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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

When that drew a blank, we flipped the pages of my photo albums, going further back in time, desperate to find a link – some sign that our meeting was written in our destiny – and then we hit the jackpot. There was one picture, of me on a rope bridge in the woods at Groombridge, in which she thought she could identify herself. Pointing a finger to the smudge of a girl in the background, she’d said, ‘I had a T-shirt like that. And those shorts. We have a photo of me at home in those clothes in that place. My hair looked like that. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, I think it’s me!’ She’d got onto her laptop and pulled up images of herself from that same day that she stored online and, indeed, the outfit seemed to match. ‘There, look! We first saw each other when we were ten years old! Little did we know!’

The memory made me smile. Although I didn’t keep up with photos these days, I still had the albums Dad had made for me up here in the attic. I pulled out the album, turned to that page and looked now at the grainy figure standing by the little zipwire in the woods.

‘Who knew?’ I said to the picture. ‘Who knew where it’d all end up?’

Suddenly, the sound of a laugh rippled through the house, tearing me from my reverie. I froze, heart thudding, but the silence dragged long enough to make me wonder if I’d imagined it. Then, just as I began to relax, there was another peal of girlish laughter followed by another thick silence. I crept down the attic stairs to Grace’s room and knocked softly on the door. The smell of her perfume flooded the landing.

‘Grace?’ I waited. ‘Grace? Are you awake?’

Once again, a line of light ran along the bottom of the door. I knocked harder. ‘Grace?’ then I tried the handle: locked. Maybe she was watching something on her phone with headphones on. Suddenly, the light snapped off, stealing back what little illumination it had offered. I stood for a moment in the blackness, straining to hear a movement, or anything, from inside the room, then retreated back up the stairs to clean my brushes. It was way past the witching hour, and I needed to get to bed. When I went back down, the light was still off, and the silence thick as treacle.

Twenty-Eight