Page 5 of The Life Experiment

Layla flicked through the thirty-three-page document loaded on the iPad before her. As question forty-nine caught her eye, she raised an eyebrow: How would you describe your appetite for sex?

Gulping, Layla glanced at the woman sitting at the other end of the long assessment room table: Dr Saira Khatri, head of The Life Experiment. She would soon know more about Layla than Layla’s own mother did.

Layla knew she shouldn’t be surprised by the intensity of the questions.

She had researched OPM Discoveries thoroughly after they got in touch about her application.

A globally renowned research hub, they trained leading scientists, produced Nobel Prize winners and created lifesaving vaccines.

Naturally, their process would be rigorous.

Layla was flattered to have made it this far.

After the initial expression of interest, she had been sent a lifestyle questionnaire to complete.

Next came an hour-long video interview with Dr Khatri and two senior members of the research team.

After that there were a series of online tests, food and exercise diaries and a family history report to complete, as well as a week of sleep monitoring.

Today was Layla’s first in-person session at OPM Discoveries headquarters on the outskirts of Birmingham. Taking personal leave to attend made Layla break out in a cold sweat, but the examinations and interview with Dr Khatri could only be completed in person.

If she passed this, Layla would receive one more set of online tests and complete another in-person interview. After that, she would be invited to be part of the study. She would find out the aim of the research and have a week to decide if she’d like to proceed.

Then, on the 2nd of October, the experiment would begin.

A nerve-racking thought, but any apprehension Layla felt dissolved as soon as Dr Khatri greeted her, fresh off the train from London, with the warmth of an old friend.

Layla’s nerves about the medical side of the process soon disappeared too.

Shortly after arriving, she was taken to a lab where she underwent a series of physical examinations, including blood tests, an eye test, an ECG, and finally a full body scan.

The scan had required Layla to step into a machine that looked like it came from the set of a sci-fi film.

While she stood still, whirring sensors swept over her body.

Whatever they were scanning for, they were doing a good job of hunting for it.

Layla turned her attention back to the questionnaire.

She marked herself highly throughout, because admitting the truth would have been mortifying.

Confessing her lack of travel would make her seem less cultured; owning up to her lack of fitness would seem unhealthy.

OPM Discoveries clearly wanted solid candidates, and Layla was determined to appear more solid than anyone else.

‘Here you go, Dr Khatri,’ she said, handing the iPad back after submitting her answers.

‘Thank you,’ Dr Khatri replied. ‘And please, call me Saira.’

‘Saira,’ Layla repeated, testing the name.

Saira was older than Layla – early-fifties, if she had to guess – but she had the style of someone younger. Dressed in an orange blazer, a white t-shirt and a pair of patterned trousers, she looked significantly trendier than Layla.

Her sense of style wasn’t the only thing Layla admired about her.

When Saira had taken Layla on a tour of the OPM Discoveries complex, everyone they met seemed to adore and respect her.

Layla knew that balance was hard to strike, but Saira made it look easy.

The fact that she was witty and charming didn’t hurt, either.

On the table, Saira’s phone buzzed. She checked the notification. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I might push our one-to-one back. The gym instructor is available earlier than expected. It would be best for you to complete your fitness test now.’

Layla faltered. ‘A fitness test?’

‘Is that okay? Don’t worry, it’s one of the last things you need to complete today.’

Layla instantly regretted scoring her fitness eight out of ten on the questionnaire she had just submitted. ‘That’s great,’ she replied, wondering if Saira could detect the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. ‘The thing is, I haven’t brought any workout clothes with me.’

‘That’s okay,’ Saira said, rising to her feet. ‘You don’t need them.’

‘Oh, perfect,’ Layla replied, sinking into dismay at whatever that might mean.

‘I promise it’s nothing to worry about. A few weights, some reflex work, a little running, that’s all. If at any point you need to stop, let the instructor know.’

Layla nodded, silently trying to figure out when she had last been to a gym. Was it two years ago? Three? Longer than that?

Sports had never come naturally to Layla. Compressing her body into a pair of lycra shorts and heading out for a run never sounded fun. Working out was for people with an athletic body type and time on their hands. Layla had neither.

