Police confirmed yesterday that the fatal blaze at the property had been started deliberately.
A child (10), who cannot be named for legal reasons, remains in hospital in a critical condition.
I looked at Raymond. He looked at me. Neither of us said anything for a while.
‘You know how it ends, right?’ Raymond said, gentle, quiet, looking me in the eye.
I pulled out the second article.
London Evening Standard, 28 September 1997, p9
Maida Vale murder latest: two dead,
plucky orphan recovers
Police confirmed today that the bodies recovered from the scene of last week’s Maida Vale house fire belonged to Sharon Smyth (29) and her youngest daughter Marianne (4). Her eldest child, Eleanor (10), was released today from hospital after making what doctors described as a ‘miraculous’ recovery from third-degree burns and smoke inhalation.
The spokesman confirmed that 29-year-old Smyth started the fire deliberately, and died at the scene as a result of smoke inhalation as she fled the property. Tests on both children revealed that a sedative had been administered, and provided evidence that they had been physically restrained.
Our reporter understands that Eleanor Smyth initially managed to free herself and escape the blaze. Neighbours then reported seeing the badly injured ten-year-old re-entering the house before the emergency services arrived. Firefighters allegedly found her attempting to open a locked wardrobe in an upstairs bedroom. The body of her four-year-old sister was recovered inside.
Police have been unable to trace any living relatives of the child, who is being cared for by social services.
‘That’s all I found, too,’ Raymond said, as I pushed the printouts towards him.
I looked out of the window. People were shopping, talking on mobiles, pushing prams. The world just went on, regardless of what happened. That’s how it works.
Neither of us spoke for a while.
‘Are you OK?’ he said.
I nodded.
‘I’m going to keep seeing the counsellor. It helps.’
He looked at me carefully. ‘How do you feel?’ he said.
‘Not you as well.’ I sighed, and then I smiled so that he would know that I was joking. ‘I’m fine. I mean, yes, obviously, I’ve got a lot of things to work through, very serious things. Dr 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,’ I repeated, stressing the word because, at last, it was true.
A woman jogged past, running after a Chihuahua, shouting its name in an increasingly anxious tone.
‘Marianne loved dogs,’ I said. ‘Every time we saw one, she’d point and laugh, then try to hug it.’
Raymond cleared his throat. More coffees came, and we drank slowly.
‘Will you be OK?’ Raymond said. He looked angry with himself. ‘Sorry. Stupid question. I just wish I’d known sooner,’ he said. ‘I wish I could have helped more.’ He glared at the wall, looking as though he was trying not to cry. ‘No one should have to go through what you’ve been through,’ he said finally, furious. ‘You lost your little sister, even though you tried your best to save her, and you were only a child yourself. That you could come through that, all of it, and then spend all those years trying to deal with it on your own, it’s—’
I interrupted him. ‘When you read about “monsters”,’ I said, ‘household names … you forget they had families. They don’t just spring from nowhere. You never think about the people that are left behind to deal with the aftermath of it all.’
He nodded slowly.
‘I’ve requested access to my files from Social Services now. I’ve had cause to review my opinion of the Freedom of Information Act, Raymond, and let me tell you, it’s actually a splendid piece of legislation. When it arrives, I’m going to sit down and read it cover to cover – the Bumper Book of Eleanor. I need to know everything – all the little details. That’s going to help me. Or depress me. Or both.’
I smiled, to show him I wasn’t worried, and to make sure that he wasn’t worried either.
‘It’s more than that though, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘All those lost years, wasted years. Terrible things happened to you. You needed help back then and you didn’t get it. You’ve got a right to it now, Eleanor—’ He shook his head, unable to find the words.
‘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.
When it was time to leave, I noticed and appreciated Raymond’s effort to move the conversation towards something else, something normal.
‘What have you got planned for the rest of the week, then?’ he said.
I counted things off on my fingers. ‘I’ve got to take Glen to the vet for her vaccinations,’ I said, ‘and I’ve got a Christmas night out at the safari park to organize. Their website says that they’re closed for winter, but I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade them.’
We went outside and stood by the doorway for a moment, enjoying the sunshine. He rubbed his face, then looked over my shoulder towards the trees. He cleared his throat again. One of the many perils of being a smoker.
‘Eleanor, did you get my email about that concert? I was just wondering whether—’
‘Yes,’ I said, smiling. He nodded, looked closely at me, and then slowly smiled back. The moment hung in time like a drop of honey from a spoon, heavy, golden. We stood aside to let a woman in a wheelchair and her friend go inside. Raymond’s lunch break was almost up. I had the rest of the day to spend however I wanted.
‘Bye then, Raymond,’ I said. He pulled me in for a hug and held me for a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I felt the warm bulk of him, soft but strong. When we broke apart, I kissed his cheek, his bristles all soft and ticklish.
‘See you soon, Eleanor Oliphant,’ he said.
I picked up my shopper, fastened my jerkin and turned towards home.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to my friends and to my family, and also to the following people and organisations:
Janice Galloway, for always being wise and inspiring.
My amazing agent Madeleine Milburn, and her colleagues at the agency, for their enthusiasm, expertise, advice and support.
My editors, Martha Ashby in the UK and Pamela Dorman in the US, who took meticulous care of the book and brought insight, wisdom and good humour to the editorial process. My thanks also to their talented colleagues at HarperCollins and Penguin Random House respectively who were involved in designing, producing and raising awareness of the book. I am very fortunate to be in such good hands.
The Scottish Book Trust selected me to receive the Next Chapter Award which, amongst other things, allowed me to spend time writing and editing at Moniack Mhor Creative Writing Centre. I’m very grateful to both organisations.
My writers’ group, for constructive feedback, helpful discussion and good company.
George and Annie, for their generous hospitality and unstinting encouragement.
Finally, thanks to George Craig, Vicki Jarrett, Kirsty Mitchell and Philip Murnin. I’m very grateful for their supportive friendship, editorial insight and good humoured encouragement while I was writing (and not writing) this book.
About the Author
While Gail Honeyman was writing her debut novel, Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, it was shortlisted for the Lucy Cavendish Fiction Prize as a work in progress. It has subsequently sold to almost thirty territories worldwide, and it was chosen as one of the Observer’s Debuts of the Year for 2017.