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
‘No. That’s ridiculous. I don’t feel it at all. Look!’ I pointed at the ultra-modern kitchen, at the new floors. ‘It’s all new. Nothing old is here anymore. Any spirits are long gone.’
But Meena got up and started opening the cupboards. For a moment I thought she was actually looking for ghosts behind the cereal bowls.
‘Where’s your salt? Proper sea salt, not this table salt.’ She flicked her fingers as if sprinkling salt on food.
‘What do you want salt for?’
‘There’s something wrong with the energy in this house and I’m going to fix it.’
Really, I could do without this right now. ‘With salt?’
‘Yes, and lemons. It might help. If not, we will think again. Now, do you have lemons?’
‘Help yourself,’ I said, pointing lamely to the fruit bowl where a couple of dull lemons sagged.
Meena bustled about, finding a knife and the chopping board. She cut the lemons, arranged them in saucers and sprinkled salt on them.
‘Right, I’m going to leave these around the house. Please don’t move them. I’m also going to sprinkle some salt around the doors and windows. I learned this from my mother – Ronu’s nannima – she did it every time we stayed in a hotel or overnight anywhere, she’d scatter salt in the corners of the room and at the windows and doors and we were never troubled by spirits.’
My chin was resting on my hands. It seemed to ease the pounding in my head. My eyes were heavy. ‘What?’
Meena sighed. ‘There are many things in this life that we don’t understand, Abigail, but trust me on this.’ She cocked her head. ‘Anyway, shouldn’t you be at the hospice today? I thought you went every Tuesday?’
Shit.
Thirty-Five
By the time I got to the hospice, I was over an hour late for my shift. I’d spent the journey there alternating between hope – I was painting! She’ll understand! – and dread, unsure which was the more realistic option but the moment I pushed through the door and saw Moira look up from the drinks cart that I should have been pushing from room to room and shake her head, I knew which way things would go. Still, I tried. Throwing my coat behind the nurses’ station, I went to take the cart from her.
‘I’m so sorry, Moira. I…’