Chapter 9
9
10 JANUARY 2025 – ALMOST TWO YEARS LATER…
I stifle a yawn.
I’m sitting in the back of the meeting room, desperately trying to keep up with taking meeting notes for Jennifer. Yes, her assistant is on maternity leave, again, so it’s down to me to fill in. And, yes, I am entirely convinced she’s getting pregnant just so that she doesn’t have to work for Jennifer. I can’t even blame her.
Jennifer’s at the front of the room, talking about the Redflags app – one of the apps the company has developed, and one I actually care about because it’s all about keeping women safe.
‘We have to be extremely careful with the personal information we collect and share,’ she says, her tone sharp and focused. ‘We’re dealing with sensitive data, and potential accusations…’
The app contains a message board where women can post about the men they have dated, who have given them serious red flags – like if they turned out to be married, if they were unpleasant to be around, or if they were potentially dangerous. It’s a great idea, it really is. The dating game is a seriously scary one to play.
Kelsey, who always has a knack for pushing the boundaries, leans forward.
‘We can get away with more on the message board,’ he says. ‘As long as people know they’re sharing information at their own risk.’
I scribble down his words, my handwriting becoming something that even I don’t recognise. Well, this isn’t part of my job, I haven’t had to write quickly since my A-level exams.
‘But the client wants something more,’ Jennifer insists. ‘Something that can be used in real time.’
‘Like what?’ Ariana asks.
I try to keep up, my pen racing across the page. I know this isn’t why I’m in the room but I do have an idea – a good one, actually, if I do say so myself. I’ve had it for a while, and it would fit perfectly within the Redflags app. But I’m not sure if now’s the time.
‘Perhaps we could add in a quick search?’ Steve suggests. ‘A dedicated page where people can drop in information in real time, about the people they’re out with, and see if anything flags.’
‘Quick-flags,’ Jennifer says, suggesting a name. ‘I like it.’
I hesitate, but the idea is bubbling up inside me, and if I don’t say it now then when will I get the chance?
I clear my throat.
‘I know that when I’m on dates, and I’m not feeling safe, I would feel better if I had a quick tool to use,’ I say.
‘Well, no one has been on more dates than Lana,’ Molly jokes – probably wanting to get everyone laughing at me, not with me.
I shoot her a glance, then turn to Steve, who is frowning – so that’s two people I’m probably not going to have on my side.
‘What women really need is a quick and easy way to get out of situations,’ I continue, undeterred.
‘Okay, Lana, thanks,’ Kelsey says, already dismissing me.
But Jennifer, surprisingly, seems intrigued.
‘No, it’s okay, let her finish,’ she says.
I swallow hard, feeling the eyes of the room on me.
‘Sometimes you just get a bad feeling, or you know you need to get out of there, or you’re just not feeling the date,’ I explain. ‘And in situations like that, what you need is an out. Making a big fuss, saying you want to leave – it doesn’t always feel like an option, and sometimes it doesn’t feel safe to say you’re not interested. But a quick, easy, non-confrontational out is perfect. It gets you out of a situation without putting yourself at risk.’
Jennifer tilts her head curiously.
‘So, what’s that?’ she asks.
‘A shortcut button, that looks like something else – like a cycle-tracking app or something – on the home screen that you can press,’ I explain. ‘After a short countdown, it will give you an automated text or a fake call, to look like it’s from your mum or whoever you want, saying there’s been an emergency and you need to come quick.’
Jennifer’s eyes narrow slightly.
‘And you would utilise something like that?’ she checks.
‘Oh, absolutely,’ I reply, my voice firm. ‘I would use it to get out of all sorts.’
She pauses for a moment, and I feel a flicker of hope – until her mouth twists into a smirk.
‘Well, as ideas go, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,’ she tells me. ‘So I would stick to taking notes if I were you.’
My face burns, and I sink into my seat, focusing on the notepad in front of me. The rest of the meeting blurs together as I mechanically jot down notes, alternating between feeling furious that she dismissed me and embarrassed that I tried to get out of my lane.
When the meeting finally ends, I shuffle out, planning to take an early lunch so I can go and seethe somewhere. But of course, Steve calls after me.
‘Lana, Lana!’
I turn around to see what he wants.
‘Yeah?’ I reply.
‘I meant to ask you earlier – did you empty the dryer?’ he asks, his tone casual.
‘Erm, I think so,’ I reply, my mind still half in the meeting room.
‘Getting in late is a killer on the old memory,’ Steve says with a chuckle. ‘I’m making a shepherd’s pie for dinner tonight.’
‘Lovely,’ I reply. Well, there’s not much else you can say to that, is there?
‘I was thinking shepherd’s pie, a movie, a bottle of wine…’
‘God, you two are like an old married couple,’ Molly quips as she breezes past us.
‘I’m going out tonight, actually,’ I tell him, hoping to nip any ideas he has in the bud.
Steve’s expression changes, narrowing.
‘You’re seeing him, aren’t you?’
‘Steve…’
‘You are, I can tell,’ he says, his annoyance clear. ‘Why, Lana, why?’
I sigh, because this has come up before. Honestly, you’d think I was cheating on him. ‘Steve, we’ve talked about this,’ I remind him.
In hindsight, I should have known it was too good to be true when Steve, my ex, offered to let me move in with him. My old flatmate moved away, and I couldn’t afford to live there on my own, so it seemed like a lifeline at the time. We weren’t together that long, and it was last year when we were a thing, so I didn’t think it would be a big deal. He was very clear when he said he was helping me as a friend, with no strings attached. But now, it’s painfully obvious that he thought this would be the thing to get us back together.
It was subtle at first but now he just can’t hide it. Like, it was weird when he showed me to my room and it had a single bed in a spot that definitely looked like it had a double there until recently, but now he doesn’t even try to hide his jealousy. The sooner I can get enough money together to get my own place, the better. I need to get out as soon as possible.
‘I’m just seeing a friend tonight,’ I lie, hoping to defuse the situation.
He looks visibly relieved which makes me feel so awkward.
‘I’ll save you some dinner then, yeah?’ he says, his tone softening.
‘You don’t have to,’ I reply, trying to keep things light. ‘I’ll probably eat while I’m out.’
‘It’s all good, I’ll save you some,’ he reassures me. ‘And I’ll wait up for you.’
And this is why I can’t tell him that I have a date, because he’s intense and he’s weird, and if I ever felt inclined to use the Redflags app he would be the first person I added – or maybe the second.
Ah well, enough about exes, enough about the past, I need to focus on the future. Here’s hoping tonight goes well – and if he turns out to be a property developer with houses to spare then even better. But I’m not usually that lucky.