Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely - Gail Honeyman Page 0,24

a copy of Playboy. Job done.

It was too hot inside the hospital and the floors squeaked. There was a hand-gel dispenser outside the ward, and a big yellow sign above it read Do Not Drink. Did people actually drink sanitizing hand gel? I supposed they must—hence the sign. Part of me, a very small sliver, briefly considered dipping my head to taste a drop, purely because I’d been ordered not to. No, Eleanor, I told myself. Curb your rebellious tendencies. Stick to tea, coffee and vodka.

I was apprehensive about using it on my hands, for fear that it might inflame my eczema, but I did so nonetheless. Good hygiene is so important—heaven forfend that I would end up becoming a vector of infection. The ward was large, with two long rows of beds, one down each wall. All the inhabitants were interchangeable: hairless, toothless old men who were either dozing or staring blankly ahead, chins slumped forward. I spotted Sammy, right at the end on the left-hand side, but only because he was fat. The rest of them were bones draped with pleated gray skin. I sat down on the vinyl wipe-clean chair next to his bed. There was no sign of Raymond.

Sammy’s eyes were closed but he obviously wasn’t comatose. He would be on a special ward if that were the case, hooked up to machinery, wouldn’t he? I wondered why Raymond had lied about it. I could tell from the regular way that Sammy’s chest rose and fell that he was sleeping. I decided not to read to him, not wishing to wake him, and so I put the reading material on top of the cabinet next to his bed. I opened the compartment at the front, thinking it best to deposit the Bags for Life inside. The cabinet was empty apart from a wallet and a set of keys. I wondered if I should look in Sammy’s wallet to see if it contained any clues about him, and I was about to reach forward for it when I heard someone clear their throat behind me, a phlegm-filled sound that indicated a smoker.

“Eleanor. You came,” said Raymond, pulling up a chair on the opposite side of the bed. I stared at him.

“Why did you lie, Raymond? Sammy’s not in a coma. He’s merely asleep. That’s not the same thing at all.”

Raymond laughed.

“Ah, but it’s great news, Eleanor. He woke up a couple of hours ago. Apparently, he’s got a severe concussion and a broken hip. They reset it yesterday—he’s very tired from the anesthetic, but they say he’s going to be fine.” I nodded, and stood up abruptly. “We should leave him in peace then,” I said.

I was keen to be out of the ward, to be frank. It was too hot, and too familiar—the waffle blankets, the chemical and human smells, the hard surfaces of the metal bed frame and the plastic chairs. My hands were stinging slightly from the gel, which had seeped into the cracks in my skin. We walked together to the lift, and rode down in silence. The doors opened at the ground floor and I felt my legs speed up of their own accord toward the front door.

It was one of those beautiful midsummer evenings—eight o’clock and still full of heat and soft light. It wouldn’t get dark till almost eleven. Raymond took off his jacket, revealing another ridiculous T-shirt. This one was yellow and had two white cartoon cockerels on the front. Los Pollos Hermanos, it said. Nonsensical. He looked at his watch.

“I’m going to pick up a carryout and head round to my mate Andy’s. A few of us usually hang out there on Saturday nights, fire up the PlayStation, have a smoke and a few beers.”

“Sounds utterly delightful,” I said.

“What about you?” he asked.

I was going home, of course, to watch a television program or read a book. What else would I be doing?

“I shall return to my flat,” I said. “I think there might be a documentary about komodo dragons on BBC4 later this evening.”

He looked at his watch again, and then up at the boundless blue sky. There was a moment of silence and then a blackbird began showing off nearby, his song so spectacular that it bordered on vulgar. We both listened, and when I smiled at Raymond, he smiled back.

“Look, it’s far too nice a night to be sitting inside on your own. Fancy grabbing a quick pint somewhere? I’ll need to head off in