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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

The wind caught, tugging at the roof and the rafters, rattling at the letterbox and catching in the branches of the oak tree. I touched the wallpaper, my fingers trailing along it as I went to the kitchen, where I opened a bottle of vodka, sloshed it carelessly into a glass, and drank deeply, wincing as it burned its way down my oesophagus. In my head, there was a jungle of sounds and images: Moira implying I had a drink problem. Me promising to cut back. Rohan’s concerned face. The horror of my paintings. The tatty pink dog a symbol of my shame on the tarmac down in Kent. The gravestone. Losing my position at the hospice. The weight of the guilt. The clawing shame of everything.

‘Oh, don’t look at me like that,’ I said out loud to the kitchen, as I put down the glass harder than I thought. ‘Don’t you think I deserve a drink?’

The house answered only with a creak and a sigh. Outside the wind picked up and a dog howled.

‘Come on!’ I said. ‘I could have lived anywhere, but I chose you! I sought you out and bought you! I did it to keep her memory alive!’ I took another slug of vodka. ‘I’m taking care of you for her! I kept her room as it was… I know she’s not coming back, but…’ I drank deeply again as I looked out at the garden, the trees now starting to bend and sway in the wind.

‘She played in your garden. She ate right here! She did her homework here. Studied for her A-levels here. Cried over boys here…’ I raised my glass too fast and vodka sloshed out of it onto the table. I shoved my chair back and ran to the wall, touching it with my fingertips as if my stroke might bring it to life. ‘Her breath touched your walls, your ceiling!’ I sobbed. ‘You’re the same house underneath. I keep you for her!’

I picked up the vodka bottle and went up to the bedroom. There, I dragged the chair across the room, positioned it below the wardrobe and climbed up, clutching at the wardrobe door as I swayed precariously for a moment. Heart thumping, my hand snaked around in the top section that no one could reach, scouting behind the pile of forgotten sweaters for something I hadn’t looked at the whole time I’d been married. For a moment I wondered if it had gone; if Rohan had somehow found it and thrown it out, thinking it belonged the house’s previous owners, but no: my fingertips pushed the tangle of a skipping rope out of the way and finally lit upon the solid spine of the folder. I slid it out and climbed back down.