HELEN FIELDING ‘I laughed, I cried, and most of all I loved’ DAILY MAIL
MAJOR MOTION PICTURE
PRAISE FOR THE BRIDGET JONES NOVELS ‘Bridget Jones is no mere fictional character, she’s the Spirit of the Age’ Evening Standard
‘In an emergency, I turn to Bridget Jones’
Dolly Alderton
‘Helen Fielding is one of the funniest writers in Britain and Bridget Jones is a creation of comic genius’
Nick Hornby
‘Hilariously funny, miraculously observed, endlessly touching’
Jilly Cooper
‘Bridget Jones remains the quintessential comic heroine’ Observer
‘A brilliant comic creation’
Salman Rushdie
‘Observed with merciless, flamboyant wit . . . gloriously funny’ Sunday Times
‘Brilliant . . . any woman who has ever had a job, a relationship or indeed a mother will read it and roar’
Gill Hornby
HELEN FIELDING Helen Fielding is the author of Bridget Jones’s Diary, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy and Bridget Jones’s Baby, and was part of the screenwriting team on the associated films. The novels have sold over fifteen million copies and are published in forty different countries. Helen Fielding has two children and lives in London and Los Angeles.
ALSO BY HELEN FIELDING
Cause Celeb
Bridget Jones’s Diary
Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason
Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination
Bridget Jones’s Baby
HELEN FIELDING Bridget Jones Mad About the Boy Vintage is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies Vintage, Penguin Random House UK, One Embassy Gardens, 8 Viaduct Gardens, London SW11 7BW
penguin.co.uk/vintage global.penguinrandomhouse.com
This edition published in 2025 First published in Vintage in 2014 First published in hardback by Jonathan Cape in 2013
Copyright © Helen Fielding 2013
Helen Fielding has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Grateful acknowledgement is made for permission to reprint lyrics from the following songs: ‘Pricetag’, words and music by Lukasz Gottwald, Claude Kelly, Bobby Ray Simmons & Jessica Cornish © copyright 2011 Songs Of Universal, Inc/ Ham Squad Music, universal/MCA Music Limited, All Rights Reserved, International Copyright Secured, used by permission of Music Sales Limited; © copyright 2011 reproduced by permission of Sony/ATV Music Publishing (UK) Ltd, London W1F 9LD; © copyright 2011Warner-Tamberlane Publishing Corp, (BMI) and Studio Beast Music (BMI) all rights on behalf of itself and Studio Beast Music administered byWarner Tamerlane Publishing Corp; © Published by Kasz Money Publishing and Prescription Songs LLC, administered by Kobalt Music Publishing Limited; Copyright Kasz Money Publishing and Prescription Songs LLC administered by Kobalt Music Publishing Australia Pty Ltd, with print rights administered by All Music Publishing & Distribution Pty Ltd ACN 147 390 814, www.halleonard.com.au. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Unauthorised Reproduction is Illegal. ‘Play The Game’, words and music by Freddie Mercury © 1980, Reproduced by permission of Queen Music Ltd/ EMI Music Publishing Ltd, London W1F 9LD.
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ToDashandRomy PROLOGUE Thursday18April2013
2.30p.m. Talithajustcalled,talkinginthaturgent,‘let’s-be-discreetbut-wildly-overdramatic’voiceshealwayshas.‘Darling,Ijustwant toletyouknowthatit’smysixtiethonthe24thofMay.I’mnot SAYINGit’smysixtieth,obviously.AndkeepitquietbecauseI’mnot askingeveryone.Ijustwantedyoutokeepthedatefree.’
Ipanicked.‘Thatwouldbegreat!’Igushedunconvincingly. ‘Bridget.Youabsolutelycan’tnotcome.’
‘Well,thethingis...’
‘What?’
‘It’sRoxster’sthirtiethbirthdaythatnight.’ Silenceattheendofthephone.
‘Imean,weprobablywon’tstillbetogetherbythen,but,ifwe are,itwouldbe...’Itailedoff.
‘I’vejustput“nochildren”ontheinvites.’
‘He’llbethirtybythen!’Isaidindignantly.
‘I’mjustteasing,darling.Ofcourseyoumustbringyourtoyboy. I’llgetabouncycastle!Backonair.Mustrunloveyoubye!’
TriedtoturnontellytoseeifTalithahadindeed,assooften, beencallingmeliveonairduringafilmclip.Jabbedconfusedlyat buttonslikeamonkeywithamobilephone.Whydoesturningona TVthesedaysrequirethreeremoteswithninetybuttons?Why? Suspectdesignedbythirteen-year-oldtechnogeeks,competingwith eachotherfromsordidbedrooms,leavingeveryoneelsethinking they’retheonlypersonintheworldwhodoesn’tunderstandwhat thebuttonsarefor,thuswreakingpsychologicaldamageonamassive, globalscale.
