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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

I reached my room and jabbed the key in the lock but it wouldn’t turn and it wouldn’t turn and the footsteps were catching me; they were louder and closer and louder and closer and, with a feeling of unsurmountable horror I turned to face my pursuer, and it was Alex. Grace’s Alex with a knife raised to stab me.

I woke with a jolt, my limbs pinned to the bed and waited for my heart to slow. Yes, there were the shapes of our bedroom, everything in its usual place; Rohan’s bulk exactly where it should be. Gingerly, I moved my head a little to the left and then the right, then flexed a leg and an arm. When my limbs were my own again, I slid myself up to sitting and took a sip of water. The sweat was rank on me; my nightshirt damp, and the terror of being pursued clung to me like fog.

Why was I letting Grace back into my life? After I’d got rid of her once. What was I? A mug? A complete idiot?

I went to the kitchen and opened my laptop, hoping to recall my email, but already there was a reply from Grace.

Thanks so much. Can’t wait to see you. It’ll be just like old times.

Now I’d have to tell Rohan.

Seventeen

I blurted out the news that Grace was coming back over dinner with Rohan. It was a week before he left for New York.

It had been a stiflingly hot day with no relief up in the attic, despite the fan. I’d taken off my clothes and worked in my bra and pants, laying down another layer of acrylic and, as that dried, turning to my palette to mix the first oil colours with the care of a surgeon preparing her instruments. I’d worked straight through lunch and well on into the afternoon, fuelled only by black coffee and, later, vodka from the drinks fridge Rohan had thoughtfully installed for me in the studio.

I liked a drink, that was no secret. I liked how it freed my mind; how it loosened the binds that tied me to the Earth. I liked how it made me forget things, and I liked it even more when I was painting: I loved how it stripped me of my day-to-day reality and bent the world into a better shape. Rohan found me in my underwear with the vodka bottle open beside me.

‘Should I disturb you?’ he asked, and I turned, surprised to see him there, flesh and blood, in his shirtsleeves.