Page 27 of The Life Experiment
Perhaps it was because he reminded her of the men at work. He had the same self-assured, privileged air about him. He spoke like the boys onMade in Chelsea. But even with those off-putting attributes, there was something about Angus. Something… intriguing. Layla didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was his outlook or his humour. Or maybe it was that for a brief moment, on the darkest day of her life, Layla had felt a glimmer of joy, all because of him.
When the tannoy announced her stop, Layla turned to the man beside her. ‘Excuse me.’
Closing his newspaper in a motion that could only be described as pissy, the man shifted his legs, providing enough room for Layla to pass, but not without touching him.
Layla’s nostrils flared. How often had she been in this situation over the course of her adult life? She’d lost count. The tube was the worst.Men shuffling unnecessarily close, brushing their bodies against hers and blaming overcrowding. It made her shrivel.
As Layla squeezed out of her seat, the man’s stomach grazed the back of her legs. She withered with that all too familiar burn of shame.
But why are you ashamed?her indignation spat.He’s in the wrong, not you.
For once, Layla listened to her fury. After pulling her overnight bag from the overhead storage, she faced the man. ‘Next time someone asks you to let them past, do it in a way that doesn’t result in your crotch touching them. It’s really not pleasant,’ she stated, before marching to the carriage doors.
God, it feels good to stick two fingers up to the world, Layla’s brain sang as the platform came into view. No more silent compliance. No being nice and polite because it’s expected. If Layla only had two years left to live, why spend it being quiet, small and ashamed?
Hopping from the carriage, Layla made her way to the taxi rank outside the station. After giving the driver her parents’ address, she sat back and looked out at her hometown.
Even though she hadn’t been back for months, Layla could navigate the streets of Hull with her eyes closed. Around here, things didn’t change much. Despite pre-election promises, there had been no government investment or boost to the city centre. The place almost felt forgotten, stuck in a time warp of its poorest days.
That’s not to say that everything was the same as when Layla was a child, though. There were more empty stores than she remembered, and more discount and charity shops on the high street than big brand names. Things looked dirtier, which was alarming considering they’d never been that clean in the first place.
But underneath the faded facade, it wasn’t all bad. In fact, there was a charm to life here. Children played outside, using their imagination to transform their surroundings into something fantastical. Elderly couples went about their business holding hands. Groups of mumspushed prams together, talking and laughing in a way Layla never had with anyone in London. The council had planted flowers along the roadside. Despite the cold, they bloomed. Their beauty welcomed her back. Welcomed her home.
As the familiar houses of Thorpe Estate came into view, Layla’s palms began to sweat. Whether it was nerves or excitement, she couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter. This was where she needed to be.
When the taxi slowed to a stop, Layla looked at the redbrick semi-detached house of her childhood. It was exactly as she remembered it, with patchy grass in the garden and the vase gifted by Layla’s grandma visible from the living room window. Beautiful in its consistency and comforting in its familiarity. Home.
After paying the taxi fare, Layla slipped out of the car. Pausing to take in the sounds and smells of home, she willed herself to approach the door. Her feet moved slowly at first, but soon picked up their pace like they couldn’t reach their destination fast enough.
When Layla’s knuckles rapped on the door, a shout of ‘Coming!’ rang out from inside. A few seconds later, the door opened and there she was.
‘Mum,’ Layla exhaled.
Joanna’s temples were greyer than ever. The pink and white apron she’d had since Layla was in secondary school was wrapped around her generous waist, a sauce stain splashed across it. She never was the tidiest cook, but that didn’t matter when she was a great one.
Joanna gasped at the unexpected sight of her daughter. ‘Layla! What are you doing here?’
Layla’s answer stuck in her throat, but Joanna didn’t need it. She simply pulled Layla into a fierce hug.
The hug, which Layla had been craving ever since opening that envelope, exceeded every expectation. Layla breathed her mum in, the scent of coconut and that damned floral air freshener she insisted on using tickling her nostrils.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she whispered thickly.
Taking Layla’s head in her hands, Joanna ran her eyes over her eldest daughter. Layla could almost hear her assessment:Beautiful, but sad. So sad.
‘What is it, baby? What’s wrong?’ Joanna asked.
Layla’s mouth opened, but she didn’t know where to begin. So, instead, Layla settled on the simple truth she knew deep in her bones. ‘I missed you,’ she said.
Joanna’s face twisted once more as she pulled her daughter into the house.
Stepping through the front door, Layla’s past and present collided, making her dizzy. She’d experienced so many memories within these walls, both good and bad. She had cried on the bottom step of the staircase after schoolyard fallouts with friends. She had strung a banner across the wall to welcome her dad home after his fourth spinal surgery.
‘Go upstairs, pop your bag in your bedroom and take a bath. I’ll have dinner ready for when you’re done,’ Joanna said, squeezing the top of Layla’s arm.
‘My old bedroom is Jayden’s room,’ Layla croaked, but Joanna shook her head.
‘The room is yours for as long as you need it. Don’t worry about a thing, Jayden will be happy to bunk with his mum for a bit. Just go and get yourself settled.’