Threwremotespetulantlyontosofa,atwhichTVrandomlyburst
intolife,showingTalithalookingimmaculate,onelegsexilycrossed overtheother,interviewingthedark-hairedLiverpoolfootballerwho hastheanger-management/bitingproblem.Helookedasifhewanted tobiteTalitha,thoughforratherdifferentreasonsthanonthepitch. Right.Noneedforpanic–willsimplyassessprosandconsof Roxster/Talithapartyissueincalmandmaturemanner:
prosoftakingroxstertoparty
*ItwouldbeterriblenottogotoTalitha’s.Shehasbeenmy friendsinceour SitUpBritain days,whenshewasanimpossibly glamorousnewsreaderandIwasanimpossiblyincompetent reporter.
*ItwouldbequitefunnytotakeRoxster,andalsosmugmaking,becausethethirtieth/sixtiethbirthdaythingwould stopallthatpatronizingpitying-of-single-women-‘of-a-certainage’thing,likethey’reterminallystuckwiththeirsingleness, whereassinglemenofthatagearesnappedupbeforethey’ve hadtimetodrawupthedivorcepapers.AndRoxsterisso gorgeousandpeach-like,therebysomehowdenyingrealityof ageingprocessonself.
consoftakingroxstertoparty
*Roxsterishisownman,andwoulddoubtlesstakeexception tobeingtreatedassomesortofcomedy,oranti-ageingdevice.
*Crucially,itmightputRoxsteroffme,tobesurroundedby oldpeopleatsixtiethbirthdayparty,andmakesomesortof completelyunnecessarypointabouthowoldIamthoughof courseamMUCHyoungerthanTalitha.Andfrankly,Irefuse tobelievehowoldIactuallyam.AsOscarWildesays,thirtyfiveistheperfectageforawoman,somuchsothatmany womenhavedecidedtoadoptitfortherestoftheirlives.
*Roxsterisprobablyhavinghisownpartywithyoungpeople squeezedontohisbalcony,barbecuingandlisteningto70s
discomusicwithironic‘retro’amusement,andisthinkingat thismomenthowtoavoidaskingmetothepartyincasehis friendsfindoutheisgoingoutwithawomanliterallyold enoughtobehismother.Actually,possibly,technically,with theadvancementofpubertyduetohormonesinmilkthese days–grandmother.OhGod.Whydidmindthinksucha thought?
3.10p.m. Gaaah!HavegottopickupMabelintwentyminutes andhavenotgotricecakesready.Gaah.Telephone.
‘IhaveBrianKatzenbergforyou.’
Mynewagent!Actualagent.ButIwouldbeBEYONDlatefor MabelifIstoppedandtalked.
‘CanIcallBrianbacklater?’Itrilled,tryingtosmearpretendbutterontothericecakes,stickthemtogetherandputthemina Ziplocwithonehand.
‘It’saboutyourspecscript.’
‘Just...in...ameeting!’HowcouldIbeinameeting,and yettalkingonthephonesayingI’minameeting?People’sassistants aremeanttosaythey’reinameeting,notthepersonthemself,who issupposedtobeunabletosayanythingbecausethey’reinthe meeting.
Setoffonschoolrun,feeling,now,desperatetocallbackand findoutwhatthecallwasabout.Brianhassofarsentittotwo productioncompanies,bothofwhomhaveturneditdown.Butnow maybeafishhasbittenatthefishhook?
FoughtoverwhelmingurgetoringBrianbackclaiming‘meeting’ hadcometoanabruptend,butdecidedfarmoreimportanttobe ontimeforMabel:andthat’sthesortofcaring,prioritizingmother Iam.
4.30p.m. Schoolrunwasevenmorechaosthanusual:like Where’s Wally? pictureofmillionsoflollipopladies,babiesinprams,whitevanmenhavingstandoffswithover-educatedSUVmums,aman
cyclingwithadoublebassstrappedtohisback,andearthmothers onbicycleswithtinboxesfullofchildreninthefront.Entireroad wasgridlocked.Suddenly,afranticwomancamerunningalong yelling,‘Goback,goBACK!ComeON!NobodyisHELPING HERE!’
Realizingtherehadbeenaterribleaccident,I,andeveryoneelse, startedrearingtheircarscrazilyontopavementandintogardensto makewayforEmergencyServices.Onceroadwasclear,peered gingerlyaheadfortheambulance/bloodbath.Buttherewasnotan ambulance,justaveryfancywoman,flouncingintoablackPorsche, thenroaringfuriouslyalongthenewlyclearedroad,asmugbe-uniformed smallchildnexttoherinthefrontseat.
