Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

‘It’s the middle of summer,’ I said. ‘I can’t say I’ve really given it any thought.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘but we’ve got to get something booked up now, otherwise all the good places get taken and you get left with, like, Wetherspoons or a rubbish Italian.’

‘It’s a matter of supreme indifference to me,’ I said. ‘I shan’t be going anyway.’ I rubbed at the cracked skin between my fingers – it was healing, but the process was painfully slow.

‘Oh, that’s right,’ she said, ‘you never go, do you? I’d forgotten about that. You don’t do the Secret Santa either. Eleanor the Grinch, that’s what we ought to call you.’ They all laughed.

‘I don’t understand that cultural reference,’ I said. ‘However, to clarify, I’m an atheist, and I’m not consumer-oriented, so the midwinter shopping festival otherwise known as Christmas is of little interest to me.’

I went back to my work, hoping it would inspire them to do the same. They are like small children, easily distracted, and content to spend what feels like hours discussing trivialities and gossiping about people they don’t know.

‘Sounds like somebody had a bad experience in Santa’s grotto back in the day,’ said Billy, and then, thankfully, the phone rang. I smiled sadly. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the sort of bad experiences I’d had, back in the day.

It was an internal call: Raymond, asking if I wanted to go and visit Sammy again with him tonight. A Wednesday. I’d miss my weekly chat with Mummy. I’d never missed one, not in all these years. But then, what could she actually do about it, after all? There couldn’t be much harm in skipping it, just this once, and Sammy was in need of nutritious food. I said yes.

Our rendezvous was scheduled for five thirty. I’d insisted that we meet outside the post office, fearing the reaction of my co-workers were we to be observed leaving work together. It was a mild, pleasant evening, so we decided to walk to the hospital, which would take only twenty minutes. Raymond was certainly in need of the exercise.

‘How was your day, Eleanor?’ he said, smoking as we walked. I changed sides, trying to position myself downwind of the noxious toxins.

‘Fine, thank you. I had a cheese-and-pickle sandwich for lunch, with ready-salted crisps and a mango smoothie.’ He blew smoke out of the side of his mouth and laughed.

‘Anything else happen? Or just the sandwich?’

I thought about this. ‘There was a protracted discussion about Christmas lunch venues,’ I said. ‘Apparently it’s been narrowed down to TGI Fridays, because “it’s a laugh”’ – here, I tried out a little finger-waggling gesture indicating quotation marks, which I’d seen Janey doing once and had stored away for future reference; I think I carried it off with aplomb – ‘or else the Bombay Bistro Christmas Buffet.’

‘Nothing says Christmas like a lamb biryani, eh?’ Raymond said.

He stubbed out his cigarette, discarding it on the pavement. We arrived at the hospital and I waited while Raymond, typically disorganized, went into the shop on the ground floor. There really is no excuse for being unprepared. I had already gone to Marks and Spencer before meeting him, and had purchased some choice items there, including a tub of pumpkin seeds. I suspected Sammy was in dire need of zinc. Raymond came out swinging a carrier bag. In the lift, he opened it and showed me what he’d bought.

‘Haribo, the Evening Times, big tub of sour cream and chive Pringles. What more could a man ask for, eh?’ he said, looking quite proud of himself. I did not dignify this with a response.

We paused at the ward entrance; Sammy’s bed was surrounded by visitors. He saw us and beckoned us over. I looked around, but the stern nurse with the stripy socks was nowhere to be seen. Sammy was reclining regally on a mound of pillows, addressing the assembled throng.

‘Eleanor, Raymond – great to see you! Come and meet the family! This is Keith – the kiddies are at home with their mum – and this is Gary and Michelle, and this’ – he indicated a blonde woman who was texting with impressive focus on her mobile telephone – ‘is my daughter Laura.’

I was aware of everyone smiling and nodding, and then they were shaking our hands, slapping Raymond’s back. It was quite overwhelming. I’d put on my white cotton gloves, rather than use the hand gel – I reasoned that I could run them through a boil wash as soon as I got home. This occasioned a certain hesitancy in the handshakes, which was strange – surely a cotton barrier between our respective skin surfaces could only be a good thing?

‘Thanks so much for taking care of my dad, guys,’ the older brother, Keith, said, wiping his hands on the front of his trousers. ‘It means a lot, to know he wasn’t on his own when it happened, that he had people looking out for him.’

‘Hey, now,’ said Sammy, nudging him with his elbow, ‘I’m not some doddery old invalid, you know. I can look after myself.’ They smiled at one another.