Page 82 of You’re So Vein

“You can’t knit that here!” a woman yells from the audience. “You’ll give my poor Larry a heart attack.”

“Oh, do be quiet, Sheryl.” Doris holds up her vulva for everyone to see. “If Larry’s tales down at the pub are anything to go by, he’s well familiar with giant lips.”

“Why you…” Sheryl’s face turns beet red. “I will take this up with the village council.”

“We are perfectly within our rights to be here,” huffs Mrs Ellis.

“Mrs Ellis is right.” I leap to my feet. Every eye in the room turns to me. The only sound is the clacking of knitting needles. “The Naughty Knitting Club has a standing appointment, and they were never notified that we were using the space. Double booking the hall is becoming a real issue, since bookings rely on an archaic paper-based system. Luckily, this problem can be solved with my innovation.” I hold up my phone. “The Argleton village app.”

“What did she say?” Larry calls out. “Are we getting a village cat?”

“Oooooh, a village cat would make a wonderful mascot!” Doris claps her hands. “Will we hold a vote? Because my Mr Mittens should be a prime contender.”

“Over my dead body is Mr Mittens becoming the village mascot,” Geoffrey Wilcox calls out. “That little blighter once stole an entire roast chicken I had cooling on the windowsill. He’s a menace. Now my Marshmallow is—”

“We shouldn’t reduce the wonderful four-legged members of our community to mere mascots,” Reggie scolds. “I plan to—”

“Exactly! They could do a better job than this lot!” Geoffrey yells. “Marshmallow for mayor!”

“Down with Marshmallow.” Tabitha Stevens yells. “My dog Marlowe would do a better job. At least he can fit through doorways, unlike that rotund menace—”

“You’d better not be fat shaming my cat!”

“Down with Marshmallow,” Doris pumps her fist in the air. “Mr Mittens for mayor!”

What even is happening right now?

“Actually, Komal is right – we should involve our animal friends in the democratic process.” Reggie stands on his chair, waving his arms passionately. “If an animal were to be mayor, it should be one of our beautiful native hedgehogs. May I propose Winston Churchquill? He already has a statesmanlike bearing—”

I wave my arms. “Hang on a sec. I didn’t say a cat would be the mayor. Or a hedgehog. I’m talking about a village app.”

“What’s that when it’s at home, then?”

“I think it’s one of those new-fangled doodads on your phone.”

I gesture frantically to Beth, who holds up a sign with a QR code. “The app will be on your phone, yes,” I continue. “You can scan Beth’s sign to download a beta version, with a few of the features already running. Rates, village announcements and rubbish collection days will all be communicated via notifications, and we can add more features later, once we work out the kinks…”

While I talk through the details, Gideon discreetly passes out a red-coloured flyer to some of the present vampires, extolling the app’s Upyr features. Scattered pings tell me that people are already downloading it.

“Oh, look, I can update my dog license on my phone!”

“And the market has its coupons right here!” Doris taps her phone. “This is amazing. The wonders of technology. I can order Mr Mittens’ favourite food.”

“There will also be a desktop version, for those who aren’t comfortable using their phones,” I say. “And if you need us to make an appointment for you, you can use the little chat icon in the corner to contact a council member directly—”

“While this is certainly very clever,” Augustin cuts in, his voice dripping with his usual killjoy energy. “The expense of building out an app like this will bankrupt our village. Since my opponent is clearly numerically challenged, allow me to explain—”

“We have a fully costed budget on the main navigation page, including a generous grant from the Greater Barchester Council. You will even see a maintenance schedule for the wastewater system.” I smirk at Augustin as I tap my phone screen. “So we won’t have any repeats of this year’s disaster.”

“I should like to see that.” Augustin reaches over and accidentally knocks my phone from my hand. It skids under the table.

“If you’ll excuse me.” I drop to one knee as demurely as possible and duck under the table, feeling around for my phone.

“Komal.”

The sound of my name from his mouth hums in my stomach like the string section of an orchestra. Augustin is also on his hands and knees, his eyes twin flames smouldering in the gloom beneath the tablecloth.

“Are you done?” I snarl at him.