One Brother Shy

by Terry Fallis

  I exhaled.

  “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked, turning to me.

  Thank you. I don’t know how or when you did it, but that was a potential throw-up moment for me and you made it go away.

  “Thank you. You told them. You prepared them. I don’t know how you did it or when you did it, but they all knew who I was.”

  “Alex, look at us. They would have known who you were without me telling them,” he said. “But I did email the team late last night just to take the edge off our little surprise. We’ve got too much going on here at the moment for all of them to be as distracted as I am.”

  “Thanks for that. Very thoughtful,” I said. “Seriously, I dread those situations and you made it, well, you made it so much easier. Thank you. I wasn’t even queasy by the end of the walk.”

  “Forget it. It’s nothing,” he replied.

  Well, it’s not nothing to me.

  While we were safely ensconced behind the glass wall of Matt’s office, he took a few minutes to describe how the floor was set up. He pointed to various clumps of tables and staff as he talked.

  “Over there in the corner is the platform development team. Great coders, all. They’re working on the next iteration of the platform, adding new functionality, and ensuring it’s secure and well protected. Right next to them is the platform maintenance team. They keep the current generation of the platform in fighting trim. They also serve as the Help Desk for our clients who have white-labelled our platform and are using it on their own.”

  He pointed to another cluster.

  “In that corner, the UX team work with our designers to make enhancements to the interface. While we want the look and feel to stay the same for our clients, we also need to be constantly making improvements and adding new functions.

  “On the other side over there, the team that’s dressed slightly more upscale handles marketing and new biz development. They’re a little less geeky but still know the platform and what it can do, cold. They’re really strong at selling. I help them land the business and then turn it over to the team of engagement consultants who sit over there,” he said, pointing.

  “The engagement consultants work with the client to determine how best to set up the online engagement to deliver on their goals. Finally, the smaller team over there handles engagement communications. Their job is to promote each engagement so that the intended audiences actually know about them and can participate. We’ve learned that if you build it, they won’t necessarily come. So it’s all about driving traffic.”

  What about you?

  “What about you? What do you do?”

  “Good question. Sometimes I wonder,” Matt replied. “I’d say I’m the digital public engagement subject matter expert. I try to make sure our platform at least accommodates, and often actually defines, best practices. So it’s not just about the technology, it’s about advancing our understanding of the field, as lofty as that sounds. I also work on what’s next, what’s around the corner.”

  “You seem to have brought together all the pieces of the puzzle,” I said.

  “We hope so. The trick is to make sure all these people don’t live in their own silos and that they commit to working together, fully integrated. That’s the key.”

  “Which is why you put them all together in one giant room?”

  “Precisely. Plus, open space is cheaper to build than office walls.”

  I pulled my MacBook Pro from my backpack, turned it on, and slid it onto his desk.

  “Do you have time to show me the platform?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  He swung my computer around so he could see the screen and logged me into Innovatengage Wi-Fi. Then he typed in the URL.

  “I’m going to set you up with administrator log-in credentials so you can explore what we’ve built,” Matt said. “Your user name will be ‘AlexMacAskill’ and I’ll set your password as ‘Twins1990.’ ”

  “Nice,” I replied.

  “There, you’re in,” he said, rotating my laptop back to me. “You’re obviously looking at a standalone version, not the actual working site. But this will show you how it all works and get you into the code, too, if you want to see it.”

  Oh, I want to see it.

  “But first, let me show you the actual site in action.”

  He opened a new window and took us to the site of the British Pipeline Agency. The BPA was seeking public input on various aspects of a new section of pipeline near the Hertfordshire Oil Storage Terminal. The home page featured four cards examining route, construction, impact on the environment, and impact on endangered species. Each card featured an image, a headline, a few introductory sentences, and a Participate Now button. By clicking through, you could read as much or as little as you liked about each subject, watch a video, examine more images and infographics, and then complete a survey. You could also examine three different options for the cosmetic design of the pipeline and then use what Matt called a Likert scale to record your level of approval or disapproval, as the case may be. You could also see what others had said.

  “Do you have to register before you can participate?” I asked.

  “It’s up to the client, but it really helps to require some level of registration so we capture a bit of demographic info and at least an email address. The platform yields more insights when we know who’s participating.”

  “Makes sense,” I said.

  “So the comms team promoted this engagement nationally, but really focused on the Hemel Hempstead area, where the storage facility is located, and the towns closest to the route of the proposed pipeline. We used media relations, advertising, an email campaign, and social media to build awareness of the engagement.”

  “Impressive,” I said.

  “The last time BPA engaged the public, they ran a series of regional public meetings that cost them about £100,000. In total, 234 people attended.”

  “Not very many,” I said.

  “Right,” he agreed. “So far, nearly 4,500 people have viewed the site online and filled out the survey.”

  “Wow.”

  “Of course, we can track each interaction and then, with the help of census data and other available demographic data, and whatever registration information we gain, we can slice the numbers any way we want, by geography, income, gender, education level, political orientation, etc. It gives our client real insight and helps them design and build the pipeline based on the views of those directly affected.”

