Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine(46)

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” I said, peering at the screen. He ignored me and checked the message. “It’ll be here in five minutes,” he said.

He waited with me in the hall until the cab arrived, then walked me to the vehicle and held the door open for me. I saw him peering in at the driver, a middle-aged woman who looked tired and bored, as I climbed into the backseat.

“Are you coming too?” I said, wondering why he was hesitating on the curb. He checked his watch, ruffled his hair and looked from the house to the taxi and back again.

“Nah,” he said. “I think I’ll hang around here for a bit. See what happens.”

I turned to watch him as the car moved off. He staggered slightly as he walked up the path, and I saw Laura framed in the doorway, two glasses in her hands, one of them offered out to him.





18





Raymond sent me an electronic mail message at work the next week—it was very odd, seeing his name in my in-box. As I’d expected, he was semiliterate.

Hi E, hope all good with u. Got a wee favor to ask. Sammy’s son Keith has invited me to his 40th this Saturday (ended up staying late at that party BTW, it was a rite laugh). Fancy being my plus one? It’s at the golf club, there’s a buffet? No worries if not—let me no. R

A buffet. In a golf club. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. And two parties in a month! More parties than I had been to in two decades. I hit reply:

Dear Raymond,

I should be delighted to accompany you to the birthday celebration.

Kind regards,

Eleanor Oliphant (Ms.)

Moments later, I received a response:

Twenty-first-century communication. I fear for our nation’s standards of literacy.

I had arranged to have the afternoon off that day for my appointment at the hairdressers, but ate my lunch in the staff room first as usual, with the Telegraph crossword, a tuna and sweet corn bloomer, salt and vinegar crisps and orange juice, with bits. I must thank the musician, in due course, for introducing me to the pleasure of bits. After this delicious repast, and with a small grin of triumph at the thought of my colleagues having to remain behind at their desks for the rest of the afternoon, I took a bus into town.

Heliotrope was in a smart street in the city center, on the ground floor of a Victorian sandstone building. It was certainly not the sort of place I’d usually frequent—loud music, aggressively fashionable staff and far too many mirrors. I imagined this might be where the musician went for a haircut, and that made me feel slightly better about it. Perhaps one day we’d be sitting side by side in those black leather chairs, holding hands under the hair dryers.

I waited for the receptionist to finish her phone call, and stepped away from the huge vase of white and pink lilies on the counter. Their smell snagged in the back of my throat, like fur or feathers. I gagged; it wasn’t something meant for humans.

I’d forgotten how noisy hairdressers’ salons were, the constant hum of dryers and inane chat, and positioned myself in the window seat, having donned a black nylon kimono which, I was alarmed to see, was already sprinkled with short hair clippings snipped from a previous client. I quickly brushed them off.

Laura arrived, looking just as glamorous as before, and led me toward a seat in front of a terrifying row of mirrors.

“Did you have a good time on Saturday?” she said, fussing around with a stool until she was seated behind me at the same height. She didn’t look at me directly, but into the mirror, where she addressed my reflection; I found myself doing the same. It was strangely relaxing.

“I did,” I said. “It was a splendid evening.”

“Dad’s doing my nut in already, staying in the spare room,” she said, smiling, “and I’ve got another two weeks of it. I don’t know how I’ll cope.” I nodded.

“Parents can certainly be challenging, in my experience,” I said. We exchanged a sympathetic glance.

“Now then, what are we doing for you today?” she said, unfastening the rubber band at the bottom of my braid and fanning it out. I stared at my reflection. My hair was mousy brown, parted in the center, straight and not particularly thick. Human hair, doing what human hair does: growing on my head.

“Something different,” I said. “What would you suggest?”

“How brave are you prepared to be, Eleanor?” Laura asked. This was the correct question. I am brave. I am brave, courageous, Eleanor Oliphant.

“Do whatever you want,” I said. She looked delighted.

“Color too?”

I considered this.

“Would it be a normal human hair color? I don’t think I’d like pink or blue or anything like that.”

“I’ll give you a shoulder-length, lightly layered choppy bob, with caramel and honey pieces woven through and a long sweeping fringe,” she said. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like an incomprehensible pile of gibberish,” I said. She laughed at my reflection, and then stopped, perhaps because I wasn’t laughing.

“Trust me, Eleanor,” she said earnestly. “It’ll be beautiful.”

“Beautiful is not a word normally associated with my appearance,” I said, highly skeptical. She patted my arm.

“Just you wait,” she said gently. “MILEY!” she screeched, almost causing me to fall from my chair. “Come and help me mix up some color!”