Information about the book
Life is short. No-one knows that better than seventeen-year-old Lenni living on the terminal ward. But as she is about to learn, it's not only what you make of life that matters, but who you share it with.
Dodging doctor's orders, she joins an art class where she bumps into fellow patient Margot, a rebel-hearted eight-three-year-old from the next ward. Their bond is instant as they realize that together they have lived an astonishing one hundred years.
To celebrate their shared century, they decide to paint their life stories: of growing old and staying young, of giving joy, of receiving kindness, of losing love, of finding the person who is everything.
As their extraordinary friendship deepens, it becomes vividly clear that life is not done with Lenni and Margot yet.
Fiercely alive, disarmingly funny and brimming with tenderness, The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot unwraps the extraordinary gift of life even when it is about to be taken away, and revels in our infinite capacity for friendship and love when we need them most.
EXTRACT:
ONE
‘It’s an unfortunate situation.’
Bishop John Durkin smiles, benevolently.
I’m pretty sure that Bishop John Durkin does everything
benevolently, even taking a shit.
The youngest bishop to preside over the North Notts diocese,
he’s a skilled orator, author of several acclaimed
theological papers and, if he hadn’t at least tried to walk on
water, I’d be amazed.
He’s also a wanker.
I know it. His colleagues know it. His staff know it.
Secretly, I think, even he knows it.
Unfortunately, no one is going to call him on it. Certainly
not me. Not today. Not while he holds my job, my home and
my future in his smooth, manicured hands.
‘Something like this can shake the faith of the community,’
he continues.
‘They’re not shaken. They’re angry and sad. But I won’t let
this ruin everything we’ve achieved. I won’t leave people
now when they need me the most.’
‘But do they? Attendance is down. Classes cancelled. I
heard that the children’s groups may move to another church.’
‘Crime scene tape and police officers will do that. This is
not a community that has any love for the police.’
‘I understand that
–’
No, he doesn’t. The closest Durkin gets to the inner city is
when his driver takes a wrong turn on the way to his private
gym.
‘I’m confident it’s only temporary. I can rebuild their trust.’
I don’t add that I need to. I made a mistake and I need to
make amends.
‘So now you can perform miracles?’ Before I can answer
or argue, Durkin continues smoothly. ‘Look, Jack, I know
you did what you thought was best, but you got too close.’
I sit back stiffly in my seat, fighting the urge to fold my
arms like a sulky teenager. ‘I thought that was our job. To
build close ties with the community.’
‘It is our job to uphold the reputation of the Church. These
are testing times. Everywhere, churches are failing. Fewer
and fewer people are attending. We have an uphill battle
even without this negative publicity.’
And that is what Durkin really cares about. The newspapers.
PR. The Church doesn’t get good press at the best of
times and I’ve really screwed things up. By trying to save a
little girl and, instead, condemning her.
‘So, what? You want me to resign?’
‘Not at all. It would be a shame for someone of your calibre
to leave.’ He steeples his hands together. He really does that.
‘And it would look bad. An admission of guilt. We have to
give careful consideration to what we do next.’
I’m sure. Especially considering my appointment here was
his idea. I’m his prize show-
dog.
And I had been performing
well, turning the once-
derelict
inner-
city
church back into a
hub of the community.
Until Ruby.
‘So, what do you suggest?’
‘A transfer. Somewhere less high profile for a while. A
small church in Sussex has suddenly found itself without a
priest. Chapel Croft. While they nominate a replacement,
they need an interim vicar.’
I stare at him, feeling the earth shift beneath my feet.
‘I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. My daughter is taking
her GCSEs next year. I can’t just move her to the other end
of the country.’
‘I’ve already agreed the transfer with Bishop Gordon at
the Weldon diocese.’
‘You’ve what ? How? Has the post been advertised? Surely
there must be a more suitable local candidate
–’
He waves a hand dismissively. ‘We were chatting. Your
name came up. He mentioned the vacancy. Serendipity.’
And Durkin can pull more strings than frigging Geppetto.
‘Try and look on the bright side,’ he says. ‘It’s a beautiful
part of the country. Fresh air, fields. A small, safe community.
It could be good for you and Flo.’
‘I think I know what’s best for me and my daughter. The
answer is no.’
‘Then let me be blunt, Jack.’ His eyes meet mine. ‘This is
not a fucking request.’
There’s a reason why Durkin is the youngest bishop to
preside over the diocese and it has nothing to do with his
benevolence.
I clench my fists in my lap. ‘Understood.’
‘Excellent. You start next week. Pack your wellies.’
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by C.J. Tudor
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