The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot, Marianne Cronin [top fiction books of all time txt] 📗

I tried to block out her friends and I stared at the curtains that surround my bed. They are green and awful. But no matter how hideous they may be, what always cheers me is the thought that for someone, somewhere, these are the ideal hospital curtains. That person had the responsibility of ordering curtains for the whole hospital and they chose these curtains from a catalogue, had the order approved. The order was placed and the material shipped, the curtains assembled, and all of the May Ward and most of the rest of the hospital was adorned with green chequered curtains featuring navy flowers with an odd number of petals.

‘Lenni?’

There was a ruffling of fabric as someone made the nonsensical decision to knock at my curtain.

‘Yeah?’

‘Are you awake?’

‘Always.’

‘Are you decent? You have a visitor,’ New Nurse whispered.

‘I’m decent,’ I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, just in case things had got dribbly.

As New Nurse drew the curtain back, I was surprised to see that The Girl in the Corner’s friends weren’t there any more. She was alone and lying down with the covers pulled up over her head. Having friends must be such sweet sorrow.

New Nurse came in followed by my visitor.

‘Hello,’ he said, resting a hand on the end of my bed and then taking it off as though the bed had electrocuted him. He probably didn’t want to seem over-familiar.

‘Everything okay, Lenni?’ New Nurse asked.

He looked at me and I at him. Was it okay? Apparently, it was my choice to decide. I mean, he was no group of age-appropriate friends who would while away my time with their chatter and gossip and nonsense, but even my mind raft was empty of friends.

‘I’ll be back in a bit, then,’ New Nurse said, but before leaving she pulled both of my curtains back, so that I was released from my chequered cocoon of privacy and bared for all the ward to see.

Father Arthur, standing still like one of his holy statues, remained at the end of my bed.

‘You can sit, if you want.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, taking my visitor’s chair and pulling it away from the head of my bed so I could see him properly.

‘Are you well?’ he asked, and I laughed.

‘I … you … haven’t …’ He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘It’s been quiet in the chapel over the last few days.’

I nodded.

‘I’ve missed your …’ He looked for the word, but I didn’t help him find it.

‘What’s the name of that guy in the Bible who has the two sons, and he only loves one of them?’

‘I’m sorry?’ Arthur said.

‘He’s a guy and he has two sons. One is obedient all the time and the other son runs away. But when the runaway comes back, the father loves him more than the good one.’

‘Ah yes, the parable of the Prodigal Son.’

‘I always thought that didn’t make sense. The good son does everything right and gets nothing. The bad son causes his parents worry and heartache, but when he returns he gets everything he wanted.’ Father Arthur furrowed his brow but didn’t say anything. ‘It just goes to show,’ I said, ‘that people love a runaway.’

‘Do they?’

‘Of course! Look at us: I ran away from you, and here you are. You never visited when I was coming to the chapel all the time.’

‘I suppose …’ He looked at me intently, as though trying to work out exactly how much I had already forgiven him and what was left to go.

‘I think, Lenni, the lesson of that particular parable is about asking questions. Those who ask questions and return to God are better than they who never ask questions and only pay lip service to their religion.’ He frowned, sighed, and then sighed again as though the first sigh had only served to remind him how much he enjoyed sighing. ‘I’m sorry I sprung Derek on you,’ he said after a while, ‘I didn’t realize that you would get … upset.’

‘I wasn’t upset.’

‘Right. Of course not.’

‘I was angry.’

‘Oh. Well, I had intended to talk to you about Derek and my retirement, I just didn’t—’

‘Didn’t he give someone a fish?’

‘Derek?’

‘No, the man with the prodigal son. Didn’t he give the good son a fish and the bad son his empire?’

‘I don’t think so …’

‘I think he did. I think it was one fish for the good son, his whole business empire for the runaway.’

‘Um …’

‘Come on, Arthur, you need to get better acquainted with your source material. The prodigal father is up there in heaven right now, holding his fish and hugging his runaway son and wondering why you don’t know all the stories in that religion you’re selling.’

‘I’m not selling anything.’

‘Well, you should. It’s a terrible business model to give it all away for free.’

He laughed and then the smile drained from his face like water.

‘I just want you to know that I didn’t mean to deceive you. Or to anger you.’

‘I can believe that. Hey, is that your true thing for the day?’

‘It is.’

‘It’s a good one.’

‘Thank you. You know, I will be in the chapel for several more months before my post ends, and I thought—’

‘So running can be good?’

‘You’re going to give me a headache.’

‘Running away. The message of the prodigal son is that if you run away when you want to run away, you’ll be rewarded.’

‘I’m not sure that—’

‘Father Arthur?’

‘Yes, Lenni?’

‘I have somewhere I need to run.’

There’s a difference between running and running away. They are oceans apart but nobody ever pays attention. They’re only interested in telling me that if I keep running away, they’ll take away my visiting privileges. But it’s not running away unless I leave the hospital doors. And I never have.

I couldn’t actually run from Arthur because my hip was still hurting from the crash with The Temp. Instead, I slipped on my Everyday Casual slippers and shuffled slowly in the direction of my destination. Arthur didn’t give chase, which was kind