Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine

by Gail Honeyman

THERE IS NO SUCH thing as Hell, of course, but if there was, then the soundtrack to the screaming, the pitchfork action and the infernal wailing of damned souls would be a looped medley of ‘show tunes’ drawn from the annals of musical theatre.

There was nothing to tempt me from the choice of desserts, so I opted instead for a coffee, which was bitter and lukewarm. Naturally, I had been about to pour it all over myself but, just in time, had read the warning printed on the paper cup, alerting me to the fact that hot liquids can cause injury. A lucky escape, Eleanor! I said to myself, laughing quietly. I began to suspect that Mr McDonald was a very foolish man indeed,

Why did I start to allow myself to think I could live a normal life, a happy life, the kind other people had?

These days, loneliness is the new cancer – a shameful, embarrassing thing, brought upon yourself in some obscure way.

The voice in my own head – my own voice – was actually quite sensible, and rational, I’d begun to realize. It was Mummy’s voice that had done all the judging, and encouraged me to do so too.