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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

‘Not for lack of trying on my part. I did everything I could think of to help her. I made her read before bed. I made milky drinks and herbal teas, massaged her back and ran warm baths for her. I bought a lavender pillow spray and I even got aromatherapy candles – which she moved to the bathroom. None of it seemed to have any effect. So I did what anyone who values their sanity would do: I learned to sleep with earplugs in; I like the foam ones that you roll up and squeeze into your ear. Boots often have them on three for the price of two. I get through a lot. They don’t block out everything, nor do they stop me becoming aware of her thrashing but, eventually, my body learned to wake briefly – to recognize that she was as all right as she could be – and to fall back asleep. I’ve always been a deep sleeper.’

‘Knowing what you now know, do you think the nightmares could have something to do with what happened with this… [ruffles paper]… Grace?’

‘I’d say so, yes.’ [softly] ‘Definitely.’

Sixteen

I dreamed that night, not my usual nightmare, but that I was being chased.

I ran on the streets of a darkened city, dodging behind parked cars and into tiny alleyways but still I wasn’t fast enough. I flicked off my shoes, shrugged off my coat and ran barefoot, thinking how much faster I’d be in trainers – why wasn’t I in trainers? – as I jumped over a garden fence that ripped at my clothes and scratched my skin. I skirted around houses, darted down side paths and squeezed through gaps in back hedges to throw off my pursuer, and finally I pressed my back against the dirty wall of a dank underpass, the brackish water of a canal sliding right by me while my lungs heaved and the steps of my pursuer rang out on the road above my head.

I sagged with relief but it wasn’t over. In the way of dreams, I was running again, across a field this time, my heart pounding and my neck tensed for a shot in my back as I strained to reach the cover of far-lying trees. I flung myself under a bush, face-down in the mud and clawed at barbed branches until I was hidden and blood from my shredded fingers seeped into the ground.

I flattened myself into the earth, something sharp digging into my ribs as my lungs pushed against the ground and I struggled to get my breath but then I was running again: in quicksand this time, my heart in my throat, air rasping in my lungs as I floundered ever slower and deeper, and then I was running through the university halls I lived in with Grace, the familiar smell of the disinfectant and institutional paint in my nostrils.