Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine(20)

“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 an hour or so before the offy shuts, but . . .”

This required careful consideration. I had not been in a public house for many years, and Raymond could hardly be described as engaging company. I quickly concluded, however, that it would be useful for two reasons. Firstly, it would be good practice, as, if things went well, Johnnie Lomond would probably want to take me to a public house during one of our dates, and so I really ought to familiarize myself in advance with the general environs and required behaviors in such establishments. Secondly, Raymond was an IT expert—allegedly—and I needed some advice. Such advice might be expensive to obtain via official channels, but I could ask him tonight, for free. All things considered, it seemed expeditious to accede to Raymond’s request. He was staring into the middle distance, and I noticed that he had lit a cigarette and smoked almost half of it while I had been pondering.

“Yes, Raymond. I will go to the pub with you for one drink,” I said, nodding.

“Magic,” he said.



We ended up in a bar five minutes from the hospital, on a busy road. One of the tables outside was unoccupied. The metal surface was covered in circular stains and its legs looked unstable, but Raymond seemed delighted.

“Seats outside!” he said, happily throwing himself down and hanging his jacket over the back of his chair. “Right then, I’ll go to the bar,” he said. “What are you after, Eleanor?”

I felt a fluttering of concern in my stomach. Firstly, sitting out here, I wouldn’t get to see the inside of the public house and observe what went on there. Secondly, I didn’t know what to order. What did normal people drink in public houses? I decided to take control of the situation.

“Raymond, I will go to the bar. I insist. What would you like me to order for you?” He tried to argue but I stood my ground and eventually he agreed, although he seemed annoyed. I simply could not fathom why he was making such a fuss about it.

“Right, well, I suppose I’ll have a pint of Guinness then. But I wish you’d let me get it, Eleanor.”

I put both hands on the table and leaned forward so that my face was very close to his.

“Raymond, I will purchase the drinks. It’s important to me, for reasons that I don’t wish to articulate to you.”

He shrugged, then nodded, and I walked off toward the door.



It seemed very dark inside after the sunlight, and noisy too—there was music of an unfamiliar genre pulsing loudly from large speakers. The place wasn’t busy, and I was the only customer at the bar. A young man and a young woman were serving; that is to say, they were deep in conversation with each other, and every so often she would giggle like a simpleton and flick her dyed yellow hair, or he would punch her arm playfully and laugh in an overly loud, false manner. Human mating rituals are unbelievably tedious to observe. At least in the animal kingdom you are occasionally treated to a flash of bright feathers or a display of spectacular violence. Hair flicking and play fights don’t quite cut the mustard.

I was bored and I knocked hard, three times, on the wooden bar, as though it were a front door. They both looked up. I asked for a pint of Guinness, which the boy began to pour from a tap. “Anything else?” he said. I was still stumped. I reasoned that part of his job would be to help customers in such situations.

“What would you recommend?” I asked him. He looked up from watching the black liquid trickle into the glass.

“Eh?”

“I said, what would you recommend for me? I don’t drink in public houses, as a rule.”

He looked to his left and right, as if expecting someone else to be standing there. There was a long pause.

“Erm,” he said. “Well . . . Magners is very popular. With ice? Nice summer drink.”

“Right,” I said, “thank you. In that case, I’ll have a Magners drink, please, on your recommendation.” He opened a brown bottle and put it on the bar. He put some ice in a tall glass and placed it next to the bottle.

“What’s that?” I said.

“The Magners.”

“And what’s the empty glass for?”

“It’s for the Magners,” he said.

“Am I expected to pour the drink from the bottle into the glass?” I said, puzzled. “Isn’t it your job to do that?” He stared at me and then slowly poured the brown liquid over the ice and put it down quite hard; indeed, he practically slammed the bottle onto the counter.

“Eight pound seventy,” he said, in a most unfriendly manner. I handed over a five-pound note and four pound coins, then took my change and carefully put it in my purse.