  Right, but if the people can’t stop the pipeline from being built, do they really care about voting on what colour it’s painted?

  “Right, but there’s still going to be a pipeline built, whether people want it or not. Right?”

  “Well, in this instance, yes,” he agreed. “Sometimes the engagement platform is used to seek meaningful and influential input from stakeholders and the public. Other times, it’s used simply to inform target audiences or help the client more effectively sell what they’re going to do anyway. It’s up to the client. But the system works best when the client is truly looking for input and not just putting a check mark in the public consultation box.”

  He showed me several other quite fascinating engagements they were working on. Then he opened the administrator’s dashboard on the standalone version so I could begin to explore how the platform was actually built. Now we were in my world.

  “Have a look through the code if you like,” Matt suggested. “I have to sit down with the new bus dev team on a pitch we’re doing tomorrow. But just let me know if you need anything. Oh, and you and I have a lunch date at a local consumer DNA lab. No needles, just saliva.”

  “You’ve been busy,” I observed.

  “I don’t sleep very well,” Matt explained. “But until then, feel free to root around in our platform code. I’d really like your thoughts on it.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Should I have Isabella come in and walk you through the back end?”
Matt asked.

  Nope. No thanks.

  “I think it’s better if I just find my way through it, and if I have questions, then we can talk to Isabella.”

  “Whatever you like.”

  He closed the door behind him when he left. I looked up and noticed that several of the Innovatengage team were looking my way. They tried not to be too overt about it, but it didn’t take advanced powers of observation to see they were struck by the presence of a second, quieter, long-haired Matt.

  Despite the prying eyes on the other side the glass, I dove into the Innovatengage proprietary platform program code and started to relax. There’s a comfort in being in familiar surroundings. For me, being immersed in code is like going home.

  Not bad. Actually, it was quite good. I saw how they made it all work. It was sensibly done. I immediately saw some improvements that could yield efficiency benefits and opened up a Word document to record my suggested revisions. By throwing in some shortcuts and tightening up the code here and there, I was able to get it to run somewhat faster. Sometimes the gains would accrue to the end user. Other changes would make it easier and faster for Innovatengage or their clients to upload content. I worked on it for an hour or so. Matt slipped in and out, and occasionally, someone came in to meet with Matt while I perched in the far corner of his office, my MacBook Pro in my lap. I kept my yap shut when others were in Matt’s office – standard operating procedure – and my cranium in the code.

  Matt spent quite a bit of time on the phone to various people. As far as I could tell, he’d spoken to his lawyer three or four times and to at least three venture capitalists. He was in pitch mode, and man, was he good. So cool, so articulate, so witty, so thoughtful as he answered and asked questions. It was an impressive display. I simply couldn’t imagine doing what he was doing. I’d have been a complete wreck, yet there he was, his feet up on the desk, his eyes closed some of the time as he concentrated, reeling off thoughtful opinions, detailed tech talk, and amusing but relevant anecdotes, as casually as small talk with me. I was beginning to understand how and why he was so successful at such an early age.

  When he hung up the phone and seemed not about to dial some other angel investor, I brought my computer over to the desk and turned it towards him.

  “This is very well designed. The platform is solid and uses all the latest tricks and techniques. I’m impressed,” I said.

  “I’m relieved to hear you say that, given that software is not my forte.”

  “I found some minor efficiencies that should give you a bit more speed when navigating the site or when uploading content. And I have some other thoughts on some additional functionality that would allow you to host fully interactive, real-time discussions right on the site without too much more work or complexity. But it’s tight and tidy.”

  Matt smiled and shook his head.

  “I can’t believe we’re sort of working on this together,” he said. “Yesterday morning, it was just another day. Today, I have an identical twin brother pointing out enhancements to the Innovatengage platform. That’s almost too much to fathom.”

  “If I think too hard about it, I get completely freaked out,” I said. “So to hold it together, I try to focus on smaller, practical, everyday things, like breakfast, the pound-to-Canadian-dollar exchange rate, and code.”

  “We’d better go,” Matt said, looking at his watch.

  We made the long walk back to the elevator.

  “See ya, Matt.”

  “Bye, Alex.”

  “Have a good lunch, Alex. Make sure Matthew pays.”

  “Ciao, Alex and Matt.”

  We weren’t going to eat. At least not right away. Ten stops on the Tube later, and a two-block walk brought us to GeneCorp Labs. If you signed some forms, flashed some identification, answered a brief questionnaire, paid £150, and surrendered a cheek swab, you, too, could find out if Bob’s your uncle. Or in our case, if Matthew Paterson and I were in fact identical twin brothers, born of one mother and one egg. Neither of us had any doubt, but it would be nice to have it locked down and an official piece of paper.

  “Do you really think it’s worth the money to verify what anyone with eyes can see is obvious?” Sandy, the lab technician, asked as she readied what looked like large Q-Tips.

  I said nothing but looked at Matt.

  “I see you’re not on the GeneCorp sales team,” Matt said. “You make a good point, but let’s do it anyway.”

