Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely - Gail Honeyman Page 0,122

him. “But it’s fine. It’s normal to cry when you’re talking about your dead sister.”

Raymond’s face contorted with shock.

“She died in the house fire. Mummy started it on purpose. We weren’t meant to survive, but somehow I did. My little sister didn’t, though,” I said. I sounded strangely calm as I said these words. I looked away when I’d finished, knowing that Raymond’s face would be expressing emotions that I wasn’t quite ready to relive yet while he processed this information. He started to speak, but struggled.

“I know,” I said calmly, giving him a minute to compose himself. It was a lot for anyone to take in. It had taken me decades, after all. I told him a bit more about what had happened to Marianne, about what Mummy had done.

“Now that I’ve finally been able to talk about what she did to me and what she did to Marianne, I can’t possibly continue to have Mummy in my life. I need to be free of her.”

He nodded.

“Does that mean you’re going to . . .”

“Yes,” I said. “Next Wednesday, next time I speak to her, I’m going to tell her that we’re done. It’s time to cut contact, for good.”

Raymond nodded, almost approvingly. I felt calm, sure of the way forward. It was a novel sensation.

“There’s something else I need to do too. I need to find out everything that happened to me, to us, back then. I remember some of the details, but now I need to know all of it.” I cleared my throat. “So, will you help me, Raymond, help me find out what happened, the fire?” I said, not looking at him, my words barely audible. “Please?”

Asking for help was anathema to me. I’d told Maria that. “And how’s that been working out for you so far?” she’d said. I didn’t appreciate her somewhat pointed tone, but she was quite right. That didn’t, however, mean that it was easy.

“Of course, Eleanor,” he said. “Anything. Whenever you’re ready. Whatever you need.” He took my hands in his and squeezed them gently.

“Thank you,” I said, quiet, relieved. Grateful.

“I think it’s amazing, what you’re doing, Eleanor,” he said, looking at me.

This is what I felt: the warm weight of his hands on me; the genuineness in his smile; the gentle heat of something opening, the way some flowers spread out in the morning at the sight of the sun. I knew what was happening. It was the unscarred piece of my heart. It was just big enough to let in a bit of affection. There was still a tiny bit of room left.

“Raymond,” I said, “you can’t know how much it means to me, to have a friend—a genuine, caring friend. You saved my life,” I whispered, scared that tears might come, here in the café, and embarrass us both. Now that I’d started crying in public more often, it seemed that I would do it at the drop of a hat.

Raymond squeezed my hands tighter, and I fought, and won over, the urge to whip them away and put them behind my back.

“Eleanor, don’t thank me. You’d do the same for me, you know you would.”

I nodded. To my surprise, I realized that he was right.

“I remember the first time I met you,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “I thought you were a right nutter.”

“I am a right nutter,” I said, surprised that he’d think otherwise. All my life, people had been telling me that.

“No, you’re not,” he said, smiling. “Aye, sure, you’re a bit bonkers—but in a good way. You make me laugh, Eleanor. You don’t give a fuck about any of the stupid stuff—I don’t know, being cool, office politics or any of the daft shite that people are supposed to care about. You just do your own thing, don’t you?”

I was crying now—there was no avoiding it. “Raymond, you swine,” I said. “You’ve made my smoky eyes dissolve.” I was quite annoyed when I said it, but then I started to giggle, and he laughed too. He passed me one of the café’s inferior paper napkins and I wiped off the dark remnants.

“You look better without it,” he said.

Afterward, we walked toward the point where we’d part in search of our respective bus stops.

“See you soon, then?” he said.

“Oh, you’ll be seeing me sooner than you think!” I said, smiling at him.

“What do you mean?” He looked puzzled, and mildly amused.

“It’s a surprise!” I said, gesturing with my hands and shrugging extravagantly.