Page 13 of The Life Experiment

Angus didn’t know the area around OPM Discoveries well, but Google Maps promised him a cafe was nearby. With the equipment for the study deposited in his car, he set off walking. Life erupted around him with every step he took.

Life he was going to experience for a very long time.

For ninety-three years, two months and fifteen days, to be exact. An impressive lifespan by anyone’s standards. No one would turn their nose up at that.

Only Angus had turned his nose up. His initial reaction wasn’t joy or elation or even mild enthusiasm, but a dull, aching, cavernous nothingness.

‘How are you feeling?’ Saira asked, unable to hide her excitement. After all, a longer-than-average lifespan, and the money to enjoy it? It was the thing of dreams!

Angus did his best to sound equally enthused.

‘Good. Great,’ he replied, but then he remembered Saira saying that for the experiment to work, participants had to be honest. Shifting in his seat, Angus leaned forward.

‘I’m a little shocked, actually,’ he admitted.

‘Ninety-three is pretty much sixty years away. What am I supposed to do with all that time?’

Saira smiled at him like it was simple. ‘Whatever you like.’

Angus didn’t have the heart to say that for his entire life, he’d been able to do whatever he liked, and it transpired that what he liked wasn’t very much.

Sleeping, drinking, fucking, floating but feeling like he was sinking.

Day in and day out, that was what he did.

To do that for another sixty years… Angus’s blood ran cold.

You selfish prick , he berated himself. What’s wrong with you?

So many people would kill to be in his position, yet the thought of such a long lifespan struck Angus like a snowball to the face.

Suppressing a shiver, Angus spotted the cafe ahead.

He sped up, practically running by the time he reached it.

With navy and gold decor and bronze fittings, the cafe gave the illusion of sophistication.

Angus wasn’t sure the suburban spot quite managed it, but sitting in there was better than sitting alone with his thoughts.

Shimmying his coat from his shoulders, Angus moved towards the counter.

That was when he saw her.

Two tables over from the window, wearing a smart red coat and looking like she wished it would swallow her whole – a striking woman. Turbulent thoughts were painted so clearly across her face, mirroring Angus’s own. Try as he might, he couldn’t look away.

His heart rate quickened, beating so fast he wondered if OPM Discoveries was wrong and he was going to die of a coronary right here, right now. While Angus stood there floundering, the woman stared into the distance as if the meaning of life could be found somewhere on the street outside.

Angus had never seen an expression like it before. Everyone he knew smiled constantly, all dazzling teeth and unshakable perkiness. He never knew what was real with them and what wasn’t, but this woman, this stranger? She was real, all right. Real, raging, lost… exactly like Angus.

‘Excuse me, I need to get past,’ said a voice.

Angus turned to the hunched, craggy-faced old man beside him and stepped aside. ‘Sorry.’

‘Thank you, son. Have a good day.’ The man’s chirpiness contrasted with the slow, laboured way in which he moved. Angus watched him go, wondering how old he was. Eighty? Ninety? Older?

The old man’s jerky steps made Angus shudder. A long, empty life was one thing, but a long, empty life with your body falling apart was something else entirely. Swallowing his unease, Angus made his way towards the counter, doing all he could not to look at the woman in the red coat.

‘A large soy cappuccino, please,’ he said to a flame-haired barista.

‘To have in or take away?’

‘To have in, thanks.’

Angus blinked as the response left his lips. His plan had been to grab a drink then wander the streets to process the news of his extended life. Now, apparently, he was staying.

There was no reason he shouldn’t enjoy his drink indoors, Angus thought while paying. No reason he shouldn’t be in the vicinity of the woman who had given him butterflies for quite possibly the first time in his life. No reason at all.

When the card machine chimed to confirm the transaction, Angus turned from the counter, doing all he could to drag his eyes away from where they begged to look.

Roughly half of the cafe was free. Angus could sit at the empty table in front of him. Or, if he fancied eavesdropping, the couple nearby appeared to be having an intense conversation. A break-up, perhaps? Sitting beside them, he could immerse himself in someone else’s life for a while. Or…

Or he could sit with her.

Angus’s legs didn’t wait for his brain to say no. As the woman’s gravitational pull drew him to her, Angus’s heart beat in his throat. His brain begged him to turn back, to remember that Angus Fairview-Whitley didn’t do shit like this, but he continued.

The woman was inches away now, so close Angus could see the freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose. So close he could tell she had a habit of biting her nails.

