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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

‘Apparently, she lost control on her bike,’ Grace said. Her face twisted. ‘Shot out into the main road. I don’t know if it’s true, but the estate agent said she’d found out that day that she’d got into UCL.’

‘Such a bright future,’ I whispered.

For a moment, inside my head, the air ripped with the sound of screaming. I could picture the rotating flash of blue light; the girl lying on the ground, a trickle of blood oozing from her head; the white faces of people waiting bleakly for the emergency services; the hopelessness of knowing there was nothing to be done. Under the tyres of passing cars, the tarmac hissed. It bore no mark, no scar to show what had happened.

‘Why don’t you do it?’ Grace held out the stuffed dog, so I placed it on the grass at the roadside and, when I stood up, my face was wet with tears. Thunder boomed again, closer this time, and the wind picked up another notch.

‘Come on. Let’s go,’ I said, wiping at my eyes and stuffing the tissue back in my pocket. ‘She wouldn’t have known what hit her. It would have happened very fast.’

‘She might not have known,’ Grace said, and my lungs released the air they’d been subconsciously holding. For a moment, I thought we were done. But then Grace spoke again, her voice low. ‘But what if she did? What if she realized what had happened and died alone and in pain? Died with no one holding her hand; no one to tell her she was loved?’

As Grace looked at the road, the rain finally started to fall: big, fat drops that pebble-dashed the grey of the tarmac. I looked up at the sky, darker now, and pulled my hood over my hair. Within seconds the road was dark and slick with rain.

‘She wouldn’t have known,’ I said.

‘You don’t know that. It’s what you tell yourself.’

‘Grace… please.’

Grace tilted her head as she looked at me. ‘I wonder about the driver. How they could ever move on knowing they’d done something like that. How could you live with yourself knowing you’d killed someone?’

Her eyes met mine and I stared back at her, eyeball to eyeball. ‘That’s enough now. We’ve paid our respects. Let’s go.’

The rain got harder, drumming down and flattening Grace’s hair, pasting it to her forehead, which only made her eyes look bigger; more like holes in the pale of her face. She kept my gaze as she gave a sick laugh.