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
It’s a sunny evening, just before six – I know that because the news starts on the radio just as I slam the front door. It’s one of those evenings when you know the last light won’t finish its slow fade from the sky till almost ten, and I’ve had the most amazing day – my A-level results were all that I’d hoped for and I got into my first-choice university. Everything is right with the world and I’m practically tripping with happiness as I yell ’bye to Dad and skip out of the house to the car. It’s a saloon, a medium-sized family car, more powerful than many, but I’m a sensible driver, not interested in pushing the boundaries, just in getting from A to B, and tonight I’m nipping into town to pick up a celebratory dinner from the chippy. The table’s laid and I’ll be back before Dad knows it.
It’s been the most glorious summer and the fields along the bypass are incandescent with the yellow of rape flowers; the grass verges are popping with the optimism colours of wildflowers; their scents mingling in the air with the other smells of the country – cow manure, cut grass, the tantalizing whiff of meat being grilled outdoors. The birds are singing, their cheerful voices floating from the trees. I’m not speeding; I’m driving carefully, mindfully, aware of all the details, constantly monitoring the road around me. The windows are open, this is true. Katy Perry’s on the radio and my hair’s blowing around me. I’m singing along, my heart bursting with the joy of my A-level results when, from nowhere, there’s a bang and an impact that makes me clutch the steering wheel to stop the car swerving into the oncoming lane.
The trees form a canopy over the roads and, in that split second, when everything’s still all right, I think it’s just a low branch.
I think it’s just a branch.
I wonder, even, if I have to stop, but then my instincts kick in, knowing somehow that it’s more than a tree, more than me having to worry about Dad being cross that I’ve scratched the paintwork. There was a metallic tang in the sound, and a thud; something that didn’t sound like a branch. This registers even as I slam on the brakes, pull to the side, and sit, shaking, for a moment before I open the door.