The House of Whispers

by Anna Kent

  ‘Mum,’ Rohan said. ‘Abi’s not pregnant. If she were, you’d be the first to know. And it’s not that I don’t want to talk about her. It’s just that there’s nothing to say. She’s working. Aren’t you, darling?’ I nodded. ‘She has an exhibition coming up. She’s an artist. It’s not like working in an office. She gets consumed by her work. It takes her over. And yes, sometimes, she forgets about pedestrian things like eating and sleeping so, if she looks a little tired or a little thin, that’ll be why. Right?’ I nodded again. ‘And it’s fine,’ Rohan said, ‘because once she’s finished, she’ll have an amazing exhibition and then she’ll get back on track.’

  ‘I will,’ I said, feeling as if I was making a promise to Meena.

  ‘We just need to give her the space she needs to do her “thang”,’ Rohan said, sticking his tongue out and making peace signs like an ageing hippie. ‘Okay?’

  I nodded again and took another pakora, as if to prove the point that I wasn’t on a diet. In the background, I heard the front door open, then the sound of Mili’s voice talking to my father-in-law. Thank God.

  ‘Do you think Abigail’s got thinner?’ Meena asked the moment Mili walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Mother! Leave her alone!’ Mili tutted as she gave me a hug. She was wrapped, as always, in a cloud of her signature Oud perfume. ‘Yo, Brohan,’ she said, hugging Rohan. ‘Good to see you. Jay sends his apologies. He’s taking Sofia to a birthday party.’

  Clive came in then. No hugs from him. It wasn’t his thing. He nodded at everyone and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, and we all sat down, chatting and helping ourselves to snacks until Meena handed us dishes to carry through to the dining room. I thought I’d got through the worst of it then, but no.

  Mili and I shared a bottle of white wine with lunch. It was nothing to me, but she drank slowly, clearly unused to daytime drinking. Before I knew it, the bottle was empty, and I was getting up to fetch another.

  ‘So, tell me about the salt,’ Rohan said to his mum, apropos of nothing. ‘What brought that on – or am I better off not knowing?’ He laughed. ‘Can you pass the kebabs? These are delicious.’

  Mili raised a hand and waved it while she finished her mouthful. ‘Oh, it’s a good one. You have to hear it.’ Her voice implied she was highly amused by what was to come next. She paused to check everyone was listening. ‘Mum thinks your house is haunted and – get this – that Abi’s been possessed.’

  I almost spluttered my wine: me, possessed? She hadn’t said that to my face.

  Rohan snorted. ‘Oh, please. The only thing my wife has been possessed with is artistic inspiration.’

  ‘Mum thinks it’s a bad spirit! Whoo-whoo!’ Mili said, waving her hands about. Clive concentrated on his food. Mili’s cheeks were flushed and she was biting her lip as if trying not to laugh; Meena rested her chin on her hand and looked steadily at Rohan. I squirmed.

  ‘Don’t you go pretending you don’t know what I mean,’ Meena said, waving a finger at Rohan. ‘You know exactly what I think about old houses. Who knows what energy is trapped here? Oh, don’t look at me like that, Rohan. You said yourself the cat would never go up to the attic. And Abigail’s alone up there all day, her heart and mind open to the universe…’

  Rohan rolled his eyes. ‘I wish I’d never asked. Mum, you should write a Bollywood movie because, seriously, you have a brilliant imagination.’

  ‘Well, maybe I will.’ Meena folded her arms. ‘There’s always been a feel about this house. You know I told you that the first time I saw it.’

  I looked at Clive for support but he raised a palm and shook his head: keep me out of this.

  ‘Have you told Ronu what you want to do?’ Mili asked. She sucked in her cheeks and played with the edging of the tablecloth – a picture of innocence – and Rohan glowered at his mother.

  ‘What do you want to do? Aside from the salt that you’ve already thrown around my house.’

  Meena had the grace to look a little embarrassed. ‘Just some mustard seeds, beta, to ward off evil spirits.’

  ‘Whoo! I’m a ghost! I’m scared of mustard seeds!’ said Mili, flapping her arms.

