Гейл Ханимен - Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

We had moved on to Loose Women , another programme I was unfamiliar with. I was on my fourth vodka by now, and the funeral service was there in my mind, but it didn’t hurt — like noticing you had a stone in your shoe, but while you were sitting down rather than walking on it.

I thought that I probably ought to attempt a sausage roll at some point, or at least put a few in my bag for later, but then I remembered that I had brought my new, tiny bag, into which I could fit, at most, two savoury pastries. I tutted, and shook my head.

‘What’s up?’ said the barman. We hadn’t asked each other’s names; it didn’t seem necessary, somehow. I slumped forward on my stool and stared, in clichéd fashion, into my glass.

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ I said breezily. ‘I suppose I ought to have something to eat now, really.’

The barman, who had become less handsome as time had worn on, picked up my glass, filled it back up with vodka and a dash of cola, and returned it to me.

‘No rush, eh?’ he said. ‘Why not stay here and keep me company for a while longer?’

I looked around — the bar was still deserted.

‘You might need a little lie-down after this one, eh?’ he said, tapping my glass and leaning very close to me. I could see the enlarged pores on the sides of his nose, some of them filled with microscopic black dots.

‘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.

‘—and then the day itself, making sure you thank people, the cortege and all that stuff … The family said to thank you for coming, by the way,’ he finished, tailing off. It was he who was drinking all the wine, I noticed — he’d already refilled his glass while I’d only had two sips.

‘But the days and weeks after that … that’s when it really starts to get hard,’ he said.

‘Is that how it was for you?’ I said.

He nodded. He’d switched on the fire, one of those gas ones that’s supposed to look real, and we both stared at it. There must be some piece of wiring left over in our brains, from our ancestors, something that means we can’t help but stare into a fire, watch it move and dance, warding off evil spirits and dangerous animals … that’s what fire’s supposed to do, isn’t it? It can do other things too, though.

‘D’you want to watch a film, Eleanor? Cheer ourselves up a bit?’

I thought about this.

‘A film would be perfect,’ I said.

He left the room and returned with another bottle of wine and a big packet of crisps. ‘Sharing bag’ it said. I’d never tried one, for that very reason. He ripped it down the middle and spread it out on the table in front of the sofa where we were both sitting, then topped up our glasses. He went out again and came back with a duvet which I guessed he’d removed from his bed, and a cosy-looking fleece blanket, red like Sammy’s sweater, which he passed to me. I kicked off my kitten heels and snuggled under the blanket while he fiddled with what seemed like ten remote control devices. The enormous TV sprung to life, and he flicked through various channels.