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
‘Good. It’s good for you to have something to look after while I’m out all day,’ Rohan had said with a nod. ‘It’s good practice for when the baby comes.’
Now, Alfie and I looked at each other.
‘Are you going to help me check Grace’s room?’ I asked him. ‘We’ve got to make sure everything’s ready for her.’
I straightened up and looked at the hallway, imagining how Grace would see it when she stepped through the front door this evening. What would she think of ‘the old heap’, as Rohan liked to call the house? Given what we’d started with, I was proud of what we’d achieved before we’d run out of both cash and energy.
‘It’s enough for now, babe,’ Rohan had said, his arms encircling me as we waltzed a lap of the new kitchen, the new digital radio turned up loud. ‘Let’s just rest for a bit,’ and, fed up of dust and builders and the constant downward drag of the credit-card bill, I’d agreed – but now I wondered: was it enough? Our house still stood out on Albert Road among all the nicely maintained homes; it never quite managed to shake off the air of decrepitness I’d felt when I’d first seen it, despite how much we did.
‘Come on, Alfie,’ I said, hurrying up the stairs to try and disperse the feeling I had that I was disturbing something. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as if I were being watched. I paused on the landing, then turned quickly. Alfie was behind me, his back arched and his eyes huge and unblinking. The tip of his tail swished left and right.
‘Oh, you feel it, too?’ I said just to break the silence, but what was it? The air? The house? The fact that Rohan had gone, his departure taking something unidentifiable with him; or the house compensating now it was just the two of us? I felt as if I were cleaving through something invisible; thick and heavy, like water. A draught pushed down the stairs, wrapping itself around me like cobwebs.
‘Cold, isn’t it?’ I said, rubbing my arms. I must have left a window open upstairs. The heat of the summer was now no more than a distant memory. ‘You’re all right,’ I told Alfie. ‘You’ve got fur.’