Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely - Gail Honeyman Page 0,105

it ought to be true. “For as long as I can remember, there’s only ever been me and . . . her. No one else to play with, to talk to, no shared childhood memories. But I don’t suppose that’s particularly unusual. And it didn’t do me any harm, after all.”

I could feel the impact of these words in my stomach, acidic and bitter, swirling around inside.

She was writing in her notebook again and didn’t look up.

“Did your mother ever talk about the assault? Did she know her assailant?”

“I stated quite clearly on the first day I came here that I didn’t want to talk about her,” I said.

She spoke gently. “Of course. Don’t worry—we won’t talk about her, Eleanor, not if you don’t want to. I’m just asking in the context of your father, trying to find out more about him, your feelings about him, that’s all.”

I thought about it. “I don’t really have any feelings about him, Maria.”

“Did you ever consider trying to find him?” she said.

“A rapist? I shouldn’t have thought so,” I said.

“A daughter’s relationship with her father can sometimes influence her subsequent relationships with men. Do you have any thoughts about that, Eleanor?”

I pondered. “Well,” I said, “Mummy wasn’t particularly keen on men. But then, she wasn’t keen on anyone, really. She thought most people were unsuitable for us, regardless of their gender.”

“What do you mean?” Maria said.

Here we were, talking about Mummy, after I’d expressly forbidden it. However, I found, much to my surprise, that I was actually starting to enjoy holding court like this, having Dr. Temple’s undivided attention. Perhaps it was the lack of eye contact. It felt relaxing, almost as though I was talking to myself.

“The thing is,” I said, “she only wanted us to socialize with people who were nice, people who were proper—that was something she talked about a lot. She always insisted that we spoke politely, behaved with decorum . . . she made us practice elocution, at least an hour a day. She had—let’s just say she had quite direct methods of correcting us when we said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing. Which was pretty much all the time.”

Maria nodded, indicated that I should go on.

“She said that we deserved the best of everything, and that, even in straitened circumstances, we should always conduct ourselves properly. It was almost as though she thought we were some kind of displaced royalty, you know . . . the family of a deposed tsar or an overthrown monarch or something. I tried so hard, but I never managed to look and behave the way she thought I should, to behave appropriately. That made her very unhappy, and very angry. Mind you, it wasn’t just me. No one was ever good enough. She was always telling us we had to be on the lookout for someone who was good enough.” I shook my head. “I suppose that’s how I ended up here,” I said. “Trying to find someone like that, and then getting confused and making a giant mess of everything.”

I realized that my whole body was shaking like a wet dog on a cold morning. Maria looked up.

“Let’s move on, for now,” she said gently. “Do you want to tell me something about what happened after you and your mother parted company, about your experience of the care system? What was that like?”

I shrugged.

“Being fostered was . . . fine. Being in residential care was . . . fine. No one abused me, I had food and drink, clean clothes and a roof over my head. I went to school every day until I was seventeen and then I went to university. I can’t really complain about any of it.”

Maria spoke very gently.

“What about your other needs, Eleanor?”

“I’m not sure I’m quite following you, Maria,” I said, puzzled.

“Humans have a range of needs that we need to have met, Eleanor, in order to be happy and healthy individuals. You’ve described how your basic physical needs—warmth, food, shelter—were taken care of. But what about your emotional needs?”

I was completely taken aback.

“But I don’t have any emotional needs,” I said.

Neither of us spoke for a while. Eventually, she cleared her throat.

“Everyone does, Eleanor. All of us—and especially young children—need to know that we’re loved, valued, accepted and understood . . .”

I said nothing. This was news to me. I let it settle. It sounded plausible, but it was a concept I’d need to consider at more length in the privacy