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
‘Yes.’ Francesca smiled. ‘This is really something. It’s really special. Way better than your last one, and you know how well that sold.’ She nodded. ‘I’d go as far as to say ground-breaking. I think the media will go crazy.’
‘Really?’ Again, the squeaky voice.
‘I have a potential buyer in mind, too,’ Francesca continued. ‘Someone I know who would be very interested. He likes this kind of “anarchy”. The destruction will appeal to him.’
Somehow, we ended up back downstairs. I wrote down the date Francesca wanted to have the paintings collected, then called Rohan to tell him the good news, my fingers skidding on the keys, my mood buoyed by Francesca and the wine.
‘Now you have professional validation,’ he said when I’d finished gabbling everything that Francesca had said. ‘Do you finally believe in yourself?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think I finally do.’
Fifty-Two
With the paintings finished, I had time on my hands again. Grace was out at work every day and I rattled about the house trying to remember how I used to fill my days. I’d almost forgotten about the pet portraits – about how het up I used to get about doing them; how stressed. It all seemed a bit ridiculous now. I was a marathon runner who’d crossed the finish line with my new series. The pet portraits felt like the 25-metre race at junior school. Still, I hadn’t checked my website for ages. I called it up and clicked listlessly through the gallery that advertised the different styles I could produce, the prices and the submission procedure, but it was like looking at someone else’s work, someone else’s life, galaxies away. I closed my laptop and stared into space. All I could think about was Grace’s words: ‘Have you been to the grave?’
It had sounded ridiculous when she’d said it but, now I thought about it, why shouldn’t I go? The girl was buried right here in the churchyard that lay directly between the station and our house. And her parents were no longer around so who tended her grave? Her friends? What family? It had crossed my mind before, but to visit when I hadn’t known the girl had seemed ghoulish; macabre. So many people who lived in this house – in any old house – would have died – some in accidents – and most people didn’t seek out their final resting places, did they? Or was this different because she was young? Because it was a tragedy? I was sure I could feel her energy in the house. I pictured her here. Maybe I should go. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and felt her smile, that dead girl. No one would know.