Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

Years ago, one of the foster families I lived with had taken me, alongside their own children, on a ‘back-to-school shopping trip’. All three of us were allowed to choose new shoes and a new schoolbag, and were kitted out with a brand-new uniform (even though my skirt and blazer from the previous year still fitted perfectly well). Best of all, the trip culminated with a visit to WHSmith, where the riches of the stationery aisle were ours to plunder. Even the most recondite items (set squares, butterfly pins, treasury tags: what were these for?) were permitted, and this booty was then zipped into a large, handsome pencil case which was mine, mine, mine. I am not generally a wearer of perfume, preferring to smell of plain soap and my natural musk, but, were it possible to purchase a bottle in which the scent of new pencil shavings and the petroleum reek of a freshly rubbed eraser were combined, I would happily douse myself with it on a daily basis.

I ate breakfast (porridge and a plum, as usual) and left in good time to catch the bus. Glen was still asleep, having moved under the duvet to occupy the warm space as soon as I vacated it. I left her some fresh water and a big bowl of kibble but I doubted she’d even notice I’d gone until she heard my key in the lock again tonight. She was very easygoing that way (although not, it had to be said, in lots of other ways).

The walk to the bus stop was more interesting than I remembered, perhaps because I was seeing it with fresh eyes after such a long absence. There was an excessive amount of litter and no litter bins; these two facts were surely correlated. This part of the city was aggressively grey, but green life still struggled into being: moss on walls, weeds in guttering, the occasional forlorn tree. I have always lived in urban areas, but I feel the need for green as a visceral longing.

Just as I was about to reach the junction where I cross to catch the bus, I stopped dead, my eye drawn to a sly movement, a measured dash of brownish red. I breathed in, the morning air cold in my lungs. Under the orange glow of a streetlight, a fox was drinking a cup of coffee. He wasn’t holding it in his paws – as has been clearly established, I’m not insane – but, rather, had dipped his head to the ground and was lapping from a Starbucks cup. The fox sensed me watching, looked up and stared assertively into my eyes. ‘What of it?’ he seemed to be saying. ‘A morning cup of coffee, big deal!’ He went back to his beverage. Perhaps he’d had a particularly late night out by the bins, was finding it hard to get going on this cold, dark morning. I laughed out loud and walked on.

While I’d been off, Bob had told me to pop into the office any time, or phone for a chat whenever I wanted. Last week, a few days before my sick note was due to expire, I was still undecided as to whether to revisit the doctor and seek an extension, or else return to work on the following Monday, so I had called him, not wanting to go into the office for fear of encountering intrusive questions from my co-workers without having prepared some appropriate responses first.

‘Eleanor!’ Bob had said. ‘Great to hear from you! How are things?’

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ I said. ‘I’m fine … that’s to say, I’m much better, thank you, Bob. It’s been difficult, but I’ve been making good progress.’

‘Brilliant,’ he said, ‘that’s brilliant news! So, do you know when you’re, eh, when you’re likely to be back?’ I heard an intake of breath as he worried about what he’d just said. ‘No rush, now … no rush whatsoever. I’m not pressuring you – take as long as you need. Not until you’re absolutely ready.’

‘Don’t you want me to come back, Bob?’ I said, daring an attempt at humour.

He snorted. ‘Eleanor, the place has been falling apart without you! Jesus Christ, Billy hasn’t the first clue how to raise an invoice, and as for Janey …’

‘Bob, Bob, I was joking,’ I said. I smiled, and I must admit to feeling slightly gratified at how poorly my colleagues had coped in my absence.

‘A joke, Eleanor! Well, that’s a great sign – you must be on the mend, then,’ Bob said, sounding relieved, either because of the joke or because I was getting better – or both, I supposed.

‘I’ll be back on Monday, Bob,’ I said. ‘I’m ready.’ My voice was firm, confident.

‘Great! And you’re sure it’s the right time? Och, that’s grand, Eleanor,’ he said. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you on Monday, then.’ I could tell he was being genuine because of all the warmth that was coming down the phone. Your voice changes when you’re smiling, it alters the sound somehow.

‘Thank you very much for being so understanding about all of … about everything, Bob,’ I said, a lump forming in my throat. ‘Thank you for your support. I’ve been meaning to say … I’m sorry if I haven’t always been a very … enthusiastic employee over the years …’