Page 39 of The Life Experiment
‘It’s fine,’ Layla replied, but the catch in her voice told Angus it wasn’t fine. His chest ached, wishing more than anything that he could hold her.
‘Did he recover okay?’ Angus asked gently.
‘Dad was in hospital for months. He had surgery after surgery. For so long, we didn’t know if he was going to walk again, never mind do anything else. We thought that was the hardest time, but things only got worse from there. Dad couldn’t go back to work. He couldn’t get compensation either because the accident happened in his own time, not on the job. My parents had to sell our home. We moved to a tiny house on a council estate, but we even struggled to afford that. Overnight, Mum became Dad’s carer. She worked at a supermarket too, which meant my sister and I had to take on jobs around the house. Dad hated it. He was so angry that our childhood was cut short.’
Closing his eyes, Angus tried to picture his father dealing with the same horrific fate Layla’s dad had endured. It was hard to imagine how someone as proud as Peter would react to his freedom and autonomy being taken. Most of Peter’s confidence came from the life he provided his family. If that role were gone, what would he have done?
‘Things were tough,’ Layla admitted. ‘It was hard watching Dad struggle to adjust to his new life. It was hard losing our money and our home and knowing we were getting into more and more debt. It was hard turning on the news and seeing people talk about families on benefits as if they were scum. I wanted to scream that it wasn’t Dad’s fault. If it weren’t for the government support Dad got, I’ve no idea where we’d have been. Hungrier than we already were, probably.’
Shame burned in Angus’s chest as he thought of all the times he had been around people who looked down on families like Layla’s. And if he was honest with himself, he had too. It was easy to see a clickbait headline about a person taking advantage of government aid and forget about the thousands who weren’t.
Angus’s voice was like sandpaper when he next spoke. ‘Is your dad okay now?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know,’ Layla replied. ‘He’s still larger than life, but now I’m here, I’m seeing firsthand how he struggles. After the accident, Dad’s health spiralled. He gained a lot of weight. He fell into depression. He has type 2 diabetes now and is on medication for his heart. He’s in so much pain, Angus. When it’s cold, his hips are stiffer than ever, but he still insists on going to work.’
Angus’s eyebrows arched. ‘He’s back in work?’
‘He drives a taxi a few shifts a week. He says it makes him feel useful. Mum says he’s a workaholic.’
Angus smiled at this. ‘Is that who you learned your hard-working ways from?’
‘Do you know something? I think it is.’ There was a pause while Layla digested this. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, to reflect on the things we learn from our parents? So many people want to be the opposite of them, but in the end we all take on some of their traits. Good and bad, I suppose. But I know my best bits are things I got from my parents.’
‘They sound like wonderful people,’ Angus said.
The smile was back in Layla’s voice when she replied. ‘They really are. What about you? What traits did you get from your parents?’
With the conversation flipped to him, the cushions surrounding Angus became suffocating. Emerging from their padded embrace, he sat tall. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.’
‘Well, now’s your chance.’
Gripping the sofa, Angus thought of his parents. Had he inherited Gilly’s cold, distant demeanour? Or Peter’s ability to glide through a conversation without ever getting to the deep stuff, the real stuff?
How had being a Fairview-Whitley shaped him?
‘Cooking,’ Angus heard himself reply. ‘I love cooking, same as my mum. Well, she prefers baking, but she was the one who first showed me around a kitchen.’
The answer surprised Angus, mostly because memories of baking with Gilly were not ones he thought of often. They only made Angus remember how special those vanilla-scented afternoons in the kitchen with his mother and Hugo were. The baking stopped when Hugo was gone. His mother’s smile vanished too, as did any closeness Angus felt towards her.
‘I love that you can cook!’ Layla enthused, her chirpiness jarring with his sudden swirl of nostalgia. ‘What’s your favourite cuisine?’
‘That’s impossible to answer. They all have their own unique flavour profiles.’
‘Check you out, using words like “flavour profile”,’ Layla teased. ‘Well, speaking as someone who can barely boil an egg, colour me impressed. If you ever feel like teaching someone how to cook, I’ll be your student. We’ll have to cook at your place, though. I think I only own one pan.’
Angus should have pounced on Layla’s offer, but he couldn’t. Blood was rushing to his head, drowning out her voice.
Angus could never teach Layla to cook because she could never come to his apartment. One look at the penthouse and Layla would know he had lied about a lowly IT job.
Placing his feet on the carpet to steady himself, Angus rested his forehead on his palm and listened to Layla ask about his favourite dishes. His answers were short and noncommittal, but it was impossible to reply in any other way. The severity of what he had started with that first lie was too great to see past.
For the rest of the call, Angus listened to Layla’s beautiful voice while feeling sick. He ended the conversation early, claiming tiredness and promising to rest. Angus wasn’t lying this time – he was tired. Shattered, even. The problem was, he was tired of himself.
19Layla
The Life Experiment: Daily Questionnaire
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