  ‘Seriously?’ Rohan said to his mum. ‘Do I need to get my key back off you?’

  Meena wrung her hands together. ‘Don’t be like that.’ She paused. ‘I’d really like to cleanse the house’s energy, too – just a simple thing, nothing whacky… Oh, Rohan, indulge your mother, please – it would make me feel better… I’m just worried about Abigail, that’s all. With you away and her alone… especially if she might soon be expecting.’ She paused; her mind having lit upon her other pet topic. Her head tilted sideways as she looked at Rohan. ‘Speaking of which, did you call the Harley Street doctor?’

  I started to clear the plates.

  Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019

  ‘You mentioned in passing that your mother is quite intuitive? Did she notice any changes in Abigail over this period? Any that she mentioned?’

  ‘Pff. The same as me, I guess. That she looked pale and had lost weight.’

  ‘I see. Did she have any thoughts on what could have caused this?’

  [Sighs] ‘My mother is very superstitious. We humour her, but we don’t take her very seriously.’ [pauses] ‘She blamed the house.’

  ‘The house?’

  ‘Yes. It’s an old house – Victorian. My mother was – is – convinced that energy remains in old houses unless you take steps to remove it. She felt that our house was full of negative energy and that this was quite possibly the cause of the problems Abi was having. Apparently it was worse because Abi was there alone, without me to protect her. Though God knows how I would have done that because I really don’t see myself as someone who can ward off evil spirits.’ [laughs]

  ‘And what did you think of that theory?’

  [Laughs] ‘What do you think? I thought it was ridiculous. Abi was just working really hard. She hardly ever went out, let alone did any exercise. She drank way too much alcohol. Of course that was going to have an effect on her.’

  ‘And did that bother you?’

  ‘Grace was there. And it was only a temporary phase. Only until she finished the paintings. Then everything would get back on track. So, of course I was concerned, but not overly. I’m not a worrier.’

  Forty-Three

  Given the Allertons talked about me even when I was present, and especially given what had gone on at lunch, I had no qualms excusing myself the moment we’d finished dessert, claiming I had to work. Which I did. But the wine and rich food had had an effect, and my eyes were heavy. I cleared the mess off the small sofa in the attic, flopped down onto it and let my mind drift.

  Within moments I was standing on a beach, not unlike the one I’d seen on Grace’s Instagram, but, as I stood there breathing in the fresh sea air, absorbing the sight of the dunes and feeling the wind in my hair, I realized something was missing: I couldn’t hear the swoosh and crash of the waves. I turned to face the ocean only to see that the water had been sucked out further than I could see, and that the sand I stood on was waterlogged; dark sand that was never usually exposed to the sun. It was littered with the carcasses of dying fish.

  With a sense of dread in my stomach, I scanned the horizon for the first sight of the tsunami I knew must be coming. It wasn’t too late to run to higher ground, but would I? Or would I stand still and face it? Let it slam into me, roar over me and decimate me? What would I do when faced with the tower of the wave?

  Every day since I’d found out about Grace and Tom, I waited for them to tell me. But as the days ticked by, it became clear that she intended not only to take him, but not even to bother telling me, and something started to grow inside me: courage, maybe, as well as anger. Even now, the anger courses through me when I remember how she treated me; what disdain she had for me while living for free in my home. It was as if all the hurt and the frustration of the previous five years su
ddenly piled up: the barbed comments, the way she walked all over me, the passive-aggression dressed up as concern. The way she assumed I wanted her in my life; the way she assumed I should be grateful to her for saving my life all those years ago; the fact that she clearly thought I still owed her. Even a criminal does time and is then released, but it seemed I could never escape Grace. She was a ball and chain around my ankle, dragging me back, dragging me down.

  I recalled now the thud of trepidation I’d begun to feel when I heard her shoes skip down those steps to our flat in the evenings; the cloying sense of suffocation as I heard her key turn in the lock. I’d tossed and turned at night, wrestling up the strength to claim my life back from her: Grace, my power source, my supporter, my friend, my master, my tormentor, my enemy.

  It had taken a fortitude I hadn’t known I had to ask her about Tom and, when I saw her hesitate – when I saw her face flicker as she considered lying – something exploded inside me. I could no longer contain myself.

