Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
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1
The big screen on the wall read three minutes and thirty-seven seconds, and I knew that it was impossible, but the seconds felt like they were slipping by faster with every minute that passed. My heart fluttered as we hit three minutes thirty.
‘This is way more exciting than New Year’s Eve.’ Maeve clapped her hands. ‘How big was the firework budget?’
Rory shot her a look. ‘About as big as the budget was for bourbon biscuits.’
Maeve pulled her hand out of the tin, empty but for a sea of crumbs by this point. ‘Sorry, I’m a stress eater. You guys know this!’
‘No shit. I really hadn’t noticed that in the eight years we’ve known each other.’ He nudged her. ‘Just like I would bet my life that Penny is staring into space and coiling her hair around her finger right now.’
They both tore their eyes away from the countdown and stared purposefully at the knot in my hand. I unravelled it, tossing it over my shoulder. I was predictable, who cared?
Dexter burst into the office, laden with bags of Tesco cava. ‘How long have we got? If I accidentally miss this because big boss lady told me to go get fizz, I’m entitled to take her glass, right?’
Ella, our Managing Director, rolled her eyes. ‘One, if I’m big boss lady, what does that make those two?’ She gestured to Rory and me. ‘And two, we’ve still got two minutes and seven seconds. Stop being a drama queen and pass me a glass!’
She jumped into action, popping a bottle and pouring it into plastic flutes (we were a start-up – cava and plastic glasses was about as far as we could stretch when we hadn’t yet had a single download).
Rory turned to me, eyes frantic. ‘What if nothing happens?’
One minute and twenty-nine seconds until our lives change forever.
I tried not to show how desperately I wanted that not to be the case. ‘We’re 26 years old. If nothing happens, we’ll pick ourselves up and try again. But it will.’
‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you? My birthday’s before yours, and time, dear Penny, is a-ticking.’
Maeve, ever the optimist – and also the one with least genuine investment, as a non-employee – piped up. ‘Relax, guys. Someone, somewhere, is about to download the app that will help them find the love of their life. You should get an invite to the wedding, if you ask me.’
I bit my lip and took a sip of wine. Yes, feasibly our brand-new dating app could lead to a wedding. Or a breakup. A stream of breakups. Divorce. If I thought too hard about it, nervous hysteria bubbled to the surface.
‘I think I’ll settle for a successful first number of downloads.’
Dexter raised his pint glass. ‘Now that is something to toast to.’
Ella put her hand out. ‘One minute to go, everyone.’
There was a collective intake of breath, all of us refreshing our phones repeatedly. Everyone had stopped speaking, instead giving the countdown their undivided attention. Maeve was on my right-hand side, squeezing my fingers so tight that she threatened to cut off my circulation. Rory was to the left, biting his fingernails, a habit he’d brought with him from our university days.
My best friend did have a point. If this was a failure, it really was easier said than done to start over. This app was our baby. Literally since we’d been babies, studying for our Computer Science Masters in Edinburgh. A lot of Pot Noodles and instant coffee had gone into this project, but there’d been nothing instant about any other part of the process. We’d been in London since we graduated, on a mission to make it work. And maybe it could.
‘Thirty seconds!’ Maeve whisper-shouted in my ear. She might not have been a direct member of the team, but she was our own personal cheerleader and the feeling was mutual. We’d been known to pull all-nighters during uni, flicking the kettle on for Maeve as she got up to study just as we finally went to sleep. And she was the one who’d dragged us out to karaoke bars when she declared that we needed a break (Rory’s karaoke song had been, and always would be, ‘Copacabana’). She’d also been the one administering pep talks backstage before our crowdfunding pitch two years ago. I’d been a hyperventilating mess, throwing up my wild waves in approximately fifty different versions of a messy bun before we went onstage. Rory had been eerily silent, running through his cue cards at breakneck speed. It was potentially the only time I’d ever known him to have nothing to say, and it had freaked me the hell out. Maeve had been the glue, pinching our skin hard enough to bring us back to reality, forcing us to have a bit of self-belief. She’d always been our rock, and as a recently qualified psychologist, pep talks were kind of her thing.
‘I think I’m going to be sick.’ Rory grabbed my hand now, bringing me back to reality.
‘Please don’t.’ I nudged him with my hip. ‘It would be a really inconvenient time to have to deal with you spewing. I told you last time, Ror, I’m not holding your hair back again.’
I felt the side-eye before I saw it. We’d been friends long enough now that I knew every single combination of his facial expressions and what they meant. And this one, this particular blend of a slightly scrunched up nose, ruffled hair and gritted teeth, said ‘not now, Penny’.
Fifteen seconds. I allowed myself to feel something other than nerves. In fifteen seconds, Level would be out in the world for anyone to download. I was a deeply pragmatic person, had been the only person to take Further Maths in sixth form. I had always searched for a way that numbers could make sense of life, and now we might actually have cracked it.
‘Ten!’ Around the room, people started to chant.
‘Nine!’ Rory grabbed my hand.
‘Eight!’ Maeve squeezed even harder, eyes bright with excitement.
‘Seven! Six! Five! Four!’
‘Three!’ I took a breath, holding it.