BythetimeIgottotheInfantsBranch,Mabelwastheonlychild leftonthesteps,apartfromthelaststraggler,Thelonius,whowas abouttoleavewithhismum.
Mabellookedatmewithherhugesolemneyes.
‘Comeon,OldPal,’shesaidkindly.
‘Wewonderedwhereyou’dgotto!’saidThelonius’smum.‘Did youforgetagain?’
‘No.Hahaha!’IrespondedtoThelonius’smother’sstare.‘Better runoffandgetBilly!’
ManagedtogetMabelintothecar,leaningoverinthetraditional body-wrenchingmovement,fasteningtheseatbeltbywaddlingmy handinthemessbetweentheseatbackandboosterseat.
ArrivedatBilly’sJuniorBranchtoseePerfectNicolette,theClass Mother(perfecthouse,perfecthusband,perfectchildren:onlyslight imperfectionbeingname,presumablychosenbyparentsbeforeinventionofpopularsmokingsubstitute),surroundedbyagaggleofJunior Branchmothers.PerfectNicorettewasperfectlydressedandperfectly blow-driedwithaperfectlygigantichandbag.Sidledup,panting,to seeifIcouldgetthescooponthelatestAreaofConcern,justas Nicoletteflickedherhaircrossly,nearlytakingmyeyeoutwiththe cornerofthegiantbag.
‘IaskedhimwhyAtticusisstillinthefootballDs–Imean,
Atticushasbeencominghome,literally,intears–andMrWallaker justsaid,“Becausehe’srubbish.Anythingelse?”’
GlancedoverattheAreaofConcern/newsportsteacher:fit,tall, slightlyyoungerthanme,crop-haired,ratherlikeDanielCraigin appearance.Hewasstaringbroodinglyatagroupofunrulyboys, thensuddenlyblewawhistleandbellowed,‘Oi!Youlot.Inthe cloakroomnoworI’llCautionyou.’
‘Yousee?’Nicolettecontinued,astheboysformedthemselves intoashambolicline,attemptingtojogbackintoschool,shouting, ‘One,sir!Two,sir!’likestartledbushmenrecruitedtoformaSpring Uprising,whileMrWallakerblewhiswhistleludicrouslyintime.
‘Heishot,though,’saidFarzia.Farziaismyfavouriteschoolmum, alwayshavingherprioritiesinplace.
‘Hot,butmarried,’snappedNicolette.‘Andwithchildren,though youwouldn’tguessit.’
‘Ithoughthewasafriendoftheheadmaster,’venturedanother mum.
‘Exactly.Isheeventrained?’saidNicolette.
‘Mummy.’LookedroundtoseeBilly,inhislittleblazer,darkhair tousled,shirthangingoutofhistrousers.‘Ididn’tgetpickedfor chess.’ Thosesameeyes,thosesamedarkeyes,stabbedwithpain.
‘Itdoesn’tmatteraboutbeingpickedorwinning,’Isaid,giving Billyafurtivehug.‘It’swhoyouarethatcounts.’
‘Ofcourseitmatters.’Gaah!ItwasMrWallaker.‘Hehasto practise.Hehastoearnit.’Asheturnedaway,distinctlyheardhim mutter,‘Thesenseofentitlementamongstthemothersinthisschool defiesbelief.’
‘Practise?’Isaidbrightly.‘Why,I’dneverhavethoughtofthat! Youmustbeterriblyclever,MrWallaker.Imean,sir.’
Helookedatmewithhiscoldblueeyes.
‘WhathasthisgottodowiththeSportsDepartment?’Icontinued sweetly.
‘Iteachthechessclass.’
‘Buthowlovely!Doyouusethewhistle?’
MrWallakerlookeddisconcertedforamoment,thensaid,‘Eros! Getoutofthatflowerbed.Now!’
‘Mummy,’saidBilly,tuggingonmyhand,‘theonesthatgotpicked gettwodaysoffschooltogotothechesstournament.’
‘I’llpractisewithyou.’
‘ButMummy,you’rerubbishatchess.’
‘No,I’mnot!I’mreallygoodatchess.Ibeatyou!’
‘Youdidn’t.’
‘Idid!’
‘Youdidn’t!’
‘Well,Iwaslettingyouwinbecauseyou’reachild,’Iburstout. ‘Andanyway,itisn’tfairbecauseyouhavechessclasses.’
‘Perhapsyoucouldjointhechessclasses,MrsDarcy?’OhGOD. WhatwasMrWallakerdoingstilllistening?‘Thereisanagelimitof seven,butifwestretchthattomentalageI’msureyou’llbefine. DidBillytellyouhisothernews?’
