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Back The House of Whispers
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’ve made five appointments for today,’ she said, patting the folder. ‘Do you think that’s too many? I tried to space them out so we’ve got time to grab something to eat or get a coffee. I’m specifically looking for a two-bedroom place. Ideally a cottage. You know,’ she laughed, ‘so predictable, right? The chocolate-box house with the low ceilings, the fireplace and the roses in the summer, though I get that that might not happen. So today’s a bit of a mixed bag. Some old, some new. More new, to be honest. But this is my favourite.’ She held out a picture of a pale, stone-fronted cottage with smart white paintwork and vines twisting around the front door. ‘Have a look.’

I didn’t take the brochure so she flicked through the pages in front of me and I saw a country-style kitchen-diner with a terracotta flagged floor and a cosy living room with a big open fireplace, but my mind wasn’t on her house-hunt and my eyes soon slid back to the car window. The motorway arced around North London, past rolling fields, industrial areas, and the ugly outskirts of satellite towns. And, with every town that we passed – South Mimms, Waltham Abbey, Epping, Brentwood – a ball of sickness grew inside me.

‘You’re sweating,’ Grace said, breaking off her monologue about her dream home as I adjusted the air vent to reach my face. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No. Can we pull over?’ The words rushed out of me like a torrent, my teeth on edge as saliva flooded into my mouth with the rising bile. ‘Stop now!’

‘Sure,’ said the driver, checking his mirrors and pulling onto the hard shoulder. ‘Lucky this isn’t a smart motorway. You okay?’

I ripped open the door and threw up immediately, my vomit splattering the tarmac.

‘Maybe it’s something you ate,’ Grace murmured, when I climbed back in. There was an interminable queue for the QE2 bridge.

‘It’s always bad.’ The driver gave me side-eye as he peered back to see if I looked likely to vomit again, but there was nothing inside me, and we were finally up and over, past Dartford, Swanley, Orpington and off down the A21 into the heart of Kent. I could feel Grace thrumming next to me, brimful of anticipation for the day ahead. I couldn’t understand her ghoulish fascination with the girl who had the accident, but who was I to stop her if she wanted to place a toy there?