Page 14 of The Life Experiment

‘But if you’re rich, you never have to worry about losing your home or not being able to afford to eat,’ the woman pointed out.

Angus blinked. Never in all his thirty-four years had he had those worries.

He couldn’t imagine what they felt like.

With shame burning his cheeks, Angus forced a smile.

‘Very true. Maybe the secret is having enough money to live a good life, but not so much that it’s all you desire.

That’s when I imagine it doesn’t make you happy.

Not properly, anyway. People always say that money can’t buy happiness. ’

‘That could be something people with no money tell themselves to feel better about being poor.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t think it would be a saying if it weren’t true.’

The woman tilted her head. ‘Is that how you decide if something is true or not – if there’s a phrase paired with it?’

Angus laughed. ‘It’s not my go-to tactic, but in this case, I stand by it. Money might buy things we’re told will make us happy, but when everything ends, it’s not objects we want around us. It’s people. So if that’s the case, how can chasing money lead to happiness?’

‘You’re right. Who wants to get to the end of their life and see they wasted it chasing the wrong things?’ the woman replied, so quiet her voice was almost a whisper.

‘Exactly. That’s got to be the worst end-of-life realisation there is.’

Angus meant the comment to be flippant, but when the woman’s eyes flicked to him, he was alarmed to see sorrow in them. He yearned to take her sadness away, but she spoke before he could try.

‘I used to think having money meant I’d be happy. That working hard and chasing security really mattered, you know?’

Angus nodded, but he didn’t know. All his life, Angus had been secure.

‘Now I wonder if it’s worth it,’ the woman continued. ‘I mean, what’s the point? Why are we here, buying overpriced coffee and acting like it’s a good way to spend our time?’

Angus looked around, the frivolity of his surroundings taking on a new significance in the shadow of her words.

‘Do you ever wonder why you get out of bed in the morning?’ she asked. ‘What it is that drives you to keep going?’

Angus tightened his grip around his drink as the directness of the questions set his soul on fire.

Suddenly, the woman’s face transformed. Shutters went down, covering her rawness with a bright, happy mask that looked painful to wear. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being maudlin.’

‘Not at all. Granted, the topic is a little dark.’

The woman laughed at this.

‘But it’s more interesting than the what’s your name, where are you from chats you usually have when you meet someone like this.’

The woman bit back a smirk. ‘Do you meet a lot of people like this?’

‘No, actually. I’ve never approached someone in a cafe before.’

‘Does that mean they usually approach you?’ she quipped.

Angus coloured. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I wouldn’t care if it’s what you meant.’

Angus fell silent, flummoxed by the knowledge that he wanted her to care because, weirdly, he cared. He cared more than he should for a man who had been speaking to a woman for less than ten minutes.

Angus’s spiralling was interrupted by the woman leaning forward, so close he could smell her perfume. Sweet, but not overpowering. A scent he wanted to bury his face in.

‘Have you ever had a bad day, Angus?’ she asked.

The sharp change in conversation threw Angus off for a second, but then he nodded. ‘Sometimes it feels like I’m having a run of bad days. A bad day marathon, even.’

Angus hoped the woman would laugh at his joke, but she didn’t.

‘I mean a really, really bad day. The worst day. The kind you fall apart over. Ever had one of those?’

Angus’s thoughts went to Saira’s office. The news she delivered had blasted him apart, and he didn’t know why. ‘Honestly? I think I’m having one of those days today.’

The woman smiled a beaming smile, blinding Angus with her beauty. ‘Well, that’s the first thing anyone’s said today that’s made me happy.’

A burst of laughter escaped Angus. ‘My misery makes you happy?’

‘Is it wicked if I say yes?’

‘Definitely, but what’s the saying? Misery loves company?’

She giggled. ‘Another saying! Although I’m guessing not many people would want an invite to our pity party.’

Angus’s heart lurched at her use of ‘our’.

He opened his mouth to fire off a witty retort, but the woman’s phone began to ring.

At the interruption, reality flooded back into focus.

The sound of cups hitting saucers and people speaking over each other seeped into Angus’s consciousness, and he hated it.

When she saw who was calling, the woman grimaced. ‘I should take this. In fact, I should go.’

‘You’re leaving already?’ Angus said, fighting the urge to ask her to stay.

The woman gathered her things as if she hadn’t heard him, then paused. ‘Isn’t timing funny? On the worst day of my life, you appeared and made it seem not so bad.’ The woman paused again, digesting her words. Then, shaking her head, she stood to leave.

‘Wait,’ Angus cried. ‘May I have your number?’

The woman froze. ‘You want to speak to me again after all I’ve rambled on about?’

‘I do.’

Cautiously, she studied him. Angus could see her calculating the pros and cons of saying yes. Then a miracle happened – she reached out her hand. ‘If you give me your phone, I’ll put my number in it.’

As Angus handed his phone over, their fingers brushed. A jolt of electricity passed through him. His eyes flicked to the woman, wondering if she’d felt it too, but she was busy typing out her number.

‘You have to agree to one thing, though,’ she said.

‘You can only contact me when you have a bad day. Not a “my boss shouted at me” or “I spilled coffee on my shirt” bad day. I mean a really, really bad day. You said it yourself – misery loves company. The way I’m feeling, I only want to be surrounded by people who are as miserable as I am. ’

Angus faltered. ‘Are you okay? Is there anything I can help with?’

At this, the woman gave a watery smile. ‘I don’t need you to fix anything for me, Angus. I don’t have time for a hero, and I don’t want one.’

Angus’s heart twisted at the blunt certainty of her words, but he felt himself nod. ‘Okay, deal,’ he said. ‘When I’m the most miserable I’ve ever been, I’ll call you.’

‘I look forward to it,’ the woman replied before walking away. Angus watched her go, wishing she would turn around so he could get another glimpse of her face, but she never did.

When she disappeared from view, Angus looked at his phone and read the digits he was certain would change his life forever. Above the number was her name.

‘Layla,’ he said. Angus loved the way her name sounded and how each letter rolled across his tongue. Most of all, he loved the way he felt himself come to life when he said it.