Yesterday we posted about Sophie Ranald's new novel, The Frog Prince - and today we have an extract from the novel to share with you! Handsome (and rather rich) Will Turner is looking for the perfect partner, and is persuaded to go try online dating by best pal Julian's girlfriend Stella. That is, if he agrees to go undercover...
“It’s
going to be a rout!” said Giles.
“A
massacre!” agreed Tim. “We will reclaim the Iron Throne, take
what is our due, destroy our enemies!”
“We’ll
lay waste to their lands. Take possession of their gold. Rape their
women.”
“Steady
on,” said Hannah, looking up from her laptop. “Less of the
rapeyness, if you don’t mind.”
“Sorry.”
Giles paused, then resumed the war dance he’d been performing
around the water cooler. “Rape their men, then! Steal their
horses!”
“You
don’t have to rape anyone,” Hannah said. “It’s just a ping
pong tournament, for God’s sake.”
“What
do you mean, ‘just’?” said Tim. “It’s deadly serious. Our
honour is at stake.”
“Will,
please tell these boys they need to get out more,” Hannah said.
“Ha!
You’ll get nowhere with the boss,” Tim said. “His thirst for
blood is legendary. One look at the blue baize and he goes berserk.
Last time he played Davina Jones he was like Gandalf facing down the
Balrog.”
“She
still won, mind,” Giles said. “But not tonight! Tonight we will
have revenge. Right, Will?”
Will
cleared his throat. He felt awful, letting his team down like this.
The weekly Tech City ping pong tournament was a huge deal. Start-ups
from all over London sent their best players, their skills honed by
years of bitter rivalry. It was even rumoured that the recent
annexation by a rival firm of Ivan Chan, one of Ignite’s lead
developers, wasn’t so much a testimony to his stratospheric IQ and
phenomenal coding skills, but because he had the best backhand in the
business.
“I’m
really sorry, dudes,” Will said. “I’m not going to be able to
make it tonight. I’ve got other plans.”
“What?
What could be more important than wiff waff?” said Tim.
“And
last week you weren’t here for Cake Tuesday,” Giles said
mournfully. “You missed my Victoria sponge. It’s my nan’s
recipe and it’s gnarly. I gave myself the worst wanker’s cramp
creaming the butter but it was worth it, wasn’t it, Hannah?”
“Total
mouthgasm,” Hannah said. “So what’s up, Will? Tell us. What
out-trumps cake?”
“Ping
pong, LDO,” Tim said. “Unless you’ve got a meeting with Steve
Wozniak, there is no excuse for bailing out on tonight. None.”
“Unless
he’s got a hot date,” Hannah said. “Is that what it is, Will?
Go on, share it with the group.”
Will
allowed himself to imagine, just for a second, what it would be like
to be the sort of CEO who didn’t have to put up with this kind of
shit. A manager who struck terror into the hearts of his
subordinates, and said things like ‘Step into my office’, ‘Your
P45 is waiting’, and ‘Stop arsing around and do some work’. But
he wasn’t. He’d found himself, almost by accident, managing a
team of forty-five of the brightest minds in software engineering.
Between them, they had dozens of PhDs and thousands of IQ points.
They were in the business because they loved it – most of them had
been coding since before they had a 1 in front of their ages, and he
sometimes thought they hadn’t grown up much since then.
But,
with competition for talent (not to mention mad skills at the ping
pong table) so fierce among the hundreds of start-ups that populated
the Silicon Roundabout, keeping staff sweet was essential. Hence the
cake, the company’s dizzyingly high monthly coffee bill, and the
relaxed approach to management.
“Yeah,
okay, if you must know,” he said. “I do have a date.”
“Oooh!”
all three of them chorussed.
“Where
did you meet her?” Hannah asked.
“Is
she banging?” Tim said.
“Never
mind that, have you banged her?” said Giles.
God,
this was beyond cringy. Will really didn’t want to discuss his
foray into online dating with his colleagues – especially the bit
about the made-up profile and pretending to be a low-paid computer
science teacher. It was ridiculous, he knew, and it wasn’t like any
of them had sex lives to boast about, but he felt unreasonably
ashamed of the whole business.
He
looked at his watch. “It’s six thirty,” he said. “You guys
need to get your skates on if you’re not going to miss the draw.”
“Fuck!
No time to waste,” Giles said. “Coming, Hannah?”
“Yeah,
all right,” said Hannah.
“Just
gotta take a smellfie.” Tim sniffed his armpit. “Yeah, I’m
good. Tonight is the night I kick Davina Jones’s arse, and then I’m
going to ask her out.”
“Sayonara,
Will,” said Giles.
“So
long,” Hannah said.
“And
thanks for all the fish,” said Tim, and they trooped off, joining
the stream of others hurrying for the door.
Normally
there were people at their desks until close to midnight, and through
until the morning if they were working on a project with
collaborators in Seoul or San Francisco, but on Wednesdays all bets
were off. Rule one of Ping Pong Fight Club was you didn’t miss Ping
Pong Fight Club.