‘Oh!’saidBilly,brightening.‘I’vegotnits!’
‘Nits!’Istaredathimaghast,handreachinginstinctivelytomy hair.
‘Yes,nits.They’veallgotthem.’MrWallakerlookeddown,aslight flickerofamusementinhiseyes.‘IrealizethiswillcauseaNational EmergencyamongstthenorthLondonMumseratiandtheircoiffeurs butyousimplyneedtonit-combthem.Andyourself,ofcourse.’
OhGod.BillyhadbeenscratchinghisheadrecentlybutI’dsort ofblankeditasonethingtoomanytotakeon.Couldfeelmyhead startingtocrawlasmymindcartwheeled.IfBilly’sgotnits,then probablyMabel’sgotnits,andI’vegotnits,whichmeansthat... Roxsterhasgotnits.
‘Everythingallright?’
‘Yes,no,super!’Isaid.‘Everything’sfine,jollygood,byethen,Mr Wallaker.’
Walkedaway,holdingBilly’sandMabel’shands,tohearaping onmymobile.Hurriedlyputonmyglassestoreadthetext.Itwas fromRoxster.
<Howlatewereyouthismorning,myprecious?ShallIhopon thebustonightandbringroundashepherd’spie?>
Gaaah!CannothaveRoxstercomingoverwhenwehavetonitcombeveryoneandwashallthepillowcases.Surelyitisnotnormal tobethinkingofanexcusetocancelyourtoyboybecausethe entirehouseholdhasgotnits?WhydoIkeepgettingmyselfinto suchamess?
5p.m. Weburstbackintoourterracehouse,withtheusualjumble ofbackpacks,crumpledpaintings,squashedbananas,plusalargebag ofnit-combingproductsfromthechemist,andclatteredpastthe ground-floor‘lounge/office’(increasinglyredundantapartfromthesofa bedandemptyJohnLewisboxes)anddownthestairsintothewarm messybasement/kitchen/sittingroomwherewespendallourtime.I settledBillytodohishomeworkandMabeltoplaywithher ‘Hellvanians’(Sylvanianbunnies)whileIputonthespagbog.But nowamintotalfugaboutwhattotextRoxsterabouttonight,and whetherIshouldtellhimaboutthenits.
5.15p.m. Maybenot.
5.30p.m. OhGod.Hadjusttexted<Wouldloveyoutocome,but havetoworktonight,sobetternot>whenMabelsuddenlysprang upandstartedsingingBilly’sleastfavouritesongathim,‘Forgeddabouder moneymoneymoney!’Thenthephonerang.
Lungedatit,justasBillyjumpedup,yelling,‘Mabel,stopsinging JessieJ!’andareceptionist’svoicepurred,‘IhaveBrianKatzenberg foryou.’
‘Um,couldIpossiblycallBrianbackin—’ ‘Berbling,berbling!’sangMabel,chasingBillyroundthetable. ‘IhaveBrianonnow.’
‘Nooo!Canyoujust—’
‘Mabel!’wailedBilly.‘Stopiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.’ ‘Shhh!I’monthePHONE!’
‘Heyyyyyy!’Brian’sbriskcheeryvoice.‘So!Greatnews!Greenlight Productionswanttotakeoutanoptiononyourscript.’
‘What?’Isaid,heartleaping.‘Doesthatmeanthey’regoingto makeitintoafilm?’
Brianlaughedheartily.‘It’sthemoviebusiness!They’rejustgoing togiveyouasmallamountofmoneytodevelopit,and—’
‘Mummeee!Mabel’sgotaknife!’
Iputmyhandoverthereceiver,hissing,‘MABEL!Givemethe knife!Now!’
‘Hello?Hello?’ Brianwassaying.‘Laura,Ithinkwe’velost Bridget...’
‘No!I’mhere!’Isaid,flingingmyselfatMabel,whowasnow hurtlingafterBilly,brandishingtheknife.
‘TheywanttohaveanexploratorymeetingonMondayatnoon.’
‘Monday!Great!’Isaid,wrestlingtheknifeoffMabel.‘Isthe exploratorymeetinglikeaninterview?’
‘Mummeeee!’
‘Shhhh!’Ihustledthetwoofthemontothesofa,andstarted strugglingwiththeremotes.
‘Theyjusthaveafewissueswiththescripttheywanttotalk aboutbeforetheydecidetogoahead.’
‘Right,right.’Suddenlyfelthurtandindignant.Afewissueswith myscript already?Butwhatcouldtheypossiblybe?
‘So,rememberthey’renotgoingto—’ ‘Mummeee.I’mbleeeeeding!’
