she does not quite understand. She does not know this woman. She bought her a drink. They talked for twenty minutes. That is all. She sets her empty glass on the table.
“I told you you’d have to check.”
Hannah turns so quickly she almost catches Denise with her shoulder.
“God!”
Denise is holding two fresh glasses.
“You startle easily.”
“Don’t appear behind people.”
“I was in front.”
“I was looking the other way.”
“That isn’t my fault.”
Denise hands her one of the glasses. Frost Frutilla. Hannah looks at it.
“I can’t pay you back for two.”
“We’ve already established that you can’t even pay me back for one.”
“You’re very annoying.”
“And you’re going to accept the second.”
Hannah accepts it.
“That proves nothing.”
Denise leans against the table.
“Did your friend abandon you?”
Hannah looks towards the dance floor. Paula is still with the man in pale blue.
“She’s working on her future.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in the future.”
“Not mine. I’m very optimistic about everyone else’s.”
Denise laughs again. Hannah discovers that she likes making her laugh.
“Do you come here often?” she asks.
“Quite often.”
“I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it costs money.”
“Fair enough.”
“But I like it.”
“I’d noticed.”
Hannah drinks. The Frost is colder than the last one.
“One day I’m going to one of those enormous parties in Shoretown.”
“Which parties?”
“The big ones. The real ones. With DJs, bands, performers, screens on the beach, thousands of people. The ones that last until sunrise and everyone ends up with sand in places where there shouldn’t be sand. Denise watches her, amused.”
“That sounds like a very specific dream.”
“It’s a realistic dream.”
“Is that what you want to do with your life?”
Hannah thinks for a moment.
“No.”
“Then what do you want to do with your life?”
Hannah drinks again.
“I don’t know.”
She says it without embarrassment. Denise waits for more, but nothing comes.
“Nothing?”
“Today I wanted to go out.”
“That isn’t a life.”
“It’s tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”
“We’ll see tomorrow.”
Denise lowers her eyes to her glass.
“You’re so relaxed.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Not very.”
“You should try it.”
“What?”
“Not knowing.”
Denise barely smiles.
“I don’t think so.”
Hannah shrugs.
“I do it too much.”
For a few seconds they do not speak. Music fills the space between them. Hannah watches the rain beyond the glass. The drops turn the buildings across the avenue into smudges of neon. A self-driving vehicle stops outside the entrance; three girls run beneath a single coat to the awning.
“Do you live around here?” Denise asks.
“Eastown.”
“Far away.”
“Not that far.”
“At this hour it is.”
“There’s transport.”
“If you have any credit.”
Hannah looks at her.
Denise cannot hold back her laughter.
“That was horrible.”
“I know.”
Hannah laughs too.
“My father could come and get me if I told him I was stranded.”
“And would you tell him?”
Hannah imagines her father’s face on receiving a call at two in the morning.
“I’d rather walk.”
“From Shoretown to Eastown.”
“All right. I’d tell him.”
“Sensible.”
“Don’t overuse that word with me.”
A notification lights up Hannah’s phone: MUM. EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT? Hannah quickly types: YES. HAVING FUN. LOVE YOU. The reply arrives almost at once. LOVE YOU TOO. LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU LEAVE. Denise catches sight of the message.
“Your mother.”
“Yes.”
“Does she worry a lot?”
“The usual amount.”
“Do you live with your parents?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
Hannah looks at her as though the question is strange.
“Of course.”
“A lot of people your age want to leave. They want freedom, independence.”
“What for? My mother cooks, my father fixes everything, and I have my own room.”
“An impeccable argument.”
“Besides, my mother has a haberdashery. There are always buttons.”
Denise laughs without understanding why that should matter.
“You never know when you’re going to need one.”
“I never thought of that.”
“That’s people’s problem until they lose a button.”
“You have quite a complex philosophy.”
“I study Economics.”
Denise laughs again.
Nearly two hours pass in drinks, conversation and dancing, so quickly for them both that they barely notice. They talk about music, restaurants, clothes, horrible jobs, people who pretend not to look while looking, a woman who has been dancing with a broken shoe for twenty minutes and refuses to admit it, a man trying to impress everyone by ordering an excessively expensive bottle. Hannah discovers that Denise does not say much about herself.
Whenever a question approaches anything personal, she answers just enough to make it seem as though she has answered. Hannah does not mind. On the contrary, it makes her more curious.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Denise asks.
Hannah almost chokes.
“No.”
“Why that face?”
“No reason.”
“You look as though I asked if you have a criminal record.”
“I don’t have one.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend either.”
“That was.”
Hannah tucks her hair behind one ear.
“And you?”
“No.”
“Then we’re even.”
“Not exactly.”
“Why not?”
Denise drinks and looks towards the dance floor.
“Because I’m not looking for one.”
