I think, however, he was surprised when I arrived the next afternoon in a fresh pair of pyjamas and now free of my IV. The head nurse, Jacky, wasn’t thrilled about the idea of me going back a second day in a row, but I held her gaze and said in a small voice, ‘It would mean a lot to me.’ And who can say no to a dying child?
When Jacky called for a nurse to walk me down the corridors, it was the new nurse who turned up. The one with the cherry red hair, which clashed with her blue uniform like there was no tomorrow. She’d only been on the May Ward a matter of days and she was nervous, especially around the airport children, and desperate for someone to assure her she was doing a good job. As we made our way along the corridor towards the chapel, I commented on how excellent her chaperoning skills were. I think she liked that.
The chapel was empty again except for Father Arthur, who was sitting in a pew, wearing long white robes over his black suit and reading. Not the Bible, but an A4-sized book with cheap binding and a glossy laminated cover. When New Nurse opened the door and I followed gratefully through, Arthur didn’t turn round right away. New Nurse let the door close behind us, and at the sound of the heavy thud he turned, put his glasses on and smiled.
‘Pastor, um … Reverend?’ New Nurse stumbled. ‘She, um, Lenni asked if she could spend an hour here. Is that okay?’
Arthur closed the book in his lap.
‘Certainly,’ he said.
‘Thank you, um, Vicar …？’ New Nurse said.
‘Father,’ I whispered. She grimaced, her face reddening – which clashed with her hair – and then she left without another word.
Father Arthur and I settled into the same pew. The colours in the stained glass were just as lovely as the day before.
‘It’s empty again today,’ I said. It echoed.
Father Arthur said nothing.
‘Did it used to be busy? You know, back when people were more religious?’
‘It is busy,’ he said.
I turned to him. ‘We’re the only ones here.’
Clearly, he was in denial.
‘It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,’ I said. ‘It must be embarrassing. I mean, it’s like you’re throwing a party and nobody’s turned up.’
‘It is?’
‘Yes. I mean, here you are, in your best white party dress with lovely grapes and things sewn onto it, and—’
‘These are vestments. It’s not a dress.’
‘Vestments, then. Here you are, in your party vestments, you’ve got the table laid ready for lunch …’
‘That’s an altar, Lenni. And it’s not lunch, it’s the Eucharist. The bread of Christ.’
‘What, he won’t share?’
Father Arthur gave me a look.
‘It’s for the Sunday service. I don’t eat the holy bread for lunch, and I don’t eat my lunch at the altar.’
‘Of course, because you have egg and cress in your office.’
‘I do,’ he said, glowing a little because I had remembered something about him.
‘So, you’ve got everything ready for the party. There’s music’ – I pointed to the sad CD/cassette tape combo in the corner, beside which some CDs were neatly piled – ‘and there’s plenty of seating for everyone.’ I pointed to the rows of empty pews. ‘But nobody comes.’
‘To my party?’
‘Exactly. All day, every day, you are throwing a Jesus party and nobody’s coming. It must feel horrible.’
‘That’s … um … Well, that’s one way of thinking about it.’
‘Sorry if I’m making it worse.’
‘You’re not making anything worse, but really, this isn’t a party, Lenni. This is a place of worship.’
‘Yes. No, I know that, but what I mean is that I get where you’re coming from. I had a party once, when I was eight and I’d just moved to Glasgow from Sweden. My mum invited all the kids in my class, but hardly anyone came. Although, at that point my mum’s English was patchy, so there’s every chance they all went to the wrong place, holding presents and balloons and waiting for the party to start. At least that’s what I told myself at the time.’
I paused.
‘Go on,’ he offered.
‘So, when I was sitting there on the dining-room chairs that my mum had arranged into a circle, waiting for someone to turn up, I felt horrible.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said.
‘So, that’s what I’m saying to you. I know how much it hurts when nobody comes to your party. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I just don’t think you should deny it. You can’t fix a problem until you’ve faced it head on.’