‘ShallIcallbackinawhile?’
‘No!Allfine!’Isaiddesperately,asMabelyelled,‘Callde ambulance!’
‘Youweresaying?’
‘They’renotgoingtowantafirst-timewriterwho’sdifficult.You’ve gottofindawaytogoalongwithwhattheywant.’
‘Right,right,sonottobesortofanuisance?’
‘Yougotit!’saidBrian.
‘Mybrudder’thgoingtodie!’sobbedMabel.
‘Er,iseverything—’
‘No,fine,super,twelveo’clockMonday!’Isaid,justasMabel shouted,‘I’vekilledmybrudder!’
‘OK,’saidBrian,soundingnervous.‘I’llgetLauratoemailyou thedetails.’
6p.m. Oncethefurorehadbeendampened,theminusculesnick onBilly’skneecoveredinaSupermanplaster,blackmarksplaced onMabel’sConsequencesChart,andspagbogplacedintheirstomachs,Ifoundmymindflashingthroughmultiplematters,likethat ofadrowningperson,onlymoreoptimistic.WhatwasIgoingto wearforthemeetingandwasIgoingtowinanOscarforBest AdaptedScreenplay?Didn’tMabelhaveanearlyfinishonMonday andhowwasIgoingtopickthemup?WhatwasIgoingtowearfor theOscarceremonyandoughtItotelltheGreenlightProductions teamthatBillyhasgotnits?
8p.m. Nitsfound9,actualinsects2,niteggs7(v.g.)
Justbathedthekidsandnit-combedthem,whichturnedoutto bebrilliantfun.FoundtwoactualinsectsinBilly’shairandseven eggsbehindhisears–twobehindoneandamagnificentcropof fivebehindtheother.It’ssosatisfyingseeingthelittleblackdots appearonthewhitenitcomb.Mabelwasupsetasshedidn’thave any,butcheeredupwhenIlethernit-combmetorevealIdidn’t haveanyeither.Billywaswavingthenitcomb,crowing,‘Igot seven!’butwhenMabelburstintotears,hesweetlyputthreeof hisintoherhair,whichmeantwehadtonit-combMabelallover again.
9.15p.m. Kidsareasleep.Wildlypuffedupremeeting.Amprofessionalwomanagainandgoingtoameeting!Amgoingtowearnavy silkdressandgethairblow-driedinspiteofMrbloodyWallaker’s supercilioustakeoncoiffeurs.Andinspiteofgnawingsensethat
increasingfemaleblow-dryhabitisturningwomenintothose eighteenth(orseventeenth?)centurymenwhoonlyfeltcomfortable inpublicsituationswhenwearingpowderedwigs.
9.21p.m. Oh,thoughisitmorallywrongtogetablow-drywhenI mayhaveundetectableniteggsatthestartoftheirseven-daycycle?
9.25p.m. Yes.Itismorallywrong.MaybeMabelandBillyshould notgotoplaydateseither?
9.30p.m. AlsofeelshouldtellRoxstertruthaboutnits,asliesare badinarelationship.Butmaybe,inthiscase,liesbetterthanlice?
9.35p.m. Nitsseemtobethrowingupunfeasiblenumberofmodern moraldilemmas.
9.40p.m. Gaah!Justwentthroughentirewardrobe(i.e.pileof clothesheapedonexercisebike)plusactualwardrobesandcannot findnavysilkdress.Havenothingtowearformeetingnow.Nothing. Howisitthathavealltheseclothesstuffedintowardrobeand navysilkdressisonlyonethatcanactuallywearforanything important?
Resolveinfuture,insteadofspendingeveningsshovinggrated cheeseintomouthandtryingtoavoidgluggingwine,tocalmlygo throughallclothes,givinganythingthathavenotwornforayearto thepoor,andorganizeeverythingelseintomixy-matchy‘capsule wardrobe’sothatgettingdressedbecomesacalmjoyinsteadof hystericalscramble.Andthenwillgofortwentyminutesonexercise bike.Asexercisebikeisnotwardrobe,obviously,butexercisebike.
9.45p.m. Thoughmaybeitisallrighttowearnavysilkdressall thetimeinmannerofDalaiLamaandhisrobes.IfIcouldfindit. PresumablyDalaiLamahasseveralsetsofrobes,oron-calldrycleaner,anddoesnotleaverobesinbottomofwardrobefullof
outfitsheboughtbutdoesnotwearfromTopshop,Oasis,ASOS, Zara,etc.
9.46p.m. Oronexercisebike.