And now Saira wanted Layla to showcase exactly how poor her fitness was. Get ready to say goodbye to your spot in the experiment, her brain grumbled.

Silencing her thoughts, Layla forced a smile. ‘Fitness test time it is,’ she replied.

Saira led her out of the assessment room and to the gym. As soon as Layla entered, a woman with the energy of a labrador puppy bounded over. ‘You must be Layla. Hi, I’m Phoebe.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Layla said, shaking the woman’s hand and trying not to marvel at how perfect she looked. Phoebe had the proportions of a supermodel and the physique of an athlete. Next to her, Layla felt positively grotesque.

‘So, has Dr Khatri told you what we’ll be doing in here?’ Phoebe asked.

Layla nodded. ‘A fitness test, weights, that kind of stuff.’

‘Exactly! The only thing I’ll add is that you need to wear a monitor the whole time so we can track things like your heart rate. Do you consent to wearing it?’

‘I do,’ Layla confirmed.

‘Great! Now, I’m going to need you to strip to your underwear, then I’ll place the electrodes on your body.’

Layla’s blood froze. ‘Excuse me?’

Phoebe pointed to a machine in the corner.

‘To do the tracing, we need the electrodes to access different parts of your skin. You’ll need to be in your underwear so we can reach them.

Don’t worry, it’s nothing I’ve not seen before!

’ Phoebe explained, but Layla couldn’t muster a reaction that was anything but horrified.

‘You want me to be in my underwear ?’ she said, looking around the room. When she saw the mirror directly opposite the treadmill, she winced.

‘Is there a problem?’ Phoebe asked.

Layla didn’t know how to answer that. Of course there was a problem – did this woman know how unsupportive Layla’s bra was?!

But it was more than a poor choice of lingerie that caused Layla such horror. That honour went to coming face to face with the body Layla did her best to avoid.

Throughout her childhood, Layla had watched her mother obsess over diets and listened to her grandma warn her she was getting ‘chunky’.

It got worse as a teenager. Friends, complaining about bloating, wobbly thighs and cellulite, pushed Layla further along the journey of being painfully, achingly aware of her body and all that she needed to change about it.

Layla might have buried her head in books and pretended to be immune to the critique, but she was only human.

The ever-changing, impossible beauty standards and edited photos on social media still got to her.

Even with a list of achievements longer than her arm, in her most vulnerable moments Layla still wished for a magic wand to shrink here and grow there, tweak this and change that.

‘Layla?’ Phoebe asked, butting into her thoughts. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Of course,’ Layla replied, straining a smile. ‘I’m just trying to remember the last time anyone saw me in my underwear, that’s all,’ she joked, but the words made her cringe.

Great, now you’ve admitted that not only are you mortifyingly insecure, but you’re a romantic failure too .

Ordering herself to stand to her full height, Layla looked Phoebe in the eye. ‘Ignore me. I’ll do it.’

Pushing herself to be brave, Layla stripped to her underwear. Under the unforgiving lights, the dimples of her cellulite seemed to glow.

‘Perfect,’ Phoebe said, now Layla was undressed. ‘Let’s get you hooked up to the monitor.’

As Layla approached the machine, with her arms crossed over her chest, Phoebe presented her with a series of wires. Round stickers were attached to the end of them. ‘These pads will be stuck to you throughout your time in here. Try not to interfere with them. I warn you, they’re a little cold.’

Phoebe was right about that. Layla gasped as the first electrode was stuck to her temple. Methodically, Phoebe moved around the rest of Layla’s body, attaching electrodes until she had none left.

When Layla got on the treadmill, Phoebe took her position beside the monitoring machine. ‘There’s a program loaded onto the treadmill called “Fitness Test”. Click that and press “Go”. Whenever you’re ready, you can start.’

Layla followed Phoebe’s instructions. Beneath her feet, the track began to move.

She set off, matching her pace to the machine.

As she stared her reflection down, Layla chose not to look at her thighs or wobbling stomach.

Instead, she focused on the fire in her eyes telling her that right here, right now, was exactly where she was supposed to be.