It takes Hannah a second.
“Oh.”
Denise turns her eyes back to her.
“Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“You’ve gone red.”
“It’s hot.”
“Very.”
Hannah looks at her, suspecting she is being teased. Denise smiles, confirming that she is indeed teasing.
“You’re unbearable.”
“And you’re still here.”
“Because you owe me two Frosts.”
“I think it’s the other way round.”
“I’m not going over the accounts now.”
“You study Economics.”
“That doesn’t make me an accountant.”
“Fortunately.”
Hannah laughs. So does Denise. The tension disappears as quickly as it appeared. For Hannah, at least.
At three forty-seven in the morning, Hannah accepts that she has to leave. Not because she wants to. Her father starts work early, and she knows that if he wakes up and discovers she is still out, he will try to pretend he is not worried while calling five times in a row. Paula has already left with her new friends. Hannah says nothing about it. At the exit, a gust of damp air hits her face. Shoretown is bright and wet.
The awnings reflect colours on the pavement; the rain is fine, almost suspended in the air. Across the avenue the sea cannot be seen, but it can be heard behind the low buildings and the businesses still open. Hannah covers her head with one hand.
“That won’t help,” Denise says.
“Psychologically, it does.”
Denise opens a black umbrella.
“Where do you catch your transport?”
Hannah points south.
“Two streets from here.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“There’s no need.”
“I know.”
They walk together. Hannah looks at the closed shop windows, the lights of the bars that are still full, the taxis waiting for customers. At this hour Stormport, or at least Shoretown district, seems more awake than during the day.
“I’m glad you had thirty-two eCoins to spare,” she says.
“So am I.”
“Otherwise I’d have ended up drinking water from the bathroom.”
“That would have been sad.”
“And free.”
They reach the stop. A display says seven minutes.
“Good,” Hannah says. “I’ll survive.”
Denise takes out her phone.
“Give me your contact.”
Hannah looks at her.
“To collect what I owe you?”
“Exactly. You won’t get out of your debt that easily.”
Hannah holds her phone close to hers. The devices vibrate and confirm the exchange. DENISE.
Nothing else, no surname or photograph. Hannah raises an eyebrow.
“Very mysterious.”
“What?”
“Your contact.”
“Add a photo if you like.”
“Where am I supposed to get a photo of you?”
Denise moves a little closer.
“Take one.”
Hannah laughs.
“Now you sound like a teenager.”
“You’re twenty-one.”
“Exactly. I’m allowed.”
She raises her phone and takes a photograph of them both before Denise can get ready. Hannah comes out smiling too much; Denise, caught by surprise, is only just beginning to laugh.
“Horrible,” Denise says.
“Perfect.”
“Delete it.”
“Never.”
The transport appears at the end of the avenue. Hannah puts her phone away.
“Thanks for the drinks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Next time I’m paying.”
Denise looks at her with a serious expression for half a second.
“Next time?”
Hannah shrugs.
“You come here often, don’t you?”
“Quite often.”
“Then we’ll probably run into each other.”
The vehicle’s doors open. Hannah climbs onto the first step, then turns.
“Good night, Denise.”
“Good night, Hannah.”
The doors close. Hannah finds a seat by the window. As the transport pulls away, she looks back. Denise is still beneath her umbrella, motionless beside the stop. Hannah raises a hand. Denise does the same. Then the street turns and she disappears.
When Hannah reaches Eastown, it is still raining. She tiptoes into the house, leaves her shoes beside the door and crosses the dark hallway. The kitchen light is on. Her father is asleep at the table with his arms folded. Hannah stands still.
“Dad.”
He opens one eye.
“What time is it?”
“Early.”
“Hannah.”
“Late.”
The man snorts, stands up and kisses her forehead.
“Your mother told me not to call you.”
“Mum is wise.”
“Your mother’s asleep.”
“Wiser still.”
He looks at her damp clothes.
“Did you have a good time?”
Hannah smiles.
“A wonderful time.”
“Then get some sleep.”
“I will.”
She goes upstairs to her room. Drops her bag onto a chair, takes off her earrings and looks at herself in the mirror for a second. Her makeup has run around her eyes. Her hair looks as though it has survived a storm. She smiles anyway. She flops onto the bed and picks up her phone. Eleven point forty-seven eCoins. Two new messages; one is from Paula: DID YOU GET HOME? The other is from Denise. There is no text.
She has only sent the photograph Hannah took at the stop, forwarded with a small circle drawn around her own face and an arrow saying: YOU OWE ME A BETTER ONE. Hannah laughs alone in her room. She replies: NEXT TIME. She leaves the phone on her chest. She does not think about tomorrow, or university, or looking for work, or the fact that she has eleven eCoins left. She only thinks about how good the night has been.
And, for now, that is enough.