by Abigail Mann
‘Okay, let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Before we start, this is Vlad. He’s representing the board of investors and gets to decide if I can pay my mortgage next month.’ Mitchell laughs and slaps Vlad on the back, who doesn’t seem to understand the joke because he blinks and does a dry cough. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Adam jumps in with a strained laugh and mimes wiping sweat off his brow. On a scale of one to fist-swallowingly-awkward, we’re already at a seven.
‘Good man, good man,’ Mitchell says. ‘Rhea is sending over meeting notes, so I won’t bore Vlad over here with the details –’ it’s just as likely Mitchell hasn’t actually read them ‘– so I’ll just say this before we start.’ He pauses dramatically. ‘This app means everything to me. Not just as a business, but as a passion. I know we get pigeonholed within the dating industry and it’s easy to chase the whys and wherefores of swiping, keeping users engaged, and monetising the platform. But, what are we really trying to do?’ He looks around at us all. Bismah raises her hand, but Mitchell gives her a withering look and she quickly folds it into her lap again. ‘We’re in the business of love,’ he continues. ‘Of compatibility. Of happiness. And that’s why we need to constantly adapt and change, because that’s the nature of love, isn’t it? It’s transitory. It’s fluid.’ If I put to one side that Mitchell’s talking complete bullshit, it’s a speech worthy of Richard Curtis. Christ, Mitchell’s all misty-eyed. Whatever he was hoping to achieve, it’s clearly worked on Rhea, because she’s gazing at him like he’s just rescued a disabled kid from a quarry.
‘Adam! Start us off, mate.’
Adam stands and pulls his polo shirt straight. It’s one I’ve seen once before, on his birthday – a designer brand with a huge embroidered logo stitched on the front. He runs a hand through his fluffy hair, which makes it stick up stupidly.
‘Okay, so you’re a sporty guy … or girl –’ he motions to Rhea, who flicks her ponytail at him and smiles ‘– and you’re sick of your partner always moaning about you going to training, or matches.’ He puts on a whiny voice: ‘“Come and watch a film with me, let’s go ice skating, pleeeeaaaase!”’ I wince. ‘And for once, you’d like to date someone who won’t only come to Twickers with you, but will get the beers in before the half-time rush! My app has preference settings for common sports or fitness interests, a strict “gym-wear only” profile picture, and we can work with partner companies to book the first five dates at fitness classes. You know, check her out while she’s lifting a tractor tyre. See if he’s skipping leg day …’ The men in the room nod enthusiastically, except Rodney. ‘So, yeah. That’s it.’
Mitchell nods, making a few notes. I look sceptically around the room and start to feel a lot better about my pitch.
‘Biz. You’re up.’ Bismah drags a stool into the middle of the circle, props her tablet on it, and taps the screen to set the script running. The clock ticks loudly as we wait.
‘So, you know this idea of offering something reciprocal, right? Like a service? People, especially millennials, don’t want to commit unless they’re getting something back. Well, from my research I’ve discovered that our users aren’t just too busy to date organically, they’re looking for someone who can slot into their life and maybe … their dog’s life!’ She pauses and catches my eye. I give her a little nod, clueless as to where this might be going. ‘My idea is to be the first app to involve pets in the dating process. Users will only see a picture of the dog on the app, not the owner themselves. If they think their dogs would look cute together, they can swipe for a match!’ Oh God, Bismah is so engrossed in her autocue that she can’t see Mitchell’s tightly clenched jaw. ‘It bases the compatibility of two owners on how much their dogs like each other upon a first meeting—’
‘How do you know if the dogs like each other?’ interrupts Adam.
‘See how many times they sniff each other’s arse?’ Mitchell replies. Bismah’s smile wanes.
‘Um, hang on, I’ve got some information, just bear with me,’ she says, looking flustered as she scrolls through her script.
‘Would you use the same metric for when the owners meet?’ Adam continues.
Mitchell smirks. ‘We’ll leave it there, shall we, darlin’?’ Bismah nods frantically and sits down, locking the tablet. I try to catch her eye, but she’s staring at a spot on the carpet, her eyes glassy.
