Chapters (82)
- Cover
- Praise for The House of Whispers
- Title Page
- Note to Readers
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Twelve
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Twenty-Five
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Forty-Two
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Forty-Eight
- Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Priory Hospital North London: 20 December 2019
- Acknowledgements
- About the Publisher
‘What?’
‘Well, if you stay stuck out here in the suburbs, you’re never going to get over it. Are you? It’s going to become a phobia and before you know it you’ll become a recluse. A cat lady flicking at the lace curtains.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘The way to deal with it is to submerge yourself in the thing that scares you, until you learn there’s nothing to be scared of.’
‘You want me to go back into London?’
‘Well…’ Grace said carefully as she spooned Greek yoghurt into her bowl. ‘Not specifically. I was thinking about 32b. I always remember it.’
My heart thumped. ‘Really?’
‘Yes! Don’t you? So what do you say? Should we go back and take a look at the old pad, for old times’ sake? We can take a cab if you like.’ Her tone softened. ‘It’ll be fine.’
My hands clenched under the kitchen table, the nails digging into my palms. It wasn’t the journey that bothered me.
‘Really? You want to go back?’ I said.
‘Well, we did spend two years living there.’ Grace stared out of the kitchen window for a moment and chuckled. ‘God, I’ll never forget those steps. That feeling I got going down them.’ She closed her eyes then nodded. ‘Yeah. I’d like to see where it all… played out.’
She said the last two words slowly as if she’d chosen them carefully, and I guess she really had, because ‘played out’ covered a lot of situations, many of them unpleasant. I pushed my chair back and stood.
‘Sure. What time do you want to go?’
Grace waved her yoghurt spoon at me. ‘Just give me a chance to eat this and get ready. So, maybe, like, forty minutes? Does that work?’
Thirty-Three
Grace didn’t tell me that she’d got together with Tom. Neither did he. They left it for me to find out myself one night in the March of Grace’s final year. I’d woken, thirsty, around two in the morning and padded to the kitchen of the basement flat. I was used to Grace bringing men home and, unless they were drunk and rowdy, it never bothered me. They were always gone in the morning. That particular night, I stood at the sink drinking water from the tap when I heard a giggle come from her room. Then, like a slap in the face, a murmur in a male voice with the exact same timbre as Tom’s. I froze, ice in my veins, wondering if I wanted confirmation, yet already knowing in my heart what I was hearing. I tiptoed to Grace’s door and pressed my ear silently to the wood, straining.
It couldn’t be him. She wouldn’t.