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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

By the middle of my final year at university, I’d come to dread the sound of Grace’s footsteps in the corridor; the sound of her perky knock on my door. I fantasized about hiding in my room and not opening the door. I’d realized that I liked being on my own; I liked my own ‘quirky’ (her words), ‘alcoholic’ (seriously?) company. I was increasingly finding Grace to be entitled and arrogant, always expecting me to be there for her; always expecting groceries to have been bought, and food cooked; always making snide comments. Maybe I’d created a rod for my own back with the cooking, but it was a situation I didn’t feel I could easily back out of. Every time I thought about not preparing dinner for her, I’d pictured her coming home after a long day learning how to save people’s lives and saying in that chirpy way she had, ‘What’s for dinner?’ and I ended up cooking enough for her anyway – I mean, God, it wasn’t such an effort to throw in a bit more, was it? I went around in circles: resenting it, then telling myself it wasn’t a big deal. Though clearly it was. Maybe the problem was with me, not her. I was a soft touch. I should have put my foot down a long time ago.

Still, I couldn’t break away from her. So, for much of that third and final year at uni, I’d been biding my time, waiting for my chance to get a place on my own. Grace still had two years to go on her course but I was going to be working. I’d have a salary and could afford something a bit better. I pictured myself in a light and airy one-bed: alone, painting in silence; ‘passing out on the couch’, as Grace put it, without anyone to notice and, as the end of the year had approached, I’d done my own flat-hunting in secret and pushed Grace towards getting a place with her medic friends.

I talked up how much better it would be for her to stay with people on the same course; to be with people who were still students; people who were experiencing the same things as her. She’d need to be able to talk about what she was going through with people who understood, I said. She’d be doing attachments in hospital and clinics by then, working all hours and being absolutely shattered. I’d be working myself, but nothing like the hours she’d be putting in. I wouldn’t be a great support to her, I told her.