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
I’d lain in bed and looked at the window that morning and it had struck me how easy it would be to jump out of the window and never feel anything again. A few moments of fear as I fell, maybe, then the sweet release of oblivion. I’d lain there thinking about how the nightmares would finally stop, and how I wouldn’t have to deal with anything anymore, and I’d got up and opened the window to see how wide it went. I’d peered down at the grey pavement below and imagined myself, splayed and broken on it, blood oozing from my head, and found the image morbidly pleasing.
But I was also practical. It would be no dress rehearsal; no cry for help. My room was only on the second floor: I’d have to go higher up, or maybe try to jump headfirst in order to make sure I did actually die. Were there methods for these things? It was oblivion I craved, not sympathy. Later, I googled ‘best way to jump suicide’. I knew that the world would be a better place without me. It was as simple as that.
That morning – the morning I calmly searched the best way to jump – marked the beginning of a phase during which I’d find myself thinking about how to kill myself many times a day. I’d look at the buses passing on Marylebone Road or Oxford Street or wherever I was and think: I just need to step out right now – and then the moment would pass and I’d almost be washed with disappointment that I hadn’t done it. Every failure served only to refuel the idea that I was worthless: that I didn’t even have the guts to follow through. Same with the Tube, and with trains. A dithering moment of dazzling possibility, then the whoosh of the train and I’d missed my chance. A coward, that’s what I was. Unworthy.
And then I might buy something and find myself looking at those warnings on plastic bags that say ‘Danger of suffocation’ and think: really? Is it that easy? Could you do it yourself? I had no access to a gun; couldn’t picture myself using a knife. Slashing your wrists takes too long. I learned the word ‘exsanguination’.
I continued to go to lectures and seminars; to smile at people. I continued to hand in assignments; to do my best. It didn’t occur to me to tell anyone what I was thinking. It didn’t occur to me to talk to Grace. To seek help. I was ashamed.
When it came to me, the answer was much simpler than I’d imagined. Pills.