  ‘Get out! Get out of my flat and get out of my life!’ I’d screamed at her because, in that moment, I actually wanted to kill her. I could picture myself with my hands around her neck, throttling her until her eyes bulged and her lips turned blue.

  Grace’s mouth fell open and then she’d smiled; a slow, sick smile. It was far worse than I’d imagined, the hundred times I’d rehearsed it in my head.

  ‘You’re kicking me out?’ she laughed, entitlement dripping off her like oil. ‘As if you would! After all I’ve done for you?’

  ‘So help me, God, get out now or I cannot be responsible for my actions,’ I’d said stepping quietly toward the knife drawer, and that had rattled her.

  She shoved her chair back, the legs scraping across the kitchen floor. I followed her to her bedroom door and watched as her arms windmilled things into a bag, grabbing wildly at anything within reach – my things included – then she stalked through the flat without looking back, and slammed the door behind her, leaving me standing, stunned, in the sudden silence. That was the last time I saw her until she came back from Australia.

  I saw the Allertons leave as I looked down on the street from the attic window. Their family goodbyes took at least twenty minutes. It was something I never understood. Say goodbye, then go. But no. If you were an Allerton you said goodbye inside the house, then you all trooped outside together, weather permitting, and you had another chat, then you said goodbye again, had a hug, chatted a bit more, had another hug, then stood there waving the car off. Mili was the first to go, in a cab, while Clive waited in the driver’s seat for Meena to let go of Rohan. As the blue Mercedes drove off, I turned back to my easel and it was only then I was able to start painting once more.

  The light was fading when I finally put down my brush. I was almost finished with the sixth portrait and I knew in my bones that it was good – the best thing I’d painted so far. After I cleaned my brushes, I stepped back to take in the full horror of it and shuddered. It was perfect.

  Forty-Four

  There was a spring in my step as I locked the attic door and went down in search of Rohan. All in all, I was pleased with the way I’d handled myself today. The lunch could so easily have gone wrong, especially with Meena seemingly hellbent on getting a rise from me. I was sure she didn’t mean it maliciously – sure she didn’t deliberately rile me – but even so…

  I stopped on the landing. The door to Grace’s room was ajar when I was sure it had been left closed. I was barefoot and made no sound as I approached, which is presumably why Rohan had no time to stop what he was doing. I stood in the doorway and watched in disbelief as he rifled through Grace’s wardrobe, touching and feeling the garments. His hand passed over the musty children’s clothes but stopped on one of Grace’s new blouses. He pulled it out, examined it, brought it to his nose and sniffed it.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Rohan turned as if he’d been scalded, his face a picture of guilt as he froze, still holding the blouse.

  ‘It’s not what it looks like!’ he said quickly. ‘I’m not being a perv, I swear. It’s just…’

  ‘Just what? You go around sniffing other women’s clothes?’ Anger came down on me like the rust-red curtains of a theatre: thick, heavy and dark, spilling over everything, oozing into every crack inside me, sliding around my organs and firing up my heart. ‘Going through her wardrobe! Sniffing her clothes! That’s not normal!’ I shouted. ‘Not in any way is that normal! What the fuck are you playing at?’

  Rohan’s mouth was open but no words came.

  ‘I can’t think of a single reason why you’re in this room, let alone looking through Grace’s wardrobe!’ I yelled. ‘Get out! Now!’

  ‘I just…’ Rohan paled. ‘And why is it full of kids’ clothes anyway? And those toys? They’re so creepy. Did Grace put them there?’

  ‘Get. Out. Now. Get out!’ I yelled when Rohan still didn’t move. Then he quickly put the blouse back, closed the wardrobe and raised his hands in surrender, a soldier going over the top. I waited as he edged across the room and past me, then I pulled the door closed and followed him down the stairs.

  ‘What were you doing in there?’ My voice was icy. ‘Don’t you think our guest deserves her privacy?’

  ‘Abs, it was nothing like that, I swear. I just found some things on the credit card statement that didn’t add up and…’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘Well, I just… I don’t know.’ He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. ‘Look. I saw some packaging in the bin from Hobbs and it was Hobbs on the credit card bill. I couldn’t see anything that might match it in your wardrobe, so I thought I’d check hers…’

  ‘And what did you find?’

