The Whispering Wall - SAMPLE

The first time Lucile heard the crying it was the dead of a summer’s afternoon. She assumed it was her next door neighbour’s boy, until she remembered they were on holiday. When she told Edward that evening he smiled and shook his head.

‘You’re imagining it. Either that, or the bloody woman’s invited some of her friends to use the house while she’s away,’ he said, returning to The Independent.

‘We’d hear them now if there were visitors, wouldn’t we Eddy?’

He peered over the pages, eyes bloodshot, and said, ‘Probably. I can’t imagine any of her lot being quiet. But look Lulu, it’s all in your head. Not surprising, after everything you’ve been through.’

‘We’ve been through,’ she whispered. ‘Anyway, I rather like her.’

‘You need to rest more darling,’ he said, before disappearing behind his newspaper again. ‘You’re overdoing it.’

Lucile wondered how she could possibly be overdoing it. She hadn’t worked in six months, not since she had been ill, and she had done nothing in the house. The move had been Edward’s idea. She needed somewhere quieter, somewhere to build a future, he said. Highgate was perfect; the house backed onto the cemetery, a place they both loved. Had loved. Edward rarely went there nowadays.

Later, Lucile lay in bed staring at the walls, an unread book resting on her breast. She could hear the soft rise and fall of Edward’s breathing. She closed the novel, rolled over and watched him sleep. His forehead glistened in the dull light, his mouth hung ajar and this slackness gave him the appearance of youth. His torso was exposed and she longed to stroke the fleshy rise of his belly. To feel his skin against hers. She reached out, and then stopped. Her hand hovered over his chest, the hairs tickling her palms. Sighing Lucile turned over and closed her eyes; he would be furious if she woke him up.

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