Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely - Gail Honeyman Page 0,123

I’d never seen a magician perform onstage, but that was the look I was trying for. Raymond burst out laughing.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he said, still smiling as he fumbled in his pockets for his cigarettes.

I took my leave of him in a somewhat distracted frame of mind, my thoughts returning to Marianne and to Mummy. I had work to do now. The past had been hiding from me—or I’d hidden from it—and yet there it was, still, lurking in darkness. It was time to let in a little light.

39

Back to work! A cockerel’s dawn crowing had woken me from my slumbers. This glorious morning sound was powered by an AA battery and delivered through a tinny speaker, and was brought about by my setting my alarm clock the previous evening, rather than, as is the case in our avian friends, raised levels of testosterone and sunlight. It is fair to say that my bedroom is a testosterone and sunlight-free zone at present. But winter does pass, I told myself—remember that, Eleanor. Glen was slumped over my feet on top of the duvet, keeping them warm as she did her best to ignore the alarm.

Excited at the prospect of the day ahead, I dressed in a new white blouse, a new black skirt, black tights and the boots I’d got a while ago for a gig I should never have gone to. I looked smart, practical, normal. Yes, I was going back to work.

Years ago, one of the foster families I lived with had taken me, alongside their own children, on a “back-to-school shopping trip.” All three of us were allowed to choose new shoes and a new schoolbag, and were kitted out with a brand-new uniform (even though my skirt and blazer from the previous year still fit perfectly well). Best of all, the trip culminated with a visit to WHSmith, where the riches of the stationery aisle were ours to plunder. Even the most recondite items (set squares, butterfly pins, treasury tags: what were these for?) were permitted, and this booty was then zipped into a large, handsome pencil case which was mine, mine, mine. I am not generally a wearer of perfume, preferring to smell of plain soap and my natural musk, but, were it possible to purchase a bottle in which the scent of new pencil shavings and the petroleum reek of a freshly rubbed eraser were combined, I would happily douse myself with it on a daily basis.

I ate breakfast (porridge and a plum, as usual) and left in good time to catch the bus. Glen was still asleep, having moved under the duvet to occupy the warm space as soon as I vacated it. I left her some fresh water and a big bowl of kibble but I doubted she’d even notice I’d gone until she heard my key in the lock again tonight. She was very easygoing that way (although not, it had to be said, in lots of other ways).

The walk to the bus stop was more interesting than I remembered, perhaps because I was seeing it with fresh eyes after such a long absence. There was an excessive amount of litter and no litter bins; these two facts were surely correlated. This part of the city was aggressively gray, but green life still struggled into being: moss on walls, weeds in guttering, the occasional forlorn tree. I have always lived in urban areas, but I feel the need for green as a visceral longing.

Just as I was about to reach the junction where I cross to catch the bus, I stopped dead, my eye drawn to a sly movement, a measured dash of brownish red. I breathed in, the morning air cold in my lungs. Under the orange glow of a streetlight, a fox was drinking a cup of coffee. He wasn’t holding it in his paws—as has been clearly established, I’m not insane—but, rather, had dipped his head to the ground and was lapping from a Starbucks cup. The fox sensed me watching, looked up and stared assertively into my eyes. “What of it?” he seemed to be saying. “A morning cup of coffee, big deal!” He went back to his beverage. Perhaps he’d had a particularly late night out by the bins, was finding it hard to get going on this cold, dark morning. I laughed out loud and walked on.

While I’d been off, Bob had told me to pop into the office anytime, or phone for a