‘Rodders!’ Mitchell booms. Rodney blinks. ‘Vlad, you’re gonna love this one. Rodders, Rodney, Ronaldinho.’ It is very clear that by now we have entered the danger zone. Mitchell has got a manic look of excitement in his eyes, but his face is drained of colour. Why couldn’t I have gone first, when he was all placid and sentimental and making speeches about human nature?
Rodney walks into the middle of the circle and pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘Hello. My name is Rodney—’
‘WE KNOW YOUR FLIPPIN’ NAME, RODNEY, GET THE SHIT ON WITH IT!’
Unfazed, he continues. ‘When a couple who share a kind and tender love for each other come together to consider the future, they think of a home.’
Hello, Rodney! Dark horse, much? I knew there was something romantic hidden behind the beige clothing and complete lack of expression.
‘My thought surrounds the idea of “building a home together”. When users match, they co-design a house. What view do they wish to rise to each morning? How many seats around the dining table? How many rooms are required to house the fruits of their love?’ Oh my God, I think I’m in love with Rodney a little bit. ‘Once they have finalised their design, they must press their screens at the exact same moment.’ Rodney has a distant look in his eye. He takes off his glasses, cleans them on the bottom of his T-shirt, and puts them back on again. ‘Then, the algorithm I have created will test the structural integrity of their house. This represents the relationship’s potential for longevity.’ Rodney gives a slight bow and returns to his stool. His idea sounds like Grand Designs, but for the emotionally stunted.
‘Rodney.’ Mitchell is having palpitations. ‘If I didn’t have a strong reason to keep you locked at the back of the workspace in a cubicle with only a FUCKING TAMAGOTCHI for company, I have one now. Get out, Rodney, get out!’ yells Mitchell. Rodney hops up, blinks, and leaves.
‘Er, boss?’ Adam says.
‘What?’ replies Mitchell.
‘Is Rodney fired too? Only he was working on a patch that was due to go out today and—’
‘OF COURSE HE’S NOT FUCKING FIRED! WHY, DO YOU WANT TO BE?!’
Adam shakes his head emphatically. ‘Nah, cool, cool.’
Mitchell is stoic and silent through Rhea’s pitch (an idea about matching based on preference for facial hair). When she finishes, Mitchell refuses to acknowledge that she’s even spoken and I’m not convinced Vlad the Investor is even awake. He’s put dark sunglasses on, which seems entirely sinister. When the room is thick with silence, Mitchell thumps the table with the side of his fist.
‘One more left!’ Between the feelings of personal humiliation and self-preservation that have permeated the room, the faces turned to me aren’t dissimilar to those of the poor bastards who organised lifeboats on the Titanic. Mitchell turns to me but doesn’t meet my eye. ‘I swear to fucking God, if you mention dogs or beards, I’ll choose Rodney’s structural disaster idea and make him the poster boy.’
I flick open my notebook and half stand up, but my scarf catches on the side of my chair and pulls me down again. It’s okay, I didn’t need to stand up anyway. I fold my legs one way, then the other. Deep breath. Come on, girl.
‘My pitch isn’t so much a fully formed idea—’ I hear Mitchell sigh, so I look down at my notes to see how quickly I can get to the crux of it all. The rhetorical questions I wrote down in a panic seem really stupid now, but I plough on regardless. ‘How has technology affected the way we connect with each other?’ I’m instantly annoyed because I can hear my voice wavering like I’m a self-conscious teenager who has to read aloud in class. ‘What does “connection”
actually mean?’
‘Is this a pitch or a fucking TED Talk, darlin’?’ interrupts Mitchell.
‘Hang on, just give me a chance.’ I can feel my heart beating in my throat. He bristles and folds his arms. ‘Please.’ He motions me to continue.
‘When I thought about what people really want from a dating app, I thought of a million different things, but it’s actually dead simple.’ I catch Rhea’s eye, but she looks away. ‘There’s too much choice nowadays – we’re completely drowning in choice.’ I pause and glance up. No threat of an eruption yet … ‘People under 35 – especially those living in London – are reporting higher rates of loneliness than any generation before. Why? We have hundreds of new ways to communicate, but somehow it’s not working. We are more connected but more alone than ever. Take our app, for instance. Our users take an average of 1.7 seconds to decide whether to match with someone or not. They won’t waste even half a minute on a person, because who knows who might be around the corner? In real life, that wouldn’t happen. Of course we don’t want to waste time on the “wrong one”, but how can we know who the “right one” is if we never give them a chance?’
