Гейл Ханимен - Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

‘Look, we won’t talk about it any more, OK? I just wanted to say that … if anything comes back to you … in counselling or whatever … I might be able to give you some answers, you know? But only if you want them,’ he added quickly.

I thought about this. I began to feel the vague inklings of irritation.

‘Raymond,’ I said, ‘I really don’t think it’s appropriate for you to try to direct me towards this, not before I’m ready. I’m making perfectly good progress on my own, you know,’ I told him. Be patient, Marianne. I’m coming. I looked at his face, which was even paler now than when he first sat down. His mouth hung open very slightly and his eyes were glassy and tired. It wasn’t an attractive look.

‘You’re not the only person who knows how to use a search engine, you know. It’s my life, and when I’m good and ready, I’m more than capable’ — I treated him to one of my more direct looks — ‘of finding out exactly what happened for myself.’

He nodded, and started to speak. I held up my hand, palm facing forward, to stop him. It was a very rude gesture and I must confess to an illicit thrill of pleasure as I made it. I followed this up by taking a long, pointed draught of my Dr Pepper. Unfortunately, it was almost finished, and the straw made a very unpleasant slurping sound, but I think I managed to get my point across quite effectively nonetheless.

After I finished my drink, I caught the waiter’s eye and indicated that I’d like him to bring the bill. Raymond had his head in his hands, not saying anything. I felt a rush of pain in my chest. I’d hurt his feelings — Raymond. I put my hand over my mouth and felt tears form. He looked up at me, then leaned over and took both my hands, quite assertively, in his. He puffed out some stale air from inside his hairy little beard.

‘I’m so sorry.’ We both spoke the words at exactly the same time. We tried again, and the same thing happened. Suddenly, I laughed, and he did too. Short bursts, at first, and then for longer. It was proper, genuine laughter, the kind that makes your whole body shake. My mouth was wide open, my breath slightly wheezy, my eyes shut tight. I felt vulnerable, and yet very relaxed and comfortable. I imagined that vomiting or going to the lavatory in front of him would feel the same way.

‘Look, it’s totally my fault,’ he said, when we’d finally calmed down. ‘I’m so sorry if I upset you, Eleanor. I shouldn’t even have brought it up, especially today when I’m hung over — my brain feels mashed,’ he said. ‘You’re absolutely right. It’s your business, and your decision. One hundred per cent.’

He was still holding on to my hands. It was extremely pleasant.

‘It’s fine, Raymond,’ I said, and I meant it. ‘I’m sorry if I overreacted. I know that you’re a kind man who means well, and you were only trying to help.’ I ventured a small smile at the sight of his face, which was full of relief.

He let go of my hands very gently. I hadn’t really noticed his eyes before. They were green, flecked with brown. Very unusual.

He smiled again, then put his palms up to his face and rubbed it, groaning quietly.

‘Christ,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe I’ve got to visit my mum now and see to the cats. I just want to crawl back to bed and sleep until Tuesday.’

I tried not to smile, and paid the bill — he protested, but I took full advantage of his weakened state.

‘Do you want to come with me?’ he said. ‘She’d love to see you.’

I didn’t even consider it. ‘No thank you, not today, Raymond,’ I said. ‘Glen will have had a bowel movement by now, and I don’t like to leave her faeces in the tray for more than an hour or two, in case she needs to urinate again afterwards.’

Raymond stood up quickly. ‘Just nipping to the gents,’ he said.

I bought some cat food for Glen on the way home. The thing about Glen is that, despite her offhand manner, she loves me. I know she’s only a cat. But it’s still love; animals, people. It’s unconditional, and it’s both the easiest and the hardest thing in the world.

Sometimes, after counselling sessions, I desperately wanted to buy vodka, lots of it, take it home and drink it down, but in the end I never did. I couldn’t, for lots of reasons, one of which was that, if I wasn’t fit to, then who would feed Glen? She isn’t able to take care of herself. She needs me.

It isn’t annoying, her need — it isn’t a burden. It’s a privilege. I’m responsible. I chose to put myself in a situation where I’m responsible. Wanting to look after her, a small, dependent, vulnerable creature, is innate, and I don’t even have to think about it. It’s like breathing.

For some people.

WE HAD INCREASED OUR counselling sessions to twice a week, which had sounded excessive when Maria first proposed it, but I was finding, to my surprise, that this was barely enough. I hoped I wasn’t turning into one of those needy people, though, the kind who are always droning on about themselves and their problems. Boring.

I was slowly getting used to talking about my childhood, having spent the best part of thirty years studiously avoiding the subject. That said, every time the topic of Marianne came up, I sidestepped it. Before each session, I told myself that this would be the right time to talk about her, but then, when it came to it, I just couldn’t do it. Today, Dr Temple had asked about Marianne again of course and, when I’d shaken my head, she suggested that it might be helpful to think about my childhood as two discrete periods: before and after the fire, as a way of getting to the topic of Marianne. Yes, I said, it might be helpful. But very, very painful.

‘So what’s your happiest memory from before the fire?’ she said. I thought hard. Several minutes went by.

‘I remember moments here and there, fragments, but I can’t think of a complete incident,’ I said. ‘No, wait. A picnic, at school. It must have been the end of term, or something like that — we all were outside, at any rate, in the sunshine.’ It wasn’t much to go on, and certainly not a detailed recollection.

‘What was it about that day that made you feel so happy, d’you think?’ She spoke gently.

‘I felt … safe,’ I said. ‘And I knew Marianne was safe too.’

Yes, that was it. Marianne — don’t think too hard — that’s right, her nursery class was there that day too. We all got a packed lunch, cheese sandwiches and an apple. The sunlight, the picnic. Marianne and I had walked home together after school, as we always did, going as slowly as we could and telling each other about our day. The walk home wasn’t long. It was never long enough. She was funny, a gifted mimic. It hurt to remember how much she made me laugh.

School had been a place of refuge. Teachers asked how you got your cuts and bruises, sent you to the nurse to have them dressed. The nit nurse combed your hair gently, so gently, said you could keep the elastics because you’d been such a good girl. School dinners. I could relax at school, knowing Marianne was at nursery, safe and warm. The little ones had their own special peg to hang their coats on. She loved it there.

It wasn’t long after the picnic that Mummy found out Mrs Rose had been asking about my bruises. We were home-schooled after that, all day every day — no more escaping from nine till four, Monday to Friday. Worse and worse, quicker and quicker, hotter and hotter, fire. I’d brought it on myself as usual, my own stupid fault, stupid Eleanor, and, worst of all, I’d dragged Marianne into it too. She’d done nothing wrong. She’d never done anything wrong.

Dr Temple pushed the tissues towards me and I wiped the tears from my cheeks.