‘Ah, well actually, Lenni, this is Derek Woods.’
Derek held out a hand. ‘Hello,’ he said smoothly. I shoved my Save the Chapel project plans under my arm and shook Derek’s hand.
‘Derek, this is Lenni,’ Father Arthur said, ‘a frequent visitor.’
‘Lenni, it’s a pleasure,’ Derek said, smiling at me and New Nurse, who was hovering awkwardly near the doorway.
‘To be honest, I’m just glad that someone besides me comes in here. You’re the first person I’ve seen and it’s been weeks.’ Arthur looked at the floor. ‘So, on behalf of the Save the Chapel focus group, I’d like to thank you for making the chapel your religious destination of choice.’
‘The focus group?’ Derek asked, turning to Arthur.
‘I’m sorry, Lenni, I don’t quite follow,’ Arthur said, glancing at New Nurse.
‘It’s fine. I’ll tell you all about it in our next meeting.’ I turned to Derek. ‘I hope you feel better.’
‘Derek isn’t a patient,’ Father Arthur said, ‘he’s from the Lichfield Hospital Chapel.’
‘Hey, a bum on a seat is still a bum on a seat, and I have this plan to get some Christ—’
‘Derek has just agreed to take up the position here.’
‘What position?’
‘Mine. Unfortunately. I’m retiring, Lenni.’
I felt heat rise up in my cheeks.
‘But I would very much like to hear about your plans for the chapel,’ Derek said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
And then I turned.
And then I ran.
Lenni and The Temp
IN SEPTEMBER LAST year, the hospital hired a temp.
The Patient Experience and Wellbeing department had taken a knock from two resignations and a pregnancy. The Temp, overqualified as most temps are, had just graduated from a Good University with a Good Degree in a Good Subject. The trouble was that the market was saturated with other Good Graduates from equally reputable establishments, so she jumped at the offer of the position of Temporary Administrative Assistant at Glasgow Princess Royal. It didn’t matter that the work was in no way related to her art degree or career goals; she was happy to no longer be out in the cold with the other shivering graduates of the class of 2013.
The Temp was put to work immediately and spent several months toiling away at data entry and photocopying, while staring out of windows into the hospital car park yearning to be an undergraduate again. One day, when speaking to her boss, a wide man who wore faux designer perfume that he bought in the market, she mentioned an article she had recently read – and this was the part that piqued The Boss’s interest enough for him to look up from his smartphone – about a charitable art foundation that was offering a considerably large donation to hospitals and care homes wishing to install art therapy programmes for their patients.
The Boss told The Temp that he would photocopy his own paperwork that afternoon, and within a few weeks the General Office Crap on The Temp’s desk was virtually non-existent. She wrote the financial bid, organized quotes from contractors, spoke to art supplies companies, and filled out the endless health and safety documents needed to navigate the maze of putting seriously ill people in a room with craft scissors and pencils, upon which they might accidentally impale themselves.
The funding presentation to the art charity was at their head office in London. The Temp’s palms were sweating so much as she waited to be shown into the board room that she left wet stains on the bottom of her document, and had to beg the charity temp to make her another copy.
The news came on a Thursday morning, just after eleven. She didn’t read the first paragraph of waffle thanking her for applying but skipped to the second, which began: Your grant will consist of … She’d done it. There was going to be an art room in the Glasgow Princess Royal Hospital.
The Temp worked harder on the art room than she had on anything before. She bored her friends on pub quiz night with the latest news in medical arts and crafts. She spent her weekends painting plant pots for the flowers that the patients would draw. She designed three different posters promoting the new art room, and secured media coverage from two local papers and a regional news programme to get the word out.
The day before the grand opening, The Temp went into the art room to make sure everything was ready. The merging of two old IT store rooms meant that the classroom was a decent size, and it had the added benefit of natural light through big windows on two sides. There were cupboards with art supplies, books on art, a whiteboard for the teacher, tables and chairs of varying heights and comforts for the patients’ needs, a sink to wash brushes, and a wall covered in display boards where string and fabric pegs hung at different heights so that patients could hang their work up to dry.