The Liar's Dictionary

With some birthday cake shoved deep into his pocket, Peter Winceworth wove his way across the road and began his journey home.

I is for

inventiveness

(adj.)

‘And that’s the moment when you should have quit,’ Pip said emphatically down the phone. ‘Threat of hellfire is one thing, but an actual threat? Are you kidding me?’

I thumbed through the index cards in front of me. ‘Leaving David in the lurch doesn’t feel quite right,’ I said. ‘Do you know, I’ve found another one already? Listen to this, I came across it almost by accident: “agrupt (n. and adj.), irritation caused by having a dénouement ruined.”’

After a pause, ‘Sounds like a real word,’ Pip said.

‘That’s what I thought, but I looked up agrupt on my phone to see whether it existed. The results took no time at all. That’s not true: 694 results appeared in 0.41 seconds. And it said, “Did you mean: abrupt, agrupate, agrup, agrupe?”’

‘Phoney as a three-dollar bill,’ said Pip.

‘Right?’

‘Nice catch. How did no one see any of these?’

‘Overlooked, I suppose. They are just nestled in random places.’ Down the phone there was the hiss of foamed milk and a close-distant clink of teacups from Pip’s café. ‘Everything OK at work?’ I asked.

‘Who the hell cares. What word are you up to?’

‘I’m starting from the top,’ I said.

‘Aardvark strikes again?’ Pip said.

‘Currently up to –’ I glanced down – ‘apparently abbozzo (n.)’

‘Definitely fake,’ Pip said. ‘Or a kind of pasta. A head monk, but also a bozo. A funny way of pronunciating the first three letters of the alphabet.’

‘Pretty sure pronunciating is not a word.’

‘Touché. Touchy.’

I adjusted my mobile against my ear. ‘According to this,’ I said, ‘it means “an outline or draft of a speech or piece of writing. Obsolete. Rare”.’

‘No shit,’ said Pip. ‘And you’re checking each one individually? Every word?’

‘’Fraid so.’

‘Have you eaten your lunch?’

‘Yes.’

‘Cupboard egg?’

‘’Fraid so,’ I said again.

‘I admonish, verb,’ Pip said. ‘I abdicate all responsibility.’

We had met three years ago in the coffee shop: her working behind the counter and me a customer having just started at Swansby House. At that time I was still dazed by the city and tired from drafting CVs for any job I could get, imagining my internship there would not last out the year. How long could digitising a dictionary possibly take? Sweet innocence.

I remember the day we first spoke. I was desperate for caffeine after a morning staring at my terrible computer hourglass. I was first in line. However, a man behind me in the queue chipped ahead of me before I had delivered my order. ‘Three cappuccino – sorry, cappuccini,’ he said. He made a fingersnapping motion. He was a busy man, clearly. The busiest.

‘Coming up. Any food?’ asked the girl behind the counter. I remember looking at her, thinking, This is someone who knows how to keep her cool. Here is someone who is unflappable.

‘Yeah,’ said my queue-jumper. ‘Three croissants.’

‘Three crrrrrroisseaux on their way. Crayz-onts. Three quwahsurnte,’ she said. She caught my eye. ‘And that was one coffee for you. We only have takeaway cups today, is that OK?’ and she asked this charitably, as if the customer could ever do anything about this. The napkins by the sugar sachets and milk jug had Geography Is A Flavour printed across them and a drawing of some coffee beans.

‘That’s amazing,’ I said. Why? Shut up, shut up.

‘And what’s your name?’ she continued. She tapped a pen to a Styrofoam cup in her hand and I lost four years off my life.

‘Adam,’ said the queue-jumper.

‘And yet not always the first dude, dude,’ Pip said, quick as you like, and it didn’t really work as a joke but the thinking was there, and I was watching her forearms in a way I didn’t understand. It didn’t feel right. It felt too right. I read the homily on the napkins again.

‘And you?’ she said to me, Sharpie poised. ‘I need it for the cup.’

‘Mallory,’ I said. She nodded, yawned and covered her mouth. She had knuckle tattoos. Did she? It looked like they spelt TUFF TEAK, but her hands were upside down and I couldn’t crane my neck in time to read them properly, and she had turned away and started roughing up the coffee machine before I could work it quite out.

It couldn’t be TUFF TEAK, I thought. Unless that’s some hot carpentry slang that I’m not queer enough to understand. Probably that. Stop staring. I tried to break down the scene into words that could be carried around on one’s hands.

TRIC / KY!!

CAFÉ / GIRL

MANY / TIPS

POLY / DACTYL

‘And I was literally dying,’ said Adam into his wireless headpiece.

‘I just drew them on this morning.’

The girl had come around the bar area to give me my drinks. She presented her knuckles to me.