Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely - Gail Honeyman Page 0,82

into my glass.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said breezily. “I suppose I ought to have something to eat now, really.”

The barman, who had become less handsome as time had worn on, picked up my glass, filled it back up with vodka and a dash of cola and returned it to me.

“No rush, eh?” he said. “Why not stay here and keep me company for a while longer?”

I looked around—the bar was still deserted.

“You might need a little lie-down after this one, eh?” he said, tapping my glass and leaning very close to me. I could see the enlarged pores on the sides of his nose, some of them filled with microscopic black dots.

“Perhaps,” I said. “Sometimes I do need a lie-down after vodka and cola.”

He smiled wolfishly.

“Puts you in the mood, eh?”

I tried to lift my eyebrows into a question, but, strangely, could only make one of them rise. I’d had too much to drink because I’d had too much pain, and there was nowhere else it could go but down, drowned in the vodka. Simple, really.

“What do you mean?” I said, hearing that I was pronouncing the consonants somewhat indistinctly.

“Funerals,” he said, moving closer to me, so that his face was almost pressed against mine. He smelled of onions. “It’s nothing to feel bad about,” he said. “All that death . . . afterward, don’t you find it really makes you want to—”

“Eleanor!” I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned round on my stool, exceptionally slowly.

“Oh, hello, Raymond!” I said. “This is . . . actually, I don’t know. Excuse me, what’s your name, Mr. . . . ?”

The barman had moved at what must have been lightning speed to the other end of the counter, where he had resumed his glass polishing and TV watching. Raymond gave him a look that could best be described as unfriendly, and placed a twenty-pound note on the counter.

“Wait, Raymond,” I said, scrabbling for my new bag, “I’ve got some money in here . . .”

“Come on,” he said, pulling me down rather gracelessly from my stool. “We can sort it out later.”

I trotted after him in my kitten heels.

“Raymond,” I said, tugging at his sleeve. He looked down at me. “I’m not going to get a tattoo,” I said, “I’ve decided.”

He looked puzzled, and I realized that I’d forgotten to tell him that I’d been considering it, ever since I’d spoken to the barman at The Cuttings. He sat me down in a window seat off the corridor—not the same one he’d been in before—and left me there. I looked around, wondering what time it was, and whether they would have burned Sammy by now, or whether they kept all the bodies back till the end of the day to get a really good blaze going. Raymond returned, a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of savory pastries in the other.

“Get this down you,” he said, “and don’t move till I come back.”

I discovered that I was ravenous. Mourners kept wandering past, but no one noticed me in my hidey-hole. I rather liked it. The seat was comfortable and the corridor was warm, and I felt like a little dormouse in a cozy nest. Next thing I knew, Raymond was there again, shaking me gently but insistently.

“Wake up, Eleanor,” he said. “It’s half past four. Time to go.”

We took the bus to Raymond’s flat. It was on the south side of the city, an area I didn’t know very well and had no cause to visit, as a rule. His flatmates were out, I was relieved to learn, stumbling slightly as we entered the hallway and trying not to laugh. He steered me in a very ungallant fashion into the living room, which was dominated by a huge television. There were lots of what I assumed were game consoles scattered around in front of it. Aside from the computer detritus, it was astonishingly tidy.

“It doesn’t look like a place where boys live,” I said, surprised.

He laughed. “We’re not animals, Eleanor. I’m a dab hand with the Hoover, and Desi’s a bit of a neat freak, as it goes.”

I nodded, relieved to know as I sat down that nothing untoward would be adhering to my new dress and tights.

“Tea?” he said.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any vodka or Magners drink, by any chance?” I said. He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m absolutely fine now, after the sausage rolls and the catnap,” I said, and I was. I felt floaty and