The Dictionary of Lost Words(91)

I didn’t want to go any further, but Lizzie, I knew, would pop her head into the sitting room, then the dining room that we never used. She would walk through to the kitchen and wash the dirty dishes. She would test that the windows were firmly shut and check the locks on every door. Then she would put her hand on the banister at the bottom of the stairs and cast her eyes to the top. She would pause, take a deep breath and begin her ascent. She got a little heavier every year, and this had become her habit. I’d seen it a thousand times as I followed her up her own staircase.

I wanted it to stop, but I had no more control of my thoughts than of the weather. I imagined her searching my wardrobe for a black dress, and my weeping began. Then I remembered the roses beside Da’s bed. Lizzie would find them drooping. She’d pick up the vase to take it downstairs, and she’d wonder whether Da had had the pleasure of seeing them at their best before he was taken to Radcliffe.

I wanted the flowers to stay. Not to rot, but to stay, slightly wilting, for eternity.



May 5th, 1913

My dear Esme,

I will arrive in Oxford the day after tomorrow, and I will not leave your side the whole time I am there. We shall hold each other up. You will, of course, have to shake the hands of a lot of well-meaning people and listen to stories of your father’s kindness (there will be many), but at the right time I will lead you away from the sandwiches and the well-wishers, and we will wander along Castle Mill Stream until we get to Walton Bridge. Harry loved that spot; it’s where he proposed to Lily.

This is no time to be strong, my dear girl. Harry was father and mother to you, and his passing will leave you feeling lost. My own father was very dear to me, and I know a little of how your heart must ache. Let it ache.

My father still echoes in my mind whenever I need good counsel; I suspect yours will do the same in time. In the interim, make the most of that young man you have become so attached to. ‘Lily would like him very much,’ Harry said in his last letter. Did he ever tell you? There could be no higher blessing.

I expect you are camping in Lizzie’s room. I will go straight to Sunnyside from the train.

All my love,

Ditte



As promised, Ditte led me away from all the well-wishers. We didn’t say goodbye; we just walked into the garden, past the Scriptorium and out onto the Banbury Road. On St Margaret’s Road, I realised Gareth was with us, just a few steps behind. We walked in silence until we got to the towpath along Castle Mill Stream.

‘Harry took this walk every Sunday afternoon, Gareth,’ Ditte said. Gareth fell into step beside me.

‘He came here to discuss the week with Lily. Did you know that, Esme?’

I didn’t.

‘I say discuss, but it was a meditation, really. He would walk along this path with his head full of the week’s concerns, and by the time he arrived at Walton Bridge the most pressing would have asserted itself. He told me he would sit and consider it from Lily’s perspective.’ She looked to see if she should continue. I hoped she would, but I was mute.

‘Of course you were the main topic of conversation, but I was surprised to hear that he would also consult Lily on everything from what to wear to some function to whether he should buy lamb or beef for Sunday lunch – on the few occasions he decided to tackle a roast with all the trimmings.’

I felt the smallest smile, remembering the beef, raw or burnt, and our Sunday strolls into Jericho.

‘Truly,’ Ditte said, squeezing my arm.

It was a gift, this story. As I listened to Ditte, my memories of life with Da were subtly touched up, like a painter might add a daub of colour to give the impression of morning light. Lily, always so absent, suddenly wasn’t.

‘There it is,’ Ditte said, as we approached the bridge. ‘This was their spot.’

I’d walked under it so often, but now it looked completely different. Gareth took my hand, then he led me to the bench at the edge of the path and sat close enough to feel me trembling.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, I thought. But was I thinking about Da or Gareth? Gareth had never held my hand before. I’d thought I’d have Da forever.

We sat. The stream barely moved beneath the bridge, but small disturbances broke the surface every now and then. I could easily imagine Da sitting there, letting his thoughts ebb and flow.

‘Someone’s left flowers,’ Gareth said.

I looked to where he was pointing, as did Ditte, and saw a bunch of flowers laid carefully beside the arch of the bridge. They were not fresh, but they hadn’t completely expired. Two or three blooms still held some shape and colour.

‘Oh, my,’ I heard Ditte say with a catch in her voice. ‘They’re for Lily.’

I was confused. Gareth shifted closer to me.

Tears ran quietly along the creases around Ditte’s eyes. ‘I was with him the first time, after her funeral. I had no idea he was still bringing her flowers.’

I looked around, half expecting to see him. It had only been a few days, but I was getting used to this trick of grief, and for the first time I was not overcome. The breath that filled my lungs felt easier. Before I let it go, I caught the decaying scent of rush daffodil. Da had never liked them, but he’d told me they were Lily’s favourite.



I couldn’t escape Da’s absence. I felt it when I turned onto Observatory Street, and when I opened the door to our house, I had to force myself to step over the threshold. Lizzie stayed for a few weeks, and the smell of Da’s pipe faded beneath the smells of her cooking. In the morning, I rose when she rose and we walked together to Sunnyside. I’d help her in the kitchen for an hour to make up some of the time she lost by staying with me, and when the first person arrived at the Scriptorium I would cross the garden and go in.