Page 10 of The Life Experiment

‘Layla, have you got one? Layla? Layla!’

It was only when Rashida clapped in her face that Layla realised she had drifted into a daydream. Startling, she looked to her friend. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘Michelle wants an updated witness list for the Iso-Marks hearing. Do you have one?’

Straightening, Layla searched her computer. The names of clients and codes for current matters flitted across her screen. When she found what Rashida was looking for, she mailed it across.

‘Thanks,’ said Rashida, before flicking her gaze to Layla once more. ‘Are you okay? You seem distracted.’

‘I’m fine,’ Layla replied, but the words weren’t entirely true. In three days’ time, she was heading to OPM Discoveries headquarters again, but she wouldn’t be completing a test.

This time, she would find out when she would die.

Goosebumps lined Layla’s arms. Initially, they had been the markers of excitement, but now only nerves hummed through Layla.

And who could blame her for being scared?

All her life, she had followed a plan and ticked off her goals one by one.

Sure, a lot of hard work went into making them happen, but Layla wasn’t afraid of hard work.

No, she was afraid that her hard work might be for nothing.

Knowledge that The Life Experiment could provide.

Discovering when you were going to die was not a decision to make lightly – Saira had stressed that multiple times. For every positive it could bring, Layla worried that there were three negatives. When Layla felt as tired and beaten down as she did, was there room in her brain for more pessimism?

As if to illustrate that point, Sinead chose that moment to return to her desk. Layla could tell she’d been crying.

‘You okay?’ she asked as Sinead took a seat.

‘I’m fine,’ Sinead replied, in a voice that sounded anything but.

Rashida and Layla caught each other’s eye. It wouldn’t take much time out of their day if they took Sinead for a coffee. They could use the machine in the breakroom if they didn’t want to leave the office and be back at their desks in twenty minutes.

But as Layla’s attention drifted to the forty-three unread emails in her inbox that had arrived in the last hour, she stamped down those thoughts and got back to work. Across the pod of desks, Rashida did the same.

Opening a draft of a briefing, Layla skimmed what was written so far.

William Addington was taking the lead on this one, and his work was sloppy as usual.

Part of Layla wanted to leave it and let William stumble over his own incompetency, but she couldn’t do that.

Not when Mayweather & Halliwell demanded perfection.

So, silently and resentfully, Layla got to work improving what was written. With each letter she fired through the keyboard, the anger Layla spent her days suffocating smouldered. Soon, her lungs were aflame. What was she doing?

Seriously, what was she doing ?

Covering for colleagues who wouldn’t think twice about throwing her under the bus and ignoring the pain of someone sat two desks away… Was this the life Layla wanted? Was this the person she wanted to be?

Earlier that morning, she had watched a woman with a baby try to get onto the tube, only to be pushed aside by people rushing to work.

Layla didn’t want to be one of those people, but as she watched Sinead discreetly dab her tears, she wondered if she already was.

Narrowing her eyes, Layla turned back to her laptop. She polished the briefing until it was good. Better than good. William would likely take the credit for the work, but Layla told herself it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had done the job well.

But it does matter, her heart screamed.

If Layla’s work was never attributed to her, was it really hers?

If William was passing off her voice as his own, did Layla even have a voice within these prestigious walls?

As she wrestled with these questions, Layla’s phone buzzed. A photograph of her mum taken two Christmases ago filled the screen, and she fought the urge to sigh.

No matter how many times they had the conversation, Joanna never understood that a social call in the middle of the day wasn’t acceptable.

Her shifts at the supermarket seemed to make her think that everybody’s working hours were malleable and subject to a rota.

It often meant Layla missed her calls, then it was too late when she returned them.

‘Nine o’clock is midnight at my age, Layla,’ Joanna would say. ‘I’m in bed by then.’

But when else was Layla meant to call?

Eventually, Joanna’s call rang out. Moments later, a text came through. I forget how busy you are , it read. My little lawyer! Hopefully speak soon. Miss you xx

Cursing herself for reading the message, Layla let the last two words eat away at her until she could take it no more. Miss you too , she replied.

Turning her phone facedown, Layla tried to escape into her work, but now that the tentacles of her mother’s love were reaching for her, the comfort of personal statements and decisive language had lost its appeal.

Clicking her mouse a few times to appear as though she was busy, Layla allowed her thoughts to drift to her family. As always, whenever she thought of them, her chest hurt.

Casting her mind back, Layla tried to remember when she had last seen them. It was Joanna’s birthday, she realised. Back in May, when everyone was waiting for summer with bated breath. Now, with the imminent arrival of October, sunny weather was a distant memory.

How had Layla let so much time pass without seeing the people she loved?

As that reality sank in, Layla’s brain tortured her with the worst thought: Was she a stranger to her family now?

Sometimes it felt like it.

Layla had learned to accept it for what it was – her choice to leave had put her on the edge of Cannon family life.

Now, she watched from afar. The photos of days out posted in the group chat, the events she heard about long after they happened, the in-jokes she wasn’t part of.

Even when she was in the same room as them, she felt separate.

It’s your choice to be here, her brain reminded her. The statement wasn’t a lie, but that didn’t stop her mind wandering to what could have been had she stayed in Hull.

Every success, every moment Layla navigated on her own, was tainted with melancholy because her family weren’t there to share it with her. As she deepened her roots in London, she felt the roots of her hometown crack, sometimes snap. Guilt seeped into her exchanges. Loneliness became second nature.

‘I don’t want to be lonely anymore,’ Layla whispered before she could stop herself. Cheeks burning, she glanced around the office to see if anyone had heard her, but her colleagues’ eyes remained fixed on their screens.

Relief was quicky replaced by the familiar burn of shame.

However uncomfortable the experiment made her, Layla knew she had to do it. She couldn’t not. This was a turning point. The experiment would give her an answer, and around that answer, she would craft a life.

Squaring her shoulders, Layla decided she was going to say yes to Saira. Then, in three days’ time, Layla Cannon would find out when she was going to die.