I'm a Believer [Paperback]

Is there love after death? Mark Buckle doesn't believe in anything, especially not life after death, but when his girl friend is killed in an accident and starts appearing to him his world is turned upside down.

'A brave and witty novel... Fantastic stuff'

'Funny, moving and thought-provoking'

'A comical and compulsive read from B's very own astrologer'

'This is a heart-warming, funny book with a serious core, challenging our modern-day cynicism and lack of belief - not just in God, but in anything at all'

'I'm A Bellever' is a funny, moving and sophisticated novel about Mark Buckle, a cynical primary teacher in south London who doesn't believe in anything, and absolutely, positively doesn't believe in life after death. Then, five days after his girlfriend, Catherine, dies in a car accident and he's trying to come to terms with his loss, she starts communicating with him and turns his world (and belief systems) upside-down. As the novel progresses, the truth about Mark's relationship with Catherine is revealed. And we encounter his friends and colleagues who provide support during this difficult time including Felix, a flamboyantly camp Australian, Caroline the Sloane who just longs to meet a nice man and Tess, drama teacher and practising Christian who starts to become increasingly attractive to Mark. Jessica Adams's characteristic humour is combined with an exploration of more serious issues that affect us all. 'I'm A Believer' is a wonderful novel about love, life and what lies beyond.

Mark Buckle thinks he's an ordinary bloke. He teaches science at a junior school in south London. He'd rather read Stephen Hawking than his horoscope column, he's highly suspicious of Uri Geller, Mystic Meg and feng shui, and he wouldn't be seen dead at a séance. Most importantly, he absolutely, positively doesn't believe in life after death. Then, one terrible night, Mark's girlfriend Catherine dies in an accident and his whole world is thrown into chaos.

Within days of the funeral Catherine appears by his bedside and he finds himself communicating with her from beyond the grave. Then, just when he's beginning to adjust to life with his ghostly girlfriend, she decides to send him someone new to love...

I'm a Believer is a funny, moving and compulsive novel about love, life and what lies beyond.

Jessica Adams was born in London, and emigrated to Australia with her family. She has worked as a journalist and is the astrologer for B Magazine, Good Housekeeping, and Elle in Australia. Jessica wrote some of the episodes for the acclaimed Channel Four series, The Secret Life of Us, and she is now based in Brighton where she also practises as a medium. She is the co-editor of the Warchild anthologies.

For the first few days after Catherine's death, I find myself doing all the wrong things - though I'm not sure what the right things are. I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to lie in the bath listening to Abba when your girlfriend's just been killed in a car crash. But this morning, that's exactly what I find myself doing. Singing along with 'Fernando' on the radio. Using Catherine's bubble bath. Mindlessly trying to churn up more bubbles with my hands.
Because what's just happened is so major, anything I do which is minor - and in my life that's quite a lot - automatically seems wrong. As I put my feet up on the table this morning to read the sports pages, I caught myself thinking, Is this allowed? And making a triple-decker honey sandwich, Is this too frivolous?
Both my grandfathers are dead, so you'd think I'd know how to behave. But one died in a Spanish retirement home, and the other had a heart-attack years ago, and on both occasions I was either too far away or too young. I know I wore black to one of the funerals, but that's been the extent of my mourning practice.
I have to buy a black suit for Catherine's funeral on Wednesday. But if you always wear black, as I do - like most men of a certain age in London - then what should you wear to a funeral? Blacker black, just to show
that it's more serious? And all the time part of me is thinking: Catherine doesn't know, Catherine doesn't care. Catherine's dead and almost buried, and anything I do with her in mind now is a total waste of time.
Some other inappropriate things I do this week: I open her post, and for the first time in the history of our relationship, look at her bank account; I fry the honey sandwiches in butter, just to see if Elvis Presley was right; finally, worst of all, I get into bed at two o'clock in the afternoon, with an old photo of Catherine lying topless on some Australian beach, and try to take some comfort from it. I think it's fair to say that this is the low point.

People from school have rung up - other teachers, mostly. Some I know quite well, so I'd expect a call, and some I only know well enough to nod to in the corridor. I didn't know some of them cared. There's a woman in Administration I only know because she used to pinch my parking space. She's rung up, and she cried as well - in fact she cried so much she couldn't speak. I've even had sympathy e-mails, which seems wrong, but maybe everybody's doing it these days. The people at Catherine's work, at the travel agency, have rung up as well.
So far, everyone seems to have heard how she died, which saves me an explanation, but I've still had the inevitable comments:
'If only she'd taken a different road.'
'If only you'd come to us for dinner that night, Mark.'
'If only Catherine had thought twice about taking the car out in that weather.'
The dinner thing got to me most. Do some people really think that her death hinged on us not going up to Balham to eat their chicken curry at seven o'clock on a Thursday night?
'If only you'd come to us for dinner that night,
Mark.'
Sod off.
Catherine's ex-boyfriend, Matt, has just rung up. He wants to come to the funeral. And he can sod off too. He's the one who took the topless photo of her in Australia. The photo I've been lying in bed with. I've just remembered that.
The next day, the morning post contains a book from Amazon for Catherine, some more sympathy cards for me and her parents - they've all come to this address. The book Catherine ordered is called Eat Right, Live Well, Live Longer. It's up there in the rich irony stakes this morning, along with her low-cholesterol margarine, still sitting in the fridge door, approved by the National Heart Association, and all her cashew nuts from the health-food store. All this stuff dates from Catherine's last big supermarket shop, the day before she died. I chuck the book straight into the bin and the cashews out of the front door for the pigeons.
It looks as if some of the sympathy cards addressed to me are along the if-only lines too, like the phone calls. Because her accident was written up in the local paper, everyone now knows that Catherine was driving in the rain, at night, swerving to avoid a dog on a dodgy road in a very old car. Consequently there's a lot of 'if-only' stuff revolving around these details.
The people sending sympathy cards, some of whom I've never met, divide into two camps. About half find her death poignant, senseless and tragic, that could have easily been avoided, and the rest seem to find it meaningful, fated and even proof that God might work in mysterious ways. There's no middle ground. Perhaps those who have no opinion about car accidents - other than that they're accidents - don't bother to write. That's the camp I fall into.
The God-and-heaven cards have crosses and flowers on the front - one shows three bluebirds flying around in front of a cloud, smiling. And the cards go on about God having prepared some sort of paradise for Catherine, and in one case there's a message from one of her old schoolfriends which talks about God having set up a nice eternal resting-place for her. I think these people are missing the point. If you follow that line of logic, it's God who set the whole bloody car crash up in the first place.