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Chapters (82)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for The House of Whispers
  3. Title Page
  4. Note to Readers
  5. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  19. Twelve
  20. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  21. Thirteen
  22. Fourteen
  23. Fifteen
  24. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  25. Sixteen
  26. Seventeen
  27. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  28. Eighteen
  29. Nineteen
  30. Twenty
  31. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  32. Twenty-One
  33. Twenty-Two
  34. Twenty-Three
  35. Twenty-Four
  36. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  37. Twenty-Five
  38. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  39. Twenty-Six
  40. Twenty-Seven
  41. Twenty-Eight
  42. Twenty-Nine
  43. Thirty
  44. Thirty-One
  45. Thirty-Two
  46. Thirty-Three
  47. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  48. Thirty-Four
  49. Thirty-Five
  50. Thirty-Six
  51. Thirty-Seven
  52. Thirty-Eight
  53. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  54. Thirty-Nine
  55. Forty
  56. Forty-One
  57. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  58. Forty-Two
  59. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  60. Forty-Three
  61. Forty-Four
  62. Forty-Five
  63. Forty-Six
  64. Forty-Seven
  65. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  66. Forty-Eight
  67. Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019
  68. Forty-Nine
  69. Fifty
  70. Fifty-One
  71. Fifty-Two
  72. Fifty-Three
  73. Fifty-Four
  74. Fifty-Five
  75. Fifty-Six
  76. Fifty-Seven
  77. Fifty-Eight
  78. Fifty-Nine
  79. Sixty
  80. Priory Hospital North London: 20 December 2019
  81. Acknowledgements
  82. About the Publisher

I started with the bins, emptying them all and bagging up the rubbish, and that alone gave me a sense of release, as if the rubbish itself had been weighing me down. I loaded and ran the dishwasher, washed all the things that wouldn’t fit into it by hand. I cleaned the counters, emptied the fridge of everything that was stale or mouldy. I cleaned inside the fridge, taking out each shelf and wiping it; I cleaned the inside of the microwave and then I mopped the kitchen floor with bleach that cut through the stickiness I hadn’t noticed till now. I squirted green stuff down the loos, wiped the sinks and mopped the bathroom floor, and then I gave the vacuum cleaner a run-around downstairs. Rohan was a deep sleeper – I knew it wouldn’t bother him even without the jetlag.

And, all the while I worked, I imagined I could feel the house appreciating it, purring under my hands, breathing its thanks to me, but my mind was on Grace and how things spiralled out of control with her last time – the time she took Tom from me. I’d shown a chink in my armour and she’d wriggled her way in and taken what should have been mine. Rohan already thought she was cute; it stung that he thought she was ‘amazing’ for saving lives. Painting just couldn’t compete. It was solo and self-indulgent. It helped no one, not even those who bought my art at the galleries. They hung it on the wall and then what? They got so used to it they barely noticed it? They showed it off to their friends at dinner parties? And it’s not as if I had the volunteer job to salve my conscience anymore.

Yeah, that.

By the time I was done with the house, I’d resolved, again, to be stronger with Grace. I sat at the table and drew up a housework rota. From now on, she would do her share. I was an adult. I was strong. There would be no chinks this time. Rota done, I opened the back door to put the rubbish out and screamed: lying there, dead in a pool of shiny black blood, was Alfie.

Forty-One

His head lay at an unnatural angle, his front paws were curled as if he’d been trying to run and his mouth yawned open in a silent scream. Across his beautiful silver neck, a tell-tale line of dark-red blood showed that his throat had been slit. I swallowed down the bile that rose into my own throat. There was no need to touch him: there was nothing I could do for him now.

‘Alfie,’ I murmured, as tears sprang from nowhere. ‘My darling Alfie. My poor baby. I’m so sorry.’