Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

‘Was she there at the time?’ I asked. Please God, let her have been spared that. Trying to live on afterwards, trying to manage the guilt and the pain and the horror of it all … I would not wish that on another human being. I would happily assume her burden if I could. I’d barely notice it, I’m sure, on top of my own.

‘She was upstairs, getting ready to go out,’ he said. ‘Got a hell of a shock when she came down and found him on the sofa like that.’

So it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t have saved him, even if she’d tried. It was fine – well, as fine as death could be. I considered the facts further.

‘He was alone at the time death occurred, then,’ I said, intrigued. ‘Do the police suspect foul play?’

He choked on his halloumi burger and I had to pass him a glass of water.

‘For fuck’s sake, Eleanor!’ he said.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘it was just something that popped into my mind.’

‘Aye, well, sometimes best not to say the first thing that pops into your mind out loud, eh?’ he said quietly, not looking at me.

I felt terrible. I felt terrible for Sammy and for his family, I felt terrible for upsetting Raymond without meaning to, I felt terrible for the waiter and his girlfriend and their poor little baby. All this death, all this suffering, happening to nice people, good people who’d done nothing to deserve it, and no one able to stop it … Tears came, and the more I tried to fight them, the more they came. The lump in my throat was burning, burning like fire, no please, not fire …

Raymond had slid around to the seat beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. He spoke in a soft, low voice.

‘Ah please, Eleanor, don’t cry. I’m really sorry … I didn’t mean to snap at you, I really didn’t … please, Eleanor …’

The strange thing – something I’d never expected – was that it actually made you feel better when someone put their arm around you, held you close. Why? Was it some mammalian thing, this need for human contact? He was warm and solid. I could smell his deodorant, and the detergent he used to wash his clothes – over both scents there lay a faint patina of cigarettes. A Raymond smell. I leaned in closer.

Eventually, I managed to regain control of my emotions, and the embarrassing tears abated. I sniffed, and he returned to his own side of the table, rummaged in his jacket pocket and passed me a packet of tissues. I smiled at him, took one and blew my nose. I was aware that I was making a most unladylike honking sound, but what else could I do?

‘Sorry,’ I said.

He gave me a feeble smile.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s really hard, isn’t it?’

I took a moment to process everything that he’d told me.

‘How’s Laura? What about Keith and Gary?’

‘They’re in bits, as you’d expect.’

‘I’m going to attend the funeral,’ I said, decisively.

‘Me too,’ he said. He slurped on his cola. ‘He was a funny old bloke, wasn’t he?’

I smiled, swallowed down the lump in my throat. ‘He was nice,’ I said. ‘You could tell that straight away, even when he was unconscious on the pavement.’

Raymond nodded. He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘At least he had a few weeks with his family after the accident, eh? Good weeks – his wee party, Keith’s fortieth. He got a chance to spend time with all the people he loved.’

I nodded. ‘Can I ask you something, Raymond?’ I said.

He looked at me.

‘What’s the etiquette for funerals? Are mourners still required to wear black, and are hats de rigueur?’

He shrugged. ‘No idea … just wear whatever you want, I guess. Sammy’s not the kind of guy who’d be bothered about that sort of thing, is he?’

I pondered this. ‘I’ll wear black,’ I said, ‘to be on the safe side. No hat, though.’

‘No, I’m not wearing a hat either,’ said Raymond, and we actually laughed. We laughed far longer than his feeble witticism merited, just because it felt good.

We didn’t speak on the walk back to the office. The weak sun was in our faces, and I held mine up to it for a moment, like a cat. Raymond was scuffing through the light carpet of fallen leaves, his red training shoes flashing through all the bronze. A grey squirrel bounded in fluid semicircles across our path, and there was that almost autumnal smell in the air, apples and wool. We didn’t even speak when we got inside. Raymond took both my hands in his and squeezed them, just for a second, and then released them at my sides. He went upstairs and I walked around the corner to my office.

I felt like a newly laid egg, all swishy and gloopy inside, and so fragile that the slightest pressure could break me. There was already an email waiting for me by the time I sat down at my desk.

C U Friday Rx

Was a response required? I suspected it was, so I just sent this:

X

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