  She swabbed both our inner cheeks and stowed the swabs in clear ziplock bags.

  “If you give me your mobile number, I’ll text you when we have the results. The RapidHIT process should only take about ninety minutes.”

  What used to take weeks, sometimes months, could now be done in ninety minutes. The swab is inserted in a RapidHIT machine the size of a small photocopier, and an hour and a half later, out pops a DNA profile.

  Matt and I found a small café down the street from the lab. I ordered minestrone soup while my brother chowed down on a club sandwich.

  “So are we going to talk about it?” Matt asked. “This ‘learned behaviour,’ as you put it?”

  No, we are not going to talk about it. How did we get back on to this? Is there something remotely unclear about my request for more time?

  “Talk about what?” I replied.

  “Come on, Alex. I may be able to help. If you can’t talk about it with me, who can you discuss it with, Wendy Weaver?”

  What the fuck! How do you know Wendy Weaver?

  I did my level best to disguise my shock when that name crossed his lips, but still, my knife, fork, and spoon wound up on the floor in a cacophonic clatter. I slowly picked them up, breathed deeply, and then said in sort of a high-pitched yelp:

  “What the…How do you know Wendy Weaver?”

  “Whoa!” he said. “I don’t know Wendy Weaver. Never met her. Never laid eyes on her. Never heard of her. But when you were in the shower this morning, your mobile rang. I didn’t answer it, but the name Dr. Wendy Weaver flashed on the screen. Is she a psychiatrist?”

  No!

  “No, of course not. Psychiatrist? Ha!” I said.

  “Okay, then who is she?”

  “Um, well, she’s a psychologist I see now and then, um, twice a week.”

  “Do you talk to her about the learned shyness thing?”

  “Well, yeah. We’ve talked about it a bit…a lot,” I conceded. “Did you talk to your mother about it?”

  “Of course. She was always there for me. I’m not sure I would have made it without her.”

  “Alex. Our mother can’t be there for you now. But maybe I can be – you know, your identical twin brother. I sense this thing, this event – whatever it was – changed you somehow. I mean we’re alike, identical, in so many ways. But we’re not really the same at all in other ways.”

  I said nothing and kept my eyes glued to the tabletop.

  “Look, I want to help. I’m concerned. Your psychiatrist…”

  “Psychologist,” I interjected.

  “Right. Sorry,” he said. “Your psychologist knows about it. Our mother knew about it. Why not talk to me about it? Can’t you expand that audience from two to three?”

  Audience of three? Ha! If only.

  “That’s just it, Matt. The audience isn’t two, it’s more than 827,000,000 and growing every day.”

  He looked perplexed.

  “Matthew, you’re right. You are my twin brother. I will tell you all about it, probably more than you ever wanted to know,” I said. “But I just can’t right now. Not today. It’s not time yet. I’m not ready yet. Okay?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “So something did happen.”

  Oh yeah. Gabriel happened.

  “Oh yeah. Something happened all right.”

  Matt’s phone pinged. He looked at his screen and then turned it so I could see the text.

  “Results are ready.”

  I wasn’t that hungry any more anyway, though I’d eaten most of
my soup. We paid and hoofed it back to the lab.

  “Congratulations, you’re related,” Sandy said with a smile, as she handed us the results sheet.

  I pressed in shoulder to shoulder with Matt so we could both read the results. It didn’t take long. Our DNA showed a perfect match on all markers. Identical twins. No doubt. No uncertainty. No question. Identical twins.

  Matt turned and gave me another hug. I still wasn’t used to hugs.

  Five minutes later we were back on the Tube heading for Old Street station. There weren’t too many others on the train at that time.

  At one point, we stopped in the tunnel between stations and just sat there for a few minutes.

  “So, Matt, um, has anyone ever come up to you thinking they recognized you from somewhere?”

  Matt thought about it for a few seconds.

  “Not that I can recall,” he replied. “Why?”

  Sorry, I’m not quite ready to share, yet. Soon.

  “Just curious, you know, with us being identical twins, and all.”

  —

  After the workday ended at about 6:20 and most of the staff had left, Matt and I ended up in the same pub in the same booth where we’d met the day before.

  “Let’s hoist a glass to DNA technology,” Matt said, clinking his glass of Guinness with my bottle of Heineken.

  “To DNA testing and identical twins!” I said.

  Two beers and no food later, Matt put Guinness number three on the table between us and put both his hands on my arms.

  “Okay, you have to do me a favour,” he said. “It was so amazing the first time, you must do it again.”

  “Happy to. But first, you must tell me what it is I must do again so I can do it again,” I replied.

  “Could you please impersonate me again? That was shocking to witness. That was bleedin’ brilliant.”

  I took a moment to get into character and reload the lines from my brainpan. And then…

  “In this era, earning the social licence to build massive infrastructure projects is not just an option, not just recommended, not just preferred, it’s absolutely essential. Public engagement, scaled digitally, to secure social licence, has become the new corporate imperative. Ignore it at your financial and reputational peril.”