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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 time I woke the next morning, Grace had left for work. I knew she’d gone, even as I lay motionless under the duvet allowing consciousness to slide its way slowly through me. The quietness that surrounded me had a depth to it, a richness that was punctuated only by the occasional scrabble of claws as Alfie chased demons in the hall. When I finally dragged myself downstairs, he scampered ahead of me towards the kitchen, his tail twitching in that way that means, ‘Follow me!’ Miaowing loudly, he led me straight to his food bowls. Grace hadn’t fed him on her way out; she hadn’t even topped up his biscuit bowl.

‘Oh, baby, I’m sorry,’ I said bending to tickle his head. ‘She doesn’t have pets. She doesn’t know.’

He twined about my legs, purring and chirruping as I removed the dirty bowls and replaced them with fresh food and water, then I pottered about in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from last night. Grace, it seemed, hadn’t had breakfast – not unless she’d washed up her utensils and put them in the cupboards, which seemed unlikely since last night’s dinner plates were still dirty in the sink. I’d just sprayed the counters and was wiping them down when the doorbell rang. I froze. Surely not Meena again?

The doorbell rang again, impatient and jarring, so I rushed over and opened the door just in time to see the back of a delivery man walking down the path.

‘I’m here!’ I called.

‘Grace Shaw?’

I missed a beat. ‘Yes. She lives here.’

There were three parcels, soft, like clothes, but heavier than I’d have imagined, and they flopped in my arms as I took them up to Grace’s room. I stopped at the door, feeling as if to go in would be to trespass, but then I pushed it open with my shoulder and inhaled the unfamiliar scent that lingered in the air – a different deodorant to mine, maybe, and the heavy floral perfume. The bed was half made, the covers neatly folded back and the pillow dented.

Grace’s suitcase stood in the corner. There was a glass of water on the bedside table, alongside other bits and bobs: lip salve, a hair tie, perfume, tissues and a book, the cover of which was curling at the corners. I nodded my approval: it was Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. One of my favourites.