9.50p.m. Justwentuptocheckonchildren.Mabelwasasleep, hairalloverherfaceasusual,sothatherheadlookedbacktofront, andclutchingSaliva.SalivaisMabel’sdolly.BillyandIboththink shehasmixedthenameupwithSabrinatheTeenageWitchand Sylvanianbunnies,butMabelconsidersittobeperfect.
KissedBilly’shotlittlecheek,allsnuggledinwithMario,Horsio andPufflesOneandTwo,atwhichMabelraisedherhead,said, ‘Lovelyweatherwe’rehavin’,’thenlaybackdownagain.
Iwatchedthem,touchingtheirsoftcheeks,listeningtotheir snortybreathing–then,thefatalthought‘Ifonly...’invadedmy headwithoutwarning.‘Ifonly...’Darkness,memories,sorrowrearing up,engulfingmelikeatsunami.
10p.m. Justrushedbackdownstairstothekitchen.Worse:everythingsilent,forlorn,empty.‘Ifonly...’Stoppit.Can’taffordtodo this.Switchonthekettle.Don’tgoovertothedarkside.
10.01p.m. Doorbell!ThankGod!Butwhocanitpossiblybeat thistimeofnight?
PLENTYOFFUCKWITS Thursday18April2013(continued)
10.45p.m. WasTomandJude,bothcompletelyplastered,stumbling intothehallwaygiggling.
‘Canweuseyourlaptop?WewerejustinDirtyBurgerand—’ ‘I’stryingtodoPlentyofFishonmyiPhoneandwecan’tgetitto downloadaphotofromGoogleso...’Judeclattereddownthestairs intothekitcheninherhighheelsandworksuit,whileTom,stilldark, buff,handsomeandfabulouslygay,kissedmeextravagantly.
‘Mwah!Bridget!You’velostSOmuchweight!’ (He’ssaidthiseverytimehe’sseenmeforthelastfifteenyears, evenwhenIwasninemonthspregnant.)
‘’Ere,haveyougotanywine?’Judeyelledupstairsfromthekitchen. TurnsoutJude–whonowpracticallyrunstheCity,buthas continuedtotranslateherloveofthefinancialrollercoasterintoher lovelife–wasspottedyesterdayonanInternet-datingsitebyher horribleex:VileRichard.
‘Andyes!’announcedTom,asweclattereddowntojoinher.‘Vile FuckwitRichard,inspiteofhavingmessedthisfabulouswoman aroundinafuckwitted,commitment-phobicmannerforaHUNDRED years,thenmarriedher,thenlefthertenmonthslater,hashadthe NERVEtosendheranindignantmessageaboutbeingonPlentyof... findit,Jude...findit...’
Judefiddledconfusedlywiththephone.‘Ican’tfindit.Shit,he’s deletedit.Canyoudeleteyourownmessageonceyou’ve—’ ‘Oh,giveittome,dear.Anyway,thepointis,VileRichardsent herthisinsultingmessage,thenBLOCKEDherso...’Tomstarted laughing.‘So...’
‘We’regoingtomakeupapersononPlentyofFish,’finishedJude.
‘PlentyofDicks,morelike,’snortedTom.
‘PlentyofFuckwits,morelike,andthenwe’regoingtousethe inventedgirltotorturehim!’saidJude.
WeallsqueezedontothesofaandJudeandTomstarted siftingthroughmugshotsoftwenty-five-year-oldblondesonGoogle Imagesandtryingtodownloadthemontothedatingwebsite,while makingupinsouciantanswerstotheprofilequestions.Wishedfora momentShazzerwasheretorantfeministically,insteadofinSilicon Valleybeingadot-comwhizzwithherunexpectedly-after-years-offeminismdot-comhusband.
‘Whatkindofbooksdoesshelike?’saidTom.
‘Put“Seriously,doyoucare?”’saidJude.‘Menlovebitches, remember?’
‘Or“Books?Whatarethey?”’Isuggested,thenremembered.‘Wait! Isn’tthiscompletelyagainsttheDatingRules?Number4?Use authentic,rationalcommunication?’
‘Yes!It’sFABULOUSLYwrongandunhealthy,’saidTom,whois actuallynowquiteaseniorpsychologist,‘butitdoesn’tcountwith fuckwits.’
WassorelievedtoberescuedfromtheDarknessTsunami, plungingmyselfintothecreationofRevenge-GirlonPlentyofFish, thatIalmostforgotmynews.‘GreenlightProductionsaregoingto makemymovie!’Isuddenlyblurtedexcitedly.
Theystaredatmegobsmacked,theninterrogationwasfollowed bywildjubilation.
‘Yougo,girl!Toyboy,screenwriter,you’vegotitallgoingonnow!’ saidJude,asImanagedtopersuadethemoutofthedoorsoIcould gotosleep.