  ‘Well, she seemed to have new clothes from Hobbs, so…’ he shrugged.

  ‘Didn’t you think to ask me?’ I said. ‘Instead of going through her wardrobe and sniffing her clothes?’

  ‘You were painting…’

  ‘Not anymore!’ I shouted.

  Rohan flung his hands up. ‘I didn’t know that, did I?’ His voice dropped a tone. ‘Please don’t be unreasonable.’

  ‘Me? Unreasonable? I think you’re the one being unreasonable! Imagine if Grace knew you were going through her things! Smelling her clothes!’

  ‘Look. Okay. I’m sorry. All right? I shouldn’t have done it. I just wanted to know if they were new.’ Rohan put his hands on his hips and his nostrils flared. I could see this was far from over. ‘So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with the kids’ stuff? What the fuck’s going on?’

  ‘Nice dodge.’

  ‘Okay,’ Rohan said. ‘How about why you bought clothes for Grace. Can you tell me that?’

  I shrugged. ‘She needed them. She didn’t have any work clothes.’

  ‘She’s going to pay you back, I assume?’

  ‘She hasn’t a chance to save much money at the moment.’

  ‘So… they’re a gift? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘She’s a friend. It was the least I could do to help her get back on her feet.’

  Rohan took a deep breath and let it out as he pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Jesus, Abs. I know I earn a good salary, but I’m supporting both of us, paying the mortgage and the bills, flying to and from New York to see you, and trying to save for the future as well – for our children.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, here comes the emotional blackmail.’

  ‘Look, Abs,’ Rohan said. ‘All I’m saying is there’s helping, and then there’s giving someone free board and lodging, and buying them a new wardrobe. Grace’s been here several weeks already. When’s she going to start standing on her own two feet? Has she even looked for a flat yet? If you make it too cushy here, she’s never going to want to leave.’

  ‘You sound like you want her to leave,’ I said. ‘You disappear off to New York and then want my friend, who’s keeping me company, to move out. Charming.’

  Rohan threw his arms in the air. ‘For God’s
sake! Don’t be so ridiculous!’ He picked up some of the mail that he’d stacked on the hall table. ‘How long’s she planning on staying? Have you asked her? Because this post is for her. She’s having her mail sent here. That’s not the action of someone who’s planning to move out.’

  ‘Where else is she supposed to send it? She doesn’t have an address in the UK yet and her parents are dead, if you remember.’

  Rohan stared at me. ‘I’m just worried, that’s all. She’s staying here rent-free. She’s not helping around the house. She’s not contributing to the grocery bills, yet she’s getting her mail delivered here and now you’re buying her new clothes – not just any clothes, but from Hobbs! For God’s sake, Abs.’ He paced the hallway with his hands linked behind his head, then he turned to face me. ‘Is everything okay with her here?’

  I shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘I just wonder. Because I’m getting the feeling she’s using you. And I know how sweet and kind you can be. Sometimes people take advantage of you.’ He put a hand in the air to stop me interrupting. ‘You know it’s true. So, do you actually like her being here? Because from what I see, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘It’s not as if I see so much of her,’ I said. ‘She’s at work all day. But it’s nice to have company. Of course it is.’

  Rohan narrowed his eyes. ‘You’ve changed, Abs. Since she’s arrived, you’ve changed. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.’

  My mouth fell open. ‘Can I remind you that you’re the one who’s been away living it up in New York? Maybe it’s you who’s changed. Maybe I’ve always been like this.’

  ‘And anyway,’ Rohan continued as if I hadn’t spoken, ‘the least she could have done was to be here. I’m paying for her life at the moment – it would have been nice if she could have stayed to say hello.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ I said. ‘You want her to grovel at your feet? Jesus, Rohan, take a look at yourself. What kind of God complex do you have? I told her to go. I wanted you all to myself this weekend.’ Tears pricked at my eyes. ‘Fat lot of good that’s done. I needn’t have bothered!’ I turned and stormed back up the stairs.