Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I do need a lie-down after vodka and cola.’

He smiled wolfishly.

‘Puts you in the mood, eh?’

I tried to lift my eyebrows into a question, but, strangely, could only make one of them rise. I’d had too much to drink because I’d had too much pain, and there was nowhere else it could go but down, drowned in the vodka. Simple, really.

‘What do you mean?’ I said, hearing that I was pronouncing the consonants somewhat indistinctly.

‘Funerals,’ he said, moving closer to me, so that his face was almost pressed against mine. He smelled of onions. ‘It’s nothing to feel bad about,’ he said. ‘All that death … afterwards, don’t you find it really makes you want to—’

‘Eleanor!’ I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned round on my stool, exceptionally slowly.

‘Oh, hello, Raymond!’ I said. ‘This is … actually, I don’t know. Excuse me, what’s your name, Mr …?’

The barman had moved at what must have been lightning speed to the other end of the counter, where he had resumed his glass polishing and TV watching. Raymond gave him a look that could best be described as unfriendly, and placed a twenty-pound note on the counter.

‘Wait, Raymond,’ I said, scrabbling for my new bag, ‘I’ve got some money in here …’

‘Come on,’ he said, pulling me down rather gracelessly from my stool. ‘We can sort it out later.’

I trotted after him in my kitten heels.

‘Raymond,’ I said, tugging at his sleeve. He looked down at me. ‘I’m not going to get a tattoo,’ I said, ‘I’ve decided.’

He looked puzzled, and I realized that I’d forgotten to tell him that I’d been considering it, ever since I’d spoken to the barman at The Cuttings. He sat me down in a window seat off the corridor – not the same one he’d been in before – and left me there. I looked around, wondering what time it was, and whether they would have burned Sammy by now, or whether they kept all the bodies back till the end of the day to get a really good blaze going. Raymond returned, a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of savoury pastries in the other.

‘Get this down you,’ he said, ‘and don’t move till I come back.’

I discovered that I was ravenous. Mourners kept wandering past, but no one noticed me in my hidey-hole. I rather liked it. The seat was comfortable and the corridor was warm, and I felt like a little dormouse in a cosy nest. Next thing I knew, Raymond was there again, shaking me gently but insistently.

‘Wake up, Eleanor,’ he said. ‘It’s half past four. Time to go.’

We took a taxi to Raymond’s flat. It was on the south side of the city, an area I didn’t know very well and had no cause to visit, as a rule. His flatmates were out, I was relieved to learn, stumbling slightly as we entered the hallway and trying not to laugh. He steered me in a very ungallant fashion into the living room, which was dominated by a huge television. There were lots of what I assumed were games consoles scattered around in front of it. Aside from the computer detritus, it was astonishingly tidy.

‘It doesn’t look like a place where boys live,’ I said, surprised.

He laughed. ‘We’re not animals, Eleanor. I’m a dab hand with the Hoover, and Desi’s a bit of a neat freak, as it goes.’

I nodded, relieved to know as I sat down that nothing untoward would be adhering to my new dress and tights.

‘Tea?’ he said.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any vodka or Magners drink, by any chance?’ I said. He raised an eyebrow.

‘I’m absolutely fine now, after the sausage rolls and the catnap,’ I said, and I was. I felt floaty and clean, not intoxicated, just very pleasantly numbed to sharp feelings.

He laughed. ‘Well, I suppose I could go a glass of red, right enough,’ he said.

‘Red what?’ I said.

‘Wine, Eleanor. Merlot, I think – whatever was on special at Tesco this week.’

‘Ah, Tesco,’ I said. ‘In that case … I think I’ll join you. Just the one, though,’ I said. I didn’t want Raymond to think I was a dipsomaniac.

He came back with two glasses and a bottle with a screw cap.

‘I thought wine had corks?’ I said.

He ignored me. ‘To Sammy,’ he said, and we clinked glasses like people do on television. It tasted of warmth and velvet, and a little bit like burnt jam.

‘Take it easy now!’ he said, waggling his finger in a way I recognized was supposed to be humorous. ‘I don’t want you falling off the sofa!’

I smiled. ‘How was your afternoon?’ I asked, after another delicious sip. He took a very big swig.

‘You mean apart from rescuing you from the clutches of a pervert?’ he said.

I had no idea what he was talking about.

‘Och, the afternoon was fine,’ he said, when it became clear I didn’t know how to respond. ‘It all went off as well as these things can. It’ll be tomorrow that it really hits them. The funeral’s a big distraction; you keep busy with all the arrangements, stupid decisions about scones or biscuits, hymns—’

‘They were bad hymns!’ I said.