Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine

by Gail Honeyman

I twisted my hands together anxiously in my lap, mirroring the feeling in my stomach.

Hmm

I think you want to be happy. In fact, I know you do. Who doesn’t? We can work together in this room toward helping you achieve that. It’s not going to be easy, or quick, but I really think it could be worth it. What have you got to lose, after all? You’re going to be here for an hour either way. Why not give it a try?”

I heard the cars passing by outside, all of them driving to nice places, safe places, while we were here, left all alone or—worse—left with her.

It turned out that if you saw the same person with some degree of regularity, then the conversation was immediately pleasant and comfortable—you could pick up where you left off, as it were, rather than having to start afresh each time.

“I honestly don’t know. I think I must have been told at the time, but I can’t remember. I was only ten. Everyone was really careful never to mention it around me . . .” “Oh, come on,” he said. “She must have done something really terrible to . . . I mean, what about at school? Kids can be little shits about stuff like that. What about when people hear your name? Although, come to think of it, I don’t think I remember reading anything about a crime involving an Oliphant . . . ?”

“Oliphant isn’t my real name,” I said. I liked it, always had, and was extremely grateful to whoever had selected it for me. You didn’t come across many Oliphants, that was for sure. Special.

“Being in care wasn’t always much fun. I mean, it was completely fine, I had everything I needed, but it wasn’t all picnics and pillow fights.”

Don’t forget, I still have to talk to her once a week—it’s hard enough as it is. It will be completely impossible if I know that she’s done . . . whatever it is that she’s done.”

mean, if you added up all the things she said she’d done, wouldn’t it cover a longer period than thirty years? Unless she did it all before you were born and she was still a teenager. And if she did . . . well, I’m wondering . . . where did she get the money from, to do all that traveling, and wasn’t she a bit young to be going to places like that on her own at that age? What about your dad? Where did she meet him?” I looked away. These were important questions that I couldn’t answer. Questions I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer. But really, why hadn’t I ever thought about them before?

I’d told Raymond, Mummy has lived in Mumbai, Tashkent, São Paulo and Taipei. She’s trekked in the Sarawak jungle and climbed Mount Toubkal. She’s had an audience with the Dalai Lama in Kathmandu and taken afternoon tea with a maharaja in Jaipur. And that’s just for starters.

“Mummy, I wanted to ask you something. How . . . how old were you when you had me?” She laughed, unamused. “I was thirteen . . . no, wait . . . I was forty-nine. Whatever. Why do you care? What’s it to you, daughter mine?” “I was just wondering . . .” I said.

must say,” she went on, “I was surprised when you told me you’d been promoted at work. You’ve always been more of

Did she already know about my absence, and was this therefore a trap? I tried to think on my feet, but that’s something I’ve never been good at. Too slow, Eleanor, too late .

As always, Mummy was scary. But the thing was, this time—for the first time ever—she’d actually sounded scared too.

I’ll need to run, Eleanor—the car’s on the meter, and you know what those wardens are like if you go a minute over.” I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but I let it pass.

once you get to know him . . .” She smiled again. “Anyway, I’ll let him know you were asking after him on Saturday, Eleanor,” she said. “No need,” I said, bristling slightly. “I’ve recently had luncheon with Raymond, as it happens. What unfortunate timing—I could have let him know that you were asking after him.” She stared at me. “I wasn’t . . . I mean, I didn’t know you two were close,” she said. “We lunch together weekly,” I said. “Ah, right—lunch,” she said, looking happier, for some reason. “Well, like I said, got to run. Nice seeing you, Eleanor!”

“Did you ever consider trying to find him?” she said. “A rapist? I shouldn’t have thought so,” I said. “A daughter’s relationship with her father can sometimes influence her subsequent relationships with men. Do you have any thoughts about that, Eleanor?” I pondered. “Well,” I said, “Mummy wasn’t particularly keen on men. But then, she wasn’t keen on anyone, really. She thought most people were unsuitable for us, regardless of their gender.”

“She said that we deserved the best of everything, and that, even in straitened circumstances, we should always conduct ourselves properly. It was almost as though she thought we were some kind of displaced royalty, you know . . . the family of a deposed tsar or an overthrown monarch or something. I tried so hard, but I never managed to look and behave the way she thought I should, to behave appropriately. That made her very unhappy, and very angry. Mind you, it wasn’t just me. No one was ever good enough.