AsJudestumbledintothestreet,Tomhesitated,lookingatme anxiously.‘AreyouOK?’
‘Yes,’Isaid,‘Ithinkso,it’sjust...’
‘Becareful,hon,’hesaid,suddenlysoberingupintoprofessional mode.‘It’sgoingtobealottotakeonifyou’rehavingpropermeetingsanddeadlinesandstuff.’
‘Iknow,butyousaidIshouldstartdoingworkagainandbe writingand—’
‘Yes.Butyou’regoingtoneedsomemorehelpwiththekids. You’reinabitofabubblerightnow.It’sfantastic,howyou’veturned everythinground,butyou’restillvulnerableunderneathand—’
‘Tom!’calledJude,whowasteeteringtowardsataxishe’dspotted onthemainroad.
‘Youknowwhereweareifyouneedus,’Tomsaid.‘Anytime,day ornight.’
10.50p.m. Thinkingabout‘authentic,rationalcommunication’,have decidedtocallRoxsterandtellhimaboutthenits.
10.51p.m. Thoughitisabitlate.
10.52p.m. Alsounannouncedswitchfromtextingtotelephonic communicationwithRoxstertoodramatic:givingundesirableweight andimportancetowholenitissue.Willtextinstead.
<Roxster?> Veryshortwait.
<Yes,Jonesey?>
<YouknowIsaidIwasworkingtonight?>
<Yes,Jonesey.>
<Therewasanotherreason.>
<Iknow,Jonesey.Youarehopelessatlyingevenviatext.Areyou havinganaffairwithayoungerman?>
<No,butit’sequallyembarrassing.It’srelatedtoyourloveofthe naturalworldanditsinsectlife.>
<Bedbugs?>
<Nearly...>
<*Spontaneouscrying,startshystericallyscratchinghead.* Not...nits!!!>
<Canyoupossiblyforgiveetc?>
Therewasabriefpausethentextingnoise.
<ShallIcomeroundnow?AminCamden.> DazzledbyRoxster’scheerfulgallantry,Itextedback. <Yes,butdon’tyoumindaboutthenits?> <No.I’vegoogledthem.They’reallergictotestosterone.>
THEARTOFCONCENTRATION Friday19April2013
134lbs,calories3482(bad),numberoftimescheckedfornitsonRoxster 3,numberofnitsfoundonRoxster0,numberofinsectsfoundin Roxster’sfood27,numberofinsectsfoundinhouseplague85(bad), textstoRoxster2,textsfromRoxster0,massemailsfromclassparents 36,minutesspentcheckingemails62,minutesspentobsessingabout Roxster360,minutesspentdecidingtoprepareforfilmmeeting20, minutesspentpreparingforfilmmeeting0.
10.30a.m. Right.Amreallygoingtogetdowntoworkonpresentationofmyscript,whichisanupdatingofthefamousNorwegian tragedy HeddaGabbler byAntonChekhov,onlysetinQueen’sPark. Studied HeddaGabbler formyEnglishLiteraturefinalsatBangor University,whichunfortunatelyresultedinaThird.Butmaybeall thatisabouttobeputright!
10.32a.m. Imperativetoconcentrate.
11a.m. Justmadecoffeeandateremainsofchildren’sbreakfast, thenstartedmooningaboutrememberingthingsfromRoxstervisit lastnight:appearanceofRoxterat11.15p.m.,gorgeousinjeansand adarksweater,eyessparkling,grinning,holdingaWaitroseshepherd’s pie,twocansofbakedbeansandaJamaicangingercake.
Mmmm.Thewayhisfacelookswhenhe’sontopofme,the stubbleonthebeautifuljawline,theslightgapinhisfrontteeth, whichyoucanonlyseefrombelow,thosebeefynakedshoulders. WakingupsleepilyinthemiddleofthenighttofeelRoxsterkissing meverygently,myshoulder,myneck,mycheek,mylips,feelinghis
hard-onpressingagainstmythigh.OhGod,heissobeautifuland suchagreatkisser,andsuchagreat...Mmm,mmm.Right,must thinkaboutthefeminist,pre-andanti-feminist,themesin...Oh God,though.Itissodelicious,itmakesmesohappy,likeI’mina bubbleofhappiness.Right,mustgeton.
11.15a.m. Suddenlyburstoutlaughing,rememberingoverblown mid-sexconversationlastnight.
‘Oh,oh,oh,you’resohard.’
‘HardbecauseIwantyou,baby.’
‘So hard...’
‘Youmakemehard,baby.’
Then,forsomereason,Igotcarriedawayandgasped,‘Youmake MEhard.’
