It definitely wasn’t an accident.
Layla floated toward the disco like she was gliding on air.
A tiny denim skirt, skintight silver leggings, crisp white trainers, a crop top with a model’s face splashed across it, and a sky-high ponytail held up by a chunky scrunchie. Rosy lips, rainbow eyeshadow—total superstar.
Everyone said Layla was a wonder. She knew it, too. The pride of her estate. Got into university in London—all on her own. No connections, no favours.
Remember what Miss Wilkins used to snipe?
*”Hunter, you’ve got as much chance of uni as walking to the moon! Best case, college—if your stepdad pulls some strings. Otherwise, the binmen might weep for you.”*
Ah, right. The stepdad. Her real father vanished ages ago. And the stepdad? Not likely to lift a finger for *”a waste of space like her.”*
Miss Wilkins waited for the waterworks. But Layla just stood, looked her dead in the eye, and said—cool as anything—
*”We’ll see who ends up where.”*
Miss Wilkins narrowed her eyes and promised sweet revenge on exam day. But Layla aced it. Got in. Alone. No *”special treatment.”* So there.
*”Fancy some proper, top-notch romance, love?”*
*”With you? Mason, lost the plot, have you?”*
*”Layls, come off it. How’s life?”*
*”Better than yours.”*
*”Fit as ever, though, eh…”*
*”Fancy looking like me?”*
*”Wouldn’t say no.”*
*”Pop round, I’ll dress you up—guaranteed upgrade.”*
*”You’re cruel, Hunter. Might be in love with you, though.”*
*”Sod off, you wally. Gran blessed an oak cross for me—ward off your lot and bad dreams.”*
*”Bit harsh…”*
*”Nah. Just prepared.”*
They wandered down the dusky street, trading jokes like ping-pong. Young. Free. Invincible.
*”Hey, fancy crashing school on Monday?”* Mason grinned.
*”Lost your marbles? Why?”*
*”Imagine Miss Wilkins choking on her tea when she hears you got into uni. All by yourself.”*
Layla smirked.
*”Couldn’t care less. What about you?”*
*”Messing about till summer, then army. Gonna wait for me?”*
*”Oh yeah. Park bench, headscarf, knitting you socks. Mile-long ones.”*
*”Get lost…”*
*”Yeah, yeah.”*
*”Oi, check it—Mandy! She went to trade school, didn’t she?”*
*”Yep. Each to their own. Right, Mase, I’m off. My lot’s over there. You and Mandy, then?”*
*”Nah, just… hanging about.”*
*”She’s nice. She’ll wait. I won’t.”*
*”So… no chance?”*
*”None.”* Sharp. Final. Then she walked.
Uni came easy to Layla. Not because it *was* easy. She just never whinged.
*”How d’you manage it all?”* her flatmate asked.
*”What?”*
*”Y’know—films, discos, *and* your grades…”*
*”Dunno.”* Layla shrugged. *”Just living. Not moaning. Steering clear of blokes. Uni’s my future. Fun? Now’s the time.”*
*”I just wanna marry rich.”*
*”Not me.”*
Met Ollie at a disco. Too pushy—she bolted. Next day? Dorm doorstep. Flowers, chocolates. She slammed the door. He tried cinema dates. She dodged.
Girl was ready to twitch right out of her skin from his attention. Near hated him. Then Mason starts sending army letters. Not about drills—about *feelings*.
As if she didn’t remember him racing round in brown tights under shorts till he was fourteen. Or his nan dragging him to some fortune-teller for *”bed-wetting remedies.”*
Ollie buzzed about on a motorbike, waiting for her like some film hero. Then—he wiped out. Right in front of her. And she ran. Not for Ollie. For *person*.
And somehow… said yes to a date.
Six months together. No butterflies. No epic love. Just… comfortable. He felt like home.
Then Mason’s letter: insults, accusations, filth. Someone snitched. Not that she hid it.
Ollie was simpler. Steady. Safe. With him, she could dream—wedding, future, all of it.
*”Lucky you, Layls.”* her flatmate sighed.
*”How?”*
*”With Ollie. You *do* know who he is?”*
*”Meaning?”*
*”His dad’s loaded. Bought the bike. Now a car. Only child. Parents rolling in it. Old money.”*
*”And?”*
*”Rumour is… he’s already engaged. Lily. Dads merging businesses.”*
That night, she asked Ollie. He got twitchy.
*”Dad’s idea. Not mine. Don’t want Lily. I’ve got you. We’ll leave.”*
*”I’m visiting my parents this weekend.”*
*”Right…”*—and she *swore* she heard relief.
When she got back? Something was off. Girls side-eyed. Lads smirked.
*”What’s going on?”*
*”Sit down… Ollie… he…”*
*”What?”*
*”He got married.”*
Not a tremble. Not a tear. Inside? Collapse. Outside? Stone.
*”That’s it?”*
*”You’re so calm…”*
*”What else? Knew it. Left to be sure. He folded. I let him. Makes sense.”*
She leaned in, dead quiet:
*”Never say his name again. To me, he’s gone.”*
After graduation, Layla skipped home. Went straight to maternity.
Alfie arrived. Solid. Tenacious.
*”Love… will you… tell his father?”*
*”Never. Don’t ask.”*
*”Alright, just… hoped you’d avoid my mistakes.”*
*”I have. You married Dad. I didn’t.”*
*”Staying with us?”*
She saw it: Mum was scared. Stepdad? Not thrilled.
*”Got it. Not even fetching us from hospital?”*
*”Don’t be silly—of course we will…”*
They came. Stepdad shook her hand, silent.
*”Dad says you’ve got a month or two.”*
*”Ta. We’ll be quick.”*
Alfie barely cried. Like he knew—they weren’t wanted.
A month later, Layla moved in with Gran. The old woman hugged them tight, whispering, *”Home now.”*
Then—a knock.
*”Mason?”* Layla blinked. *”How’d you—”*
*”Got the address from Mum…”*
Kitchen-bound, Gran squinted.
*”Gran. Not Alfie’s dad. Mike. Childhood mate.”*
*”Right… Wrap the baby—we’ll stroll,”* Gran muttered, vanishing.
Alone, Mason fumbled:
*”Lay… I’m here. For you both.”*
*”Pity?”*
*”No! I love you. Want you.”*
*”Kid not a problem?”*
*”No! I just…”*
*”Remember Aunt Nora’s face when she heard I had a baby? Your *mum*. Looked at me like muck.”*
*”That’s past—”*
*”Get out. Don’t even glance my way again.”*
*”Who’d want you with baggage?!”*
*”Who’d want you *without* a brain?”*
Door slammed. She stood, tears falling.
*”Friend?”* Gran ventured.
*”Schoolmate. Div. Spent years trailing after me.”*
*”Proposing, was he?”*
*”Gran—”* She laughed through tears. *”Wet the bed till he was thirteen!”*
Gran chuckled. Then, softer:
*”But what if…”*
*”No *what ifs*, Gran. Lived with a stepdad. Know how that goes.”*
Layla stood. For Alfie. For herself.
Because none of it was an accident. Her path. Her fight. Her strength.
