Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

‘Oh, so it was you pair, was it? I kept asking the nurses who it was that had saved my life – “Who brought me in?” I said. “How did I get here?” – but they couldn’t tell me. Have a seat, come on, sit down next to me and tell me all about yourselves. I can’t thank you enough for what you did, I really can’t.’ He nodded, and then his face became very serious. ‘All you hear these days is that everything’s going to hell in a handcart, how everybody’s a paedophile or a crook, and it’s not true. You forget that the world is full of ordinary decent people like yourselves, good Samaritans who’ll stop and help a soul in need. Just wait till the family meet you! They’ll be over the moon, so they will.’

He leaned back on his pillows, tired out from the effort of talking. Raymond fetched me a plastic seat, then another for himself.

‘How are you feeling, then, Mr Thom?’ Raymond asked him. ‘Did you have a good night?’

‘Call me Sammy, son – there’s no need to stand on ceremony. I’m doing fine, thanks; I’ll be right as rain in no time. You and your wife here saved my life, though, no two ways about it.’

I felt Raymond shift in his chair, and I leaned forward.

‘Mr Thom,’ I said.

He raised his eyebrows, then waggled them at me in quite a disconcerting way. ‘Sammy,’ I said, correcting myself, and he nodded at me.

‘I’m afraid I have to clarify a couple of factual inaccuracies,’ I said. ‘Firstly, we did not save your life. Credit for that must go to the Ambulance Service, whose staff, although somewhat brusque, did what was necessary to stabilize your condition whilst they brought you here. The medical team at the hospital, including the anaesthetist and the orthopaedic surgeon who operated on your hip, alongside the many other healthcare professionals who have carried out your post-operative care – it is they who saved you, if anyone did. Raymond and I merely summoned assistance and kept you company until such time as the National Health Service took responsibility.’

‘Aye, God bless the NHS, right enough,’ said Raymond, interrupting rudely. I gave him one of my sternest looks.

‘Furthermore,’ I continued, ‘I should clarify post haste that Raymond and myself are merely co-workers. We are most certainly not married to one another.’ I stared hard at Sammy, making sure that he was in no doubt. Sammy looked at Raymond. Raymond looked at Sammy. There was a silence which, to me, seemed slightly awkward. Raymond sat forward in his chair.

‘So, eh, where do you live then, Sammy? What were you up to the other day when you had your accident?’ he asked.

Sammy smiled at him.

‘I’m local, son – born and bred,’ he said. ‘I always get my bits and pieces from the shops on a Friday. I’d been feeling a bit funny that morning, right enough, but I thought it was just my angina. Never expected to find myself in here!’

He took a toffee from a large bag on his lap, then offered them to us. Raymond took one; I declined. The thought of malleable confectionery, warmed to body temperature on Sammy’s groin (albeit encased in flannel pyjamas and a blanket) was repellent.

Both Sammy and Raymond were audible masticators. While they chomped, I looked at my hands, noticing that they looked raw, almost burnt, but glad of the fact that the alcohol rub had removed the germs and bacteria which lurked everywhere in the hospital. And, presumably, on me.

‘What about you two – did you have far to come today?’ Sammy asked. ‘Separately, I mean,’ he added quickly, looking at me.

‘I live on the South Side,’ Raymond said, ‘and Eleanor’s … you’re in the West End, aren’t you?’ I nodded, not wishing to disclose my place of residence any more precisely. Sammy asked about work, and I let Raymond tell him, being content to observe. Sammy looked rather vulnerable, as people are wont to do when they are wearing pyjamas in public, but he was younger than I’d originally thought – not more than seventy, I’d guess – with remarkably dark blue eyes.

‘I don’t know anything about graphic design,’ Sammy said. ‘It sounds very fancy. I was a postman all my days. I got out at the right time, though; I can live on my pension, so long as I’m careful. It’s all changed now – I’m glad I’m not there any more. All the messing about they’ve done with it. In my day, it was a proper public service …’

Raymond was nodding. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Remember when you used to get your post before you left the house in the morning, and there was a lunchtime delivery too? It comes in the middle of the afternoon now, if it comes at all …’

I have to admit, I was finding the post office chat somewhat tedious.

‘How long are you likely to be in here, Sammy?’ I said. ‘I only ask because the chances of contracting a post-operative infection are significantly increased for longer-stay patients – gastroenteritis, Staphylococcus aureus, Clostridium difficile—’

Raymond interrupted me again. ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘and I bet the food’s rank as well, eh, Sammy?’