‘What?’saidRoxster,burstingoutlaughing.Webothcollapsedin gigglesandthenwehadtostartalloveragain.
Typically,inhischeerfulmanner,Roxsterseemedunworried bythenits,thoughwebothagreedthatinordertohaveResponsible Sex,wemustnit-combeachotherfirst.Roxsterwassofunny, combingmyhair,pretendingtofindandeatthenits,whilstintermittentlykissingthebackofmyneck.Whenitwasmyturnto nit-combRoxster,however,didnotwanttodrawattentiontomy agebyputtingonreadingglasses,soendedupstudiouslynitcombinghisgorgeousthickhair,withoutbeingabletoseeanything atall.FortunatelyRoxsterseemedtookeentogetitoverwithand intothebedroomforhimtonoticemyblindness.Andwasprobablyfinebecauseofhistestosterone.Butsurelyitisnotnormal tobetoovaintoputonyourreadingglassestonit-combyourtoy boy?
11.45a.m. Right.Myscript!Yousee, HeddaGabbler isreallyvery relevanttothemodernwomanbecauseitisabouttheperilsoftrying tolivethroughmen.Whyhasn’tRoxstertextedmeyet?Hopeitis notbecauseoftheinsectincident.
RoxsterandIwereable,unusually,tohavebreakfasttogether today,asChloethenannywastakingthemtoschool.Chloe,who hasbeenworkingformesincejustafterithappened,islikethe improvedversionofme:younger,thinner,taller,nicer,betteratlooking afterthechildren,andwithanage-appropriatelifepartnercalled Graham.Nevertheless,consideritbetterthatRoxsterdoesnotmeet eitherChloeorthechildrenatthisstage,sohehidesinthebedroom untiltheyhaveallgoneofftoschool.
Roxsterwasjusthappilytuckingintohisfirstbowlofmuesli, whenhespathismouthfuloutontothetable.Obviouslyamused tothissortofthing,thoughnot,admittedly,fromRoxster.Butthen heheldoutthebowl.Themuesliwasjumpingwithtinyinsects, flailinganddrowninginthemilk.
‘Aretheynits?’Isaidaghast. ‘No,’hesaiddarkly,‘weevils.’ Unfortunatelymyresponsewastostartgiggling.
‘Haveyouanyideawhatit’sliketoputaspoonfulofinsectsin yourmouth?’hesaid.‘Icouldhavedied.And,moreimportantly,so couldthey.’
Then,justashewastippingthebowlintothecorrectfood recyclingbin,hecried,‘Ants!’Therewasaneatlineofantscoming fromthebasementdoortothefoodrecyclingbin.Whenhetriedto movebackthecurtaintogetridofthem,asmallcloudofmoths flutteredout.
‘Aaargh!It’sliketheNinePlaguesofEgyptinhere!’hesaid. Andeventhoughhelaughed,andgavemeaverysexykissinthe hall,hedidnotsayanythingaboutimpendingweekendandIhave afeelingsomethingiswrong–evenifonlythecombinedinsultto histhreegreatloves:insects,foodandrecycling.
Noon. Gaah!Isnoonalreadyandhavenotpreparedanyofmy Thoughts.
12.05p.m. StillRoxsterhasnottexted.MaybeIshouldtexthim?
18
Clearly,intextbookterms,thegentlemanshouldtexttheladyfirst afterintercourse,butperhapsthewholesocio-etiquetticalsystem breaksdownwhenaninsectplagueisinvolved.
12.10p.m. Right. HeddaGabbler.
12.15p.m. Justtexted:<SosorryabouttheNinePlaguesofEgypt andforlaughing.Willhaveentirehouseandoccupantsfumigated foryournextvisit.Areyouallright?>
12.20p.m. Right.Excellent. HeddaGabbler.Roxsterhasnotreplied.
12.30p.m. Roxsterhasstillnotreplied.ThisisnotlikeRoxster. Maybewillcheckemails.SometimesRoxsterswitcheselectronic mediumsjusttoshowoff.
In-boxisoverrunnotonlybyOcado,ASOS,SnappySnaps, CotswoldHolidayCottages,linkstoamusingYouTubeclips,offers ofMexicanviagra,savethedatesforCosmata’sBuild-A-Bearparty, butalsorashofparentmassemailsoverAtticus’smissingshoes.
Sender: NicoletteMartinez
Subject: Atticus’sshoes
AtticuscamehomewearingLuigi’sshoe buthisothershoeisalsonothisnor isitlabelled.Iwouldappreciatethe returnofbothofAtticus’sshoes,both ofwhichwereclearlylabelled.
12.35p.m. Decidedtojoiningroupexchangetoshowsolidarity andtakemindoffwork.
Sