The Dictionary of Lost Words(86)

‘You’ve been looking tired lately, Da.’

‘It’s the letter S. Four years and we’re not even halfway through. It’s sapping, stupefying, soporific …’ He paused to think of another word.

‘Slumberous, somnolent, somniferous,’ I offered.

‘Excellent,’ he said, with a smile that took me back to our word games of years ago. Then he looked past me, through the window. His smile widened. The gate sang. I felt the tingle of perspiration under my arms and was glad when Da rose to answer the knock. He and Gareth stood talking in the hall for a few minutes. I stood up and checked my face in the mirror above the fireplace. I pinched my cheeks.



I hadn’t been inside Old Tom since Tilda was last in Oxford. As Gareth and I approached, I was ambushed by memories of Bill. Then memories of Her.

‘Is everything alright, Esme?’

I looked up at the sign hanging above the door of the small pub; a drawing of the Christ Church belltower.

‘Quite alright,’ I said. Gareth opened the door for me to step in.

Old Tom was as crowded as it had always been, and at first I thought Tilda may not have come. Then I saw her, at a table with three other women right at the back. She must have caused the usual fuss when she walked in, but she wasn’t encouraging it the way she had seven years before: we had to push ourselves past small groups of men to reach her, but none appeared to be throwing flattery her way. It didn’t feel as welcoming as it once had.

Tilda rose and embraced me. ‘Ladies, this is Esme. We became fast friends the last time I was in Oxford.’

‘You live here?’ one of the women asked.

‘She does,’ said Tilda, her arm pulling me close. ‘Though she hides herself away in a shed.’

The woman frowned. Tilda turned to me.

‘How is your dictionary progressing, Esme?’

‘We’re up to S.’

‘Good God, really? How can you stand going so slow?’ She let me go and sat back down.

The other women were all looking up at me for a response. There were no spare chairs.

‘We collect words for a few letters at the same time; it’s not as tedious as it sounds.’ No one said anything for a moment. I felt Gareth shift a little closer and was glad he had come.

‘And this is …’ Tilda hesitated and made a show of searching her memory. ‘Gareth, isn’t it?’

‘Good to see you again, Miss Taylor,’ he said.

‘Tilda, please. And these lovely ladies are Shona, Betty and Gert.’

Shona was the youngest of the three, no more than twenty. The other two were a good ten years older than I was.

‘I recognise you now,’ said Gert. ‘You were Tilda’s helper that night at the Eagle and Child.’ She looked at Tilda. ‘Do you remember, Tilds? That was my first real outing.’

‘The first of many,’ Tilda said.

‘And there will be many to come, the rate we’re going.’ Gert looked at me. ‘We’re no closer to the vote than we were a decade ago.’ A few heads turned in our direction. Tilda stared them down.

‘And what do you think of it all, Gareth?’ Tilda said.

‘Women’s suffrage?’

‘No, the price of pork. Of course, women’s suffrage.’

‘It affects us all,’ he said.

‘A supporter, then,’ said Betty. Her voice gave away her northern origins, and I wondered if she’d come down from Manchester with Tilda.

‘Of course.’

‘But how far would you go?’ Betty asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it’s easy to say the right things –’ she glanced towards me ‘– but words are meaningless without action.’

‘And sometimes action can make a lie of good words,’ Gareth said.

‘And what would you know of our struggle, Gareth?’ Tilda leaned back in her chair and sipped her whiskey.

My head turned from one to the other.

‘My mother had to raise me alone while working at the Press,’ Gareth said. ‘I know quite a lot.’

Gert scoffed. Tilda threw her a silencing glance. Gert raised a glass of sherry to her lips, and I noticed a gold band and a large diamond ring. She was a class or two above Betty. Shona had remained silent throughout the conversation, her head bowed deferentially, and I suddenly had the thought that she might be Gert’s maid. My heart started to pound.

‘And what do you know of our struggle, Gert?’ I asked. Shona did her best to conceal a smile.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Well, it seems to me that we are not all struggling in the same way. Isn’t it true that Mrs Pankhurst was willing to negotiate for women with property and education to get the vote, but not women like Gareth’s mother, for instance?’

Tilda sat open-mouthed, a smile in her eyes. Gert and Betty were appalled, but speechless. Shona looked up for a moment, then back at her lap. The men immediately beside us had gone completely quiet.

‘Excellent, Esme,’ Tilda said, raising her now empty glass. ‘I was wondering when you would join in.’



The January night was cold, and Gareth offered me his coat for the walk back through the Oxford streets to Jericho.

‘I’m quite alright,’ I said. ‘And you’ll freeze if you take it off.’