‘So what are you trying to say, darlin’? That we should all give each other a kiss on the cheek and lock the doors up for some other silly sod to have a go at this business?’
‘No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t have the answer for that.’ I’m not explaining this properly. Come on, think, Elissa! ‘So, like I said, I don’t have a pitch, really.’ Rhea whispers something to Adam and he stifles a laugh. ‘But I have an idea. We match users depending on their interest in community and charity projects. The idea is they meet whilst volunteering.’ I think back to last week, to the comment Annie made about taking me on as a companion. I’d thought it was a bit rude at the time, but when she said, ‘whatever happens, it’ll be an experience,’ I had a lightbulb moment. Where had playing it safe got me? Where had it got anyone?
‘People today don’t want to have drinks on the South Bank and dinner in Prezzo every Thursday night. It’s textbook, dull, and boring. But I think we can help them a little, to get past the fluff and chit-chat. This way, they share an experience that is valuable, even if they don’t go on a second date. We can launch a campaign that focuses on just one of our users. We expose the whole process – good and bad – and use social media to document their “community dates”. Only then do we open the new platform to our user base. Build excitement, you know?’
‘Like incentivising a relationship?’
‘Yeah, I guess …’ I agree hesitantly. Is that what I’m saying? I can’t really tell. I stopped reading from my notebook after those hideous opening questions. Mitchell nods slowly.
Vlad rouses himself from a self-imposed coma and pushes back his chair, followed by Mitchell, who clicks his fingers as everyone looks for a way to slip out of the room. Rhea looks up immediately. ‘Down in my office in five, all right?’ he says to her. Mitchell looks gleeful. Holy fuck, we’re not going with the beard idea, are we? That would severely limit the type of YouTube videos I can get away with watching in a feigned attempt at market research. God, at least it’s over. There’s half a cheese twist sitting on my laptop charger that’s asking to be eaten.
***
The day passes uneventfully after the huge anticlimax of this morning. I wrote a blog post, pinged off some tweets, and ate my warm but slightly sweaty cheese twist. Mitchell has been in his office with the blinds pulled down all day and Rhea has gone in and out like an indecisive puppy, dutifully filling up Mitchell’s glass teapot with hot water and fresh peppermint leaves, something she is vastly overqualified to do.
Just as I’m shutting my laptop for the day, Suki steps off the metal staircase in the courtyard. When she spots me, she pushes through the door into our office space.
‘So, what am I coding this week? Redirecting the ugly ones to a rival app? New interface that features a “sex position of the week”?’ She hops onto the edge of my desk, swings her legs back and forth, and shrugs her jacket off one shoulder.
‘Absolutely clueless. They’re still in there working on it.’
‘Who?’
‘Mitchell and Rhea.’
‘Oh, are they?’ she asks knowingly.
‘Oh my God, definitely not,’ I say in response to her suggestive eyebrow waggle. ‘Have you seen Rhea? She’s inhumanly attractive, like a Kardashian, except with an ounce of intelligence.’
‘Just an ounce?’
‘Maybe two ounces.’ I pull the drawstring on my rucksack closed and swing it onto my back.
‘I’m going to have a look,’ says Suki, looking towards Mitchell’s glass cube. ‘Just a little one.’ She slides off the desk and pins herself against the far wall. She looks from side to side then rolls on the floor like a poor man’s James Bond. ‘Do you dare me?’ she hisses.
‘No!’
‘Okay, I’ll do it.’
‘Suki! No! Suki! Stop it!’ I hiss at her, bobbing down behind my desk chair. ‘You can’t!’
She shrugs and flicks the hood of her coat up, pulling at the toggles until it’s tight around her face.
‘What are you doing?’ I laugh, but am genuinely appalled. I peer around the chair and see her crawl towards the door, where there’s a gap in the blinds from inside Mitchell’s office. She moves closer until she’s all but pressed up against the glass.
‘Suki, come back! This is weird!’ I say in a whisper so forceful it hurts my throat.
‘What are you doing?’ a voice says from behind me. I recognise it as Adam’s – a public-school drawl that rasps from drinking too much and sleeping too little.
I whip around so fast I twist my ankle and end up on the floor in an awkward cross-legged position. ‘Ouch, fuck! Er, nothing! I dropped my earring!’ I don’t think he’s noticed Suki, who’s doing a good job of resembling a squidgy ninja as she lies face down on the carpet, her shaved head covered by her hood. Adam leans from one side to the other, inspecting me. I try and pull down my hair but it pings up above my ears again.
‘You’re wearing two already?’
‘I mean my other piercing. I’ve got another one. Not an ear piercing. Somewhere else.’ Ha! That’s shown him.
In the week or so since he’s been without Jonathon, Adam has become distinctly less of an arsehole. In fact, he actually asked about my weekend plans the other day without a hint of irony. Maybe he’ll be able to talk to females soon, without relying on innuendo.
‘You’re going to like the new campaign,’ says Adam cockily, as I stand and hoick my trousers up by the belt loops.
‘What? How do you know about it already? Mitchell and Rhea haven’t left his office all day.’
‘Yeah, it got sorted about an hour ago.’ He taps his nose. ‘Top secret until next week, I’m afraid.’
I groan. ‘So we’re going with the app for people with beard fetishes, are we? Brilliant.’ I have no idea how I’m going to get a six-month social media campaign out of stubble and waxed moustaches.
‘Er, not quite …’ says Adam. He peers over my shoulder in the direction of Mitchell’s office. ‘Rhea not left yet?’
Suki pops up next to me. Adam jumps and splashes water down his shirt. ‘Nope! And I think I know why,’ she says. ‘Anyway, bye, Adam. Els, shall we go?’ She grabs me by the arm and steers me out of the door and onto the street.
After Suki drags me to the end of Hoxton Square, she spins me round under a streetlight and bursts into laughter, causing a man in the public urinal opposite to stumble and piss on his shoes. She tries to talk, but each word splutters, a fat tear rolling down her olive skin.
‘I’m … I’m gonna piss myself, honestly. Tell me to think of something sad,’ she blurts out, before tumbling into hysterics again.
‘Floppy willies? Hairy bollocks?’
‘Oh, babe, I said sad, not disgusting.’
‘Thought that would work.’
She hooks an arm through mine and we tur
n onto Old Street. ‘Do you want the good news, bad news or the absolutely hilarious news?’
‘Er, bad first. Then you can tell me the hilarious news to make it better.’
‘I’m not sure it’s going to, babe.’
I stop in the middle of the path, which causes a round of expletives from other pedestrians, many of whom are jogging to catch a bus.
‘Okay, okay! So, the bad news.’ Suki rubs her knuckles along her bristly scalp. ‘I wasn’t at the Lovr meeting so I’m not sure what this is about, but it looks like you’re going to feature in some sort of campaign, because your name was all over the screen in Mitchell’s office underneath a huge picture of your face. I couldn’t see exactly what was written, for reasons I’ll explain in a sec, but the phrase “go for the experience, leave with a Lovr” was up there. Look, I took a picture.’
Suki pulls out her phone and passes it to me. We both hunch over the screen. Oh God, she’s right.
‘What the fuck? Why am I up there? That’s what I pitched this morning! I mean, it was more of a loose idea, the whole “community date thing”, but I was just rambling. I definitely didn’t say, “Make me the face of the fucking campaign”! Suki! Why are they even assuming I’ll do it? They don’t know I’m single, do they?’ That’s the first time I’ve actually said it out loud. Declaring it is like trying new food; it tastes strange and foreign in my mouth, but I don’t hate the experience. I’m single, even though I didn’t explicitly get dumped, just swapped for global hot-desking and cheap Indonesian rent.
‘I think everyone knows,’ says Suki, squeezing my arm.
‘How? I haven’t told anyone at work except you.’
‘Babe, you’re a social media manager. How do you think everyone knows? I was getting a macchiato last Friday and I overheard Adam talking to Rhea about it. Adam was on about a mate of his who plays hockey with your Tom in Southwark. Apparently, Tom was talking about leaving London and they made the connection with you, somehow. Also, you’ve deleted every picture of you as a couple from your profile, so it’s kind of obvious, babe.’
