On the Other Side of the Desk

On Leila's first paid morning at the Mercer, a visitor asked where the toilets were before anyone asked about art.

She knew the answer. That helped.

The morning involved checking the workshop materials, putting out aprons, finding a missing stack of paper and learning that the cupboard labelled STRING contained almost everything except string. Theo said it was an aspirational label. Leila made a smaller label beneath it listing what was actually there.

At eleven, a family arrived with two children who disagreed about whether they wanted to take part. The younger one headed straight for the paper. The older stood near the door with her arms folded, watching the table as though it might demand something embarrassing.

Leila recognised the feeling without assuming she knew its cause.

“You can look first,” she said. “You don't have to make anything.”

The girl nodded but stayed near the door. Leila went back to sorting card instead of standing over her waiting for a decision. A few minutes later, the girl came closer and asked whether she could use only black paper.

“Yes.”

“Even if everyone else uses colours?”

“Yes.”

The girl took three sheets and sat down. Leila did not congratulate her for joining in. She showed her where the scissors were and let the work begin.

Later, a father asked Leila to finish his son's model while he went to the shop. Theo stepped in before the arrangement became unclear, explaining that the adult needed to remain with the child during the drop-in session. Leila listened carefully. Being helpful did not mean quietly accepting responsibility for everything someone tried to hand her.

During the break, she ate a sandwich at the staff-room table. Her lunch had come from their own fridge. She had washed the container in their own sink before leaving. These were small facts she could enjoy without announcing them to everyone around her.

Anika came in carrying exhibition labels.

“How's the morning?”

“Busy. I knew where the toilets were.”

“An essential foundation.”

They talked about the workshop and the girl using black paper. Anika asked what Leila thought had helped. Leila said giving her time seemed useful, though she could not know whether the girl would have joined in anyway.

“Good distinction,” Anika said. “We don't always know what made the difference.”

The answer stayed with Leila. She had been giving adults in her life enormous power to define every moment as success or failure. Sometimes things happened because of several small conditions, not because one person said the perfect sentence.

After the session, she cleaned the tables, counted scissors and returned unused materials to the right shelves. The black-paper girl had made a building with bright yellow windows cut from the smallest scraps. She left it to dry, then came back for it after visiting the rest of the gallery.

“It looks different when the light goes through,” she told Leila.

“It does.”

“Can I hold it up to the window?”

“With your grown-up, yes. It's still a bit wet at the base.”

The girl carried it carefully. Leila watched for a moment, then returned to the table someone had covered in small pieces of tape.

At the end of the morning, Theo asked whether she had enough time to catch her bus. She checked the clock and said she needed to leave in ten minutes. They agreed which tasks she would finish and which he would do. It was a simple conversation, made possible by having it before the bus left.

Outside, Leila called Mum while walking to the stop.

“How was it?” Mum asked.

“Work.”

“Good work?”

“Yes. Some boring work too.”

“That usually comes included.”

Leila laughed. She told Mum about the label on the string cupboard and the building with the yellow windows. Then she put the phone away and checked the new route home.

There were eleven stops now, with a different connection. She had written the details in her notebook. The journey was not shorter in every direction. It was a journey to a place where her desk would be waiting beneath the window.