So close that he might have to speak to her.

The realisation swiped Angus’s confidence, but it was too late. His large frame was in front of the woman, looming over her table.

Clearing his throat, Angus found his voice. ‘Excuse me, is this seat taken?’

It took a moment for the woman to register that he was speaking to her. It took another for her to look at him. When she did, her eyes – dark like the night sky, but more beautiful – met his blue ones. Angus’s stomach flipped, and for one awful, panicky moment, he thought he was going to be sick.

The woman blinked. ‘You want to sit here? With me?’

Angus’s toes curled at her sharp tone. Warning lights flashed in his mind. Abort, abort! they screamed, but it was too late. He had approached a lone woman minding her own business. He’d committed to the role of creep in the coffee shop.

The woman scanned the cafe, eying the multitude of empty tables. Suddenly, coming over seemed like the worst idea Angus had ever had.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted you,’ he rushed. ‘Sorry, forget I said anything.’

Angus backed away, so focused on his humiliation that he didn’t take in his surroundings. Knocking into the table behind him, he sent a jar of cutlery tumbling to the floor where it inevitably smashed.

The sound alerted people to Angus’s epic failure. He felt their eyes on him, cold and calculating as they assessed the situation. Who is that man? Is he harassing that woman?

‘I’m so sorry,’ Angus said, flustered, as the barista approached with a brush. She batted his apology away, but her kindness only made the moment cut deeper. As hot, sticky shame prickled Angus’s skin, his body twisted to flee, but then he heard a voice.

‘Wait!’

Turning, Angus’s gaze met hers. The woman’s brows were still furrowed, but she nodded to the chair opposite. ‘You can sit.’

Angus moved quickly, sinking into the seat in one fluid movement. Finally, he allowed himself to breathe. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well, I couldn’t have you knocking into more tables, could I?’

Angus couldn’t tell if the woman was joking or not. Her face remained serious. He was about to ask if she was okay when a waitress set down his cappuccino. ‘Thank you,’ he said. By the time he managed to get the words out, she was gone.

Picking up his drink, Angus forced himself to take a sip. The cappuccino scorched his tongue. Fighting a grimace, he placed it back down. That’s when he noticed the mug encased in the woman’s delicate hands. Its contents were barely touched.

‘Did you not like it?’ he asked.

She blinked. ‘What?’

‘Your drink,’ he said, nodding at the mug. ‘Did you not like it?’

‘Oh. Something like that.’

Angus studied the woman. Up close, he could see the finer details of her face.

Her lips were full, but the bottom one was bigger than the top, making the balance of her mouth ever so slightly off.

There was a small scar beside her right eyebrow.

Angus wondered how she came to have it. He hoped one day he might find out.

Suddenly, the woman pinned Angus to his chair with her gaze until his stammering broke the silence.

‘I’m Angus, by the way.’

Her lips flicked into a wry smile. ‘That’s a posh name. Are you posh?’

‘No,’ Angus replied. One simple word, one enormous lie.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure? You seem like the men I work with.’

‘Are they posh?’

‘Oh, the poshest. But none of them have hair as posh as yours.’

It took everything in Angus not to touch his hair. ‘What kind of hair is that?’

‘Hair like a blond Hugh Grant. The poshest hair of all.’

As the woman giggled, Angus lit up. ‘As flattered as I am by that comparison, I’m afraid there’s nothing Hugh Grant about me. I’m just… well, I’m just me.’

‘You’re just you. Well, I guess that makes me just me. Whoever that is, anyway.’ At that, the woman laughed again, but this time it wasn’t a happy sound. ‘So, Mr Not-Posh-But-Looks-It. Humour me. Do you think people are happier if they’re rich?’

The question floored Angus, partly because it was unexpected, but mostly because it was one he searched for an answer to most days. ‘You ask deep questions, don’t you?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m tired of wasting time with nonsense.’

‘I know what that’s like.’

The corner of the woman’s mouth dragged into a smile. ‘In that case, I can’t wait to hear your answer.’

With those words ringing in his ears, Angus did something he hadn’t done in a long time – he looked inward for an honest answer.

He thought of his grand, empty penthouse.

His privileged, directionless friends. His endless days and piles of belongings and full phonebook that contrasted sharply with his disconnection to everything and everyone.

‘No, I don’t think you’re happier if you’re rich,’ he replied. ‘In short-term ways, maybe, like enjoying buying something you want, but those highs don’t last forever.’