Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine(25)

He raised his eyebrows, then waggled them at me in quite a disconcerting way. “Sammy,” I said, correcting myself, and he nodded at me.

“I’m afraid I have to clarify a couple of factual inaccuracies,” I said. “Firstly, we did not save your life. Credit for that must go to the Ambulance Service, whose staff, although somewhat brusque, did what was necessary to stabilize your condition whilst they brought you here. The medical team at the hospital, including the anesthetist and the orthopedic surgeon who operated on your hip, alongside the many other health-care professionals who have carried out your postoperative care—it is they who saved you, if anyone did. Raymond and I merely summoned assistance and kept you company until such time as the National Health Service took responsibility.”

“Aye, God bless the NHS, right enough,” said Raymond, interrupting rudely. I gave him one of my sternest looks.

“Furthermore,” I continued, “I should clarify posthaste that Raymond and myself are merely coworkers. We are most certainly not married to one another.” I stared hard at Sammy, making sure that he was in no doubt. Sammy looked at Raymond. Raymond looked at Sammy. There was a silence which, to me, seemed slightly awkward. Raymond sat forward in his chair.

“So, eh, where do you live then, Sammy? What were you up to the other day when you had your accident?” he asked.

Sammy smiled at him.

“I’m local, son—born and bred,” he said. “I always get my bits and pieces from the shops on a Friday. I’d been feeling a bit funny that morning, right enough, but I thought it was just my angina. Never expected to find myself in here!”

He took a toffee from a large bag on his lap, then offered them to us. Raymond took one; I declined. The thought of malleable confectionery, warmed to body temperature on Sammy’s groin (albeit encased in flannel pajamas and a blanket) was repellent.

Both Sammy and Raymond were audible masticators. While they chomped, I looked at my hands, noticing that they looked raw, almost burned, but glad of the fact that the alcohol rub had removed the germs and bacteria which lurked everywhere in the hospital. And, presumably, on me.

“What about you two—did you have far to come today?” Sammy asked. “Separately, I mean,” he added quickly, looking at me.

“I live on the South Side,” Raymond said, “and Eleanor’s . . . you’re in the West End, aren’t you?” I nodded, not wishing to disclose my place of residence any more precisely. Sammy asked about work, and I let Raymond tell him, being content to observe. Sammy looked rather vulnerable, as people are wont to do when they are wearing pajamas in public, but he was younger than I’d originally thought—not more than seventy, I’d guess—with remarkably dark blue eyes.

“I don’t know anything about graphic design,” Sammy said. “It sounds very fancy. I was a postman all my days. I got out at the right time, though; I can live on my pension, so long as I’m careful. It’s all changed now—I’m glad I’m not there anymore. All the messing about they’ve done with it. In my day, it was a proper public service . . .”

Raymond was nodding. “That’s right,” he said. “Remember when you used to get your post before you left the house in the morning, and there was a lunchtime delivery too? It comes in the middle of the afternoon now, if it comes at all . . .”

I have to admit, I was finding the post office chat somewhat tedious.

“How long are you likely to be in here, Sammy?” I said. “I only ask because the chances of contracting a postoperative infection are significantly increased for longer-stay patients—gastroenteritis, Staphylococcus aureus, Clostridium difficile—”

Raymond interrupted me again. “Aye,” he said, “and I bet the food’s rank as well, eh, Sammy?”

Sammy laughed. “You’re not wrong there, son,” he said. “You want to see what they served up for lunch today. Supposed to be Irish stew . . . looked more like Pedigree Chum. Smelled like it too.”

Raymond smiled. “Can we get you anything, Sammy? We could nip to the shop downstairs, or else pop back later in the week, bring stuff in, if you need it?”

Raymond looked at me for confirmation and I nodded. I had no reason to dismiss the suggestion. It was actually quite a pleasant feeling, thinking that I might be able to help an elderly person who was suffering due to inadequate nutrition. I started to think about what to bring him, types of food that could be transported without mishap. I wondered if Sammy might enjoy some cold pasta and pesto; I could make a double portion for supper one evening and bring the leftovers to him the next day in a Tupperware tub. I did not own any Tupperware, having had no need of it until this point. I could go to a department store to purchase some. That seemed to be the sort of thing that a woman of my age and social circumstances might do. Exciting!

“Ach, son, that’s awful kind of you,” Sammy said, deflating my sense of purpose somewhat, “but there’s really no need. The family are in here every day, twice a day.” He said this last part with evident pride. “I can’t even finish half the stuff they bring. There’s just so much of it! I end up having to give most of it away,” he said, indicating the other men on the ward with an imperious wave of his hand.

“What constitutes your family?” I asked, slightly surprised by this revelation. “I had assumed you were single and childless, like us.”