Page 12 of The Life Experiment

Layla didn’t know how long she’d been slouched on the squat, wooden seat, but it was starting to get uncomfortable.

The slats pressed into her spine, prodding her bones with every wobbly inhale she took, but Layla was glad of the pain.

It told her she was alive, something she hadn’t been sure of since opening that envelope.

The envelope…

Layla blinked her surroundings into focus in a last-ditch attempt to stop herself from crying.

A hipster cafe was hardly the place she wanted to break down in.

With tiny pots of brown sugar on each table and single flowers reaching out of small glass vases, it was like a ‘cool aesthetic’ Pinterest board come to life.

But when Layla stumbled out of OPM Discoveries, she didn’t care where she ended up.

She just needed somewhere to sit in solitude and process the news.

The news.

Her face crumpled at the memory. Hold it together, she scolded herself.

Desperately, Layla forced herself to count the cutlery in the mason jar on the table. Three knives, four forks, four spoons. Once she’d counted them, she counted the cutlery on the next table, then the one after that.

When she could no longer make out the silverware in the distance, Layla reached for the latte she had ordered. She flinched when her hand brushed the mug, now cold. How long had it been sitting there? How long had she been sitting there?

Wasting time, yet again, her brain muttered, and that was it. That was the moment Layla realised there was no avoiding the truth. When she was thirty-one years, eight months and six days old, Layla Cannon would die.

Thirty-one years, eight months and six days.

That was Layla’s death date. Her horribly short, impossibly devastating death date.

The words ‘BELOW AVERAGE’ were printed beside it, to really kick Layla in the gut, but that wasn’t the worst part.

As Saira promised, in certain cases the data was strong enough to predict a cause of death.

Layla was one of those lucky, or unlucky, cases.

Candidate 8’s organs and cells show significant signs of damage thanks to prolonged, heightened stress. Combined with her lifestyle responses, it is highly probable that a stroke will be her cause of death.

Groaning, Layla ran her hands through her tangled hair.

A big, screaming part of her wanted to dismiss the study as bullshit.

After all, OPM Discoveries weren’t God or fate, they didn’t know.

But, like a true top-of-the-class student, Layla had researched the organisation thoroughly.

It was impressive, ground-breaking and in a league of its own.

In short, the team knew what they were doing, meaning they knew when Layla was going to die.

And now so did she.

In two years’ time.

Everything paled into insignificance when Layla read her horrific timeline. Everything.

Before meeting with Saira, Layla had fretted about taking the afternoon off work. Taking leave meant missing important meetings. It meant falling behind. Even sat outside Saira’s office, Layla had been mentally calculating how many emails she would miss because of their meeting.

As if reminding her that she had dared to take time away from the office, Layla’s phone rang.

She closed her eyes. How could she talk to clients now, without telling them that their legal disputes weren’t worth it?

How could she care enough to go in early and stay back late when all her hard work was going to be for nothing?

Sighing, Layla picked up her phone to throw it across the cafe, but she stopped when she saw Michelle’s name on the screen. Despite every instinct telling her not to, Layla accepted the call.

‘Layla, hi. Just wondering if you’re coming back to the office today? There’s a bit of a crisis. You see, the…’

With zero fucks to give, Layla zoned out until she became aware of silence on the other end of the line. ‘I won’t be back today, no,’ she heard herself say.

‘Oh, okay. Well, that’s fine. We’ll manage without you somehow.’

Layla’s nostrils flared at Michelle’s not-so-subtle guilt trip. Once upon a time – a few hours ago, even – it would have worked, but as Layla squared her jaw, she told herself, not anymore . ‘I need to go,’ she said, ending the call before Michelle could speak again.

Setting her phone on the table, Layla folded her arms. She had been rude, but she didn’t care. In two years’ time, nothing would matter anyway.

Numb, Layla focused on life outside the cafe.

The world looked different now. Scarier, less certain.

Everything felt different too. Layla’s smart clothes itched her skin.

Her high heels pinched her toes. Layla was even talking differently.

Years ago, when she’d grown tired of her colleagues teasing her for her northern accent, Layla trained herself out of using it.

She’d copied phrases her privately educated colleagues used and rolled her vowels like she’d grown up with the richest of them.

But now? Now, fuck it. She would use contractions and slang and every profanity she could think of. Let her sentences be short and clipped and as blunt as she could make them. Who cared what anyone thought anymore?

Who cared about anything anymore?

Suddenly, all Layla wanted was a hug. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her to prove that she wasn’t as alone as she felt.

I want my mum .

The words rattled through Layla. She hadn’t had that thought in years, but at that moment, it was true – Layla wanted her mum. She wanted her mum more than she wanted anything. Even to live past the age of thirty-one.

Joanna was a good mum, a great mum… Had Layla ever told her that?

Had she ever thanked her, or her dad? Her dad with his round tummy and bald spot at the back of his head, who battled for years to overcome the physical and mental trauma of his accident, to get back to work.

He drove a taxi part-time, even though sitting for so long made his joints stiff.

He worked nights, even though it meant he was always tired.

But pain and exhaustion meant food on the table. It meant a better life for his family.

Layla’s heart broke as she thought of the people who not only gave her life, but a great life at that. And Maya, the sister who’d been an ally through it all… Had Layla ever thanked her? Had she ever sat her family down and told them how grateful she was?

Grief pushed up Layla’s throat as she thought about how desperate she’d been to leave Hull.

Determined to prove the world wrong when it tried to limit all she could be, she ran, but she hadn’t meant to leave her family behind in the process.

Over the years it just… happened. Work got busier, her ambition grew hungrier.

Recently, all Layla’s energy was spent by the time Friday rolled around.

Who wanted to take the train to Hull and back again at the weekend when they could barely keep their eyes open?

Who had time to cook, work out, read a book, go on a date? All those things had been on Layla’s ‘one day’ list, but now she couldn’t deny it would be nice to have someone there when she came home after a long day.

The shock of her sudden desire for romance tore through Layla. Love hadn’t been on her radar for a long time. Not since her most serious relationship ended six years ago.

Once upon a time, Layla believed she would marry Trent Otello. After meeting in the university library, Trent would joke that he knew Layla was the one because she was more interested in books than booze. It had been a cute line. One that, like their relationship, hadn’t stood the test of time.

Their natural end came around the time Trent realised that to be in a relationship, you actually had to see the other person.

He tried to sit Layla down three evenings in a row so they could break up.

Each time, she was home so late that it was dark outside.

For a week, they slept side-by-side with Trent’s packed suitcase in the wardrobe and Layla too tired to notice.

Now, she could barely remember his face.

You cried when he left , Layla’s brain reminded her. You must have cared.

But Layla knew the real reason for her tears.

The moment the door closed behind Trent had marked Layla’s choice to commit her life to her work.

A choice that now seemed even more final, thanks to her death date.

There would be no wedding bells for Layla.

No children, no joint bank account. She didn’t have time for any of that.

She didn’t have time.