Hmm

“Humans have a range of needs that we need to have met, Eleanor, in order to be happy and healthy individuals. You’ve described how your basic physical needs—warmth, food, shelter—were taken care of. But what about your emotional needs?” I was completely taken aback. “But I don’t have any emotional needs,” I said. Neither of us spoke for a while. Eventually, she cleared her throat. “Everyone does, Eleanor. All of us—and especially young children—need to know that we’re loved, valued, accepted and understood

A tiny envelope, like a hamster’s birthday card, was affixed to the cellophane. Inside, a business card—plain white—bore

I sat down and stroked the petals of a red gerbera, and I smiled.

Someone had put her in a metal dustbin and set it alight—Desi had heard the screams when he was returning home from work. I stood up and ran toward the bathroom, where I vomited up the pink wafers. Raymond knocked gently on the door, but I shouted at him to leave me alone. When I came back, both he and the cat were sitting separately on the sofa. I sat down in the chair opposite, and they both watched me carefully.

“Growing up with Mummy was very disorientating. Sometimes she gave us nice things, other times . . . not. I mean, one week we’d be dipping quail eggs in celery salt and shucking oysters, the next we’d be starving. I mean, you know, literally, deprived of food and water,” I said. His eyes widened.

Their single “Don’t Miss You,” written after the acrimonious departure of their previous front man,

The story didn’t mention what Johnnie Lomond was doing now. It really didn’t matter. I folded up the newspaper—I could line Glen’s litter tray with it later.

“Where did you say your mum is these days?” he asked, very gently. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “She’s the one who contacts me. It’s never the other way around.”

School had been a place of refuge. Teachers asked how you got your cuts and bruises, sent you to the nurse to have them dressed. The nit nurse combed your hair gently, so gently, said you could keep the elastics because you’d been such a good girl. School dinners. I could relax at school, knowing Marianne was at nursery, safe and warm. The little ones had their own special peg to hang their coats on. She loved it there.

We were homeschooled after that, all day every day—no more escaping from nine till four, Monday to Friday.

“You mentioned Marianne a lot there,” she said gently, “when you were talking about your day-to-day life.” I was ready to say it out loud. “She’s my sister,” I said.

Who’s behind the door? Boring. I don’t like pantomimes or whodunnits—I like to have all the relevant information at my disposal at the earliest opportunity, so that I can start to formulate my response. I opened the door to find Keith, Sammy’s son, standing on the doorstep and looking nervous. Mildly surprising. I invited him in.

The way you try not to sit next to fat people, for example. There’s nothing wrong with being overweight, is there? They could be eating because they’re sad, the same way you used to drink vodka. They could have had parents who never taught them how to cook or eat healthily. They could be disabled and unable to exercise, or else they could have an illness that contributes to weight gain despite their best efforts. You just don’t know, Eleanor, I said to myself.

?

I was getting to quite like my own voice, my own thoughts. I wanted more of them. They made me feel good, calm even. They made me feel like me.

thats why we havent heard from mummy in a bit

“Mummy set a fire. She wanted to kill us both, except, somehow, Marianne died and I didn’t.”

“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. 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,”

??

I had been absent for almost two months, and heaven alone knew what sort of unsubstantiated rumors had abounded as to the reasons behind it. I had not given—had not been capable of giving—a thought during that time to my spreadsheets, to accounts receivable, purchase orders and VAT.

My password? Of course. Three words, Ignis aurum probat. “Fire tests gold.” The rest of the phrase: “. . . and adversity tests the brave.” How true. A strong password, strong indeed, exactly as required by the computer system. Thank you, Seneca.

Ok wrap it up

the bodies recovered from the scene of last month’s Maida Vale house fire belonged to Sharon Smyth (29) and her youngest daughter Marianne (4). Her eldest child, Eleanor (10), was released today

Called it!

Tests on both children revealed that a sedative had been administered, and provided evidence that they had been physically restrained.

Eleanor Smyth

So how did she get a new last name

Temple and I are going to keep talking about all of it—Marianne’s death, how Mummy died too and why I pretended for all those years that she was still there, still talking to me . . . it’s going to take time and it’s not going to be easy,” I said. I felt very calm. “Essentially, though, in all the ways that matter . . . I’m fine now. Fine,”

“In the end, what matters is this: I survived.” I gave him a very small smile. “I survived, Raymond!” I said, knowing that I was both lucky and unlucky, and grateful for it.

Long story short