A Glimpse into "Guilty by Definition" by Susie Dent

Susie Dent's intriguing novel introduces us to a dictionary editor based in Oxford, whose tranquil existence is disrupted by cryptic messages connected to the enigmatic disappearance of her sister years before.

This lexicographer becomes an unexpected detective, delving into literary enigmas that force her to confront the mysteries of her own history.

Chapter Three

Martha dashed away from the throng, gliding down the broad stone steps and onto Beaumont Street, focusing only on the ground beneath her feet. After turning the third corner, she sought refuge in a side street, leaning against a wall to compose herself.

She anticipated encountering specters in Oxford. Not the headless equestrians or ghosts haunting ancient relics—her fear held fast to Charlie, her sister, who might suddenly appear. In that first year of her sister's vanishing, Martha often mistook fleeting glimpses in a crowd for Charlie: the flowing blonde mane, the woolly cardigan over a cotton dress. Sounds of laughter, a familiar gait or shoulder movement would trigger momentary belief, only for the illusion to disintegrate into the figure of a stranger.

Over time, the image of Charlie matured in Martha's mind. Women in their mid-thirties now became the sources of these startling encounters. Once, in Berlin, Martha was struck by such a certainty again, only to realize that the woman nursing a child at a café was not Charlie, but a mere reflection of what she imagined her sister to be after thirteen years.

Martha pressed her hand against the brickwork, recalling therapy advice meant to anchor her when emotions surged. What are you aware of now? The polished cobblestones on the road, the stark white bricks opposite. What sensations? The coarse texture of the bricks, a light breeze disturbing her hair. What scents? Traces of cooking oils, her morning's perfume lingering.

Her breathing slowed.

Pulling the letter from her bag once more, she scrutinized it. Could it truly be from Charlie? Deception seemed impossible. What insights did this Chorus possess? Should she destroy it, cast it into the river, or involve the authorities?

Oh, the authorities. The creak of her mother's chair had echoed through Martha as they leapt to the door. They had retrieved Charlie's bike near the peripheral road. Had she accepted a ride? How progressed was her thesis? Details of their faces eluded Martha; only the image of hands wrapped around mugs, voices low and consoling, promising most would return in due course, and leaving behind contact lists and tired empathy.

Martha found herself home. Her instincts had conveyed her there amidst the twilight. Her gaze lifted. The house lay in darkness; her father must have retired.

This was where Charlie had stayed before disappearing, relishing the space, their mother's cooking, and parental warmth while she toiled on her PhD. Martha had freshly embarked on university life, carving a path beyond her sister’s shadow.

Unlocking the door, Martha recalled the shadow of Alex in the museum, now overlain by Charlie's presence. Ever adjacent, the silhouettes of bygone moments lingered on thresholds and floors. She stepped inside.

Martha set the letter on the kitchen counter as the kettle heated up.