Isabella

The year is nineteen eighty-five, and Bella Jane Hauteville lives happily in London. She has a job she enjoys and a boyfriend she adores. Life is good. Then one morning she begins to feel rather odd. Surely it can’t be what she thinks it is? Not yet!

“Yes, Simon Sheldrake, please. Simon? . . . Thank God! Simon, I want you to come home immediately; something very peculiar is happening to me.”

Simon, against background of noisy office, sounding concerned. “What sort of something?”

“It’s really weird. I’m experiencing the most extraordinary psychic disturbance. My head’s all over the place . . . Simon, are you there?”

A small but nevertheless discernible sigh is followed by, “What sort of disturbance, exactly?”

“I don’t know! I’ve never felt this way before. I think . . . Look, I know it sounds really stupid, but I think Mummy has died.”

“You think your mother has died.”

“Yes. I think I may be downloading her soul.”

“Your mother has died and you’re downloading her soul.”

“Yes! Simon, please don’t keep repeating me, this is serious! I feel like I’m going crazy. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”

“Okay, right,” typically businesslike. “Let’s unpick this. Putative death of mother. Am I correct in thinking she’s only, what, fifty-something?”

“Fifty-four. She’s fifty-four.”

“And in rude health, last we heard? It hardly seems likely. Unless she’s had an accident of course.”

“I know all that. I just can’t think of anything else that would make me feel this way. It’s really, really weird!”

“Bella, sweetheart, I’d love to discuss this with you, but I’ve got the presentation in less than ten minutes. Remember the presentation? Merganser and Stint?”

“I know, and I wouldn’t have disturbed you for anything, but . . . Simon, I’m frightened!”

“Look, why not ring her? Ring your mother and ask her if she’s all right. End of problem.”

“I’m not talking to her, Simon. You know that!”

“Then ring your aunt for goodness’ sake! Or Miranda. Ring Miranda. Bella, I’m going to have to go now.”

“I can’t do that! Suppose she’s not at home? I mean, suppose Mummy’s not at home? She could be lying dead somewhere and they wouldn’t even know yet. Suppose she isn’t dead?”

Another sigh, this time totally undisguised. “Then, my blossom, I’m afraid you’re going to have to face the unpleasant possibility that you’re downloading a complete stranger’s soul. Like the jargon, by the way. You’ll be wanting a job here next.”

“Simon, this is not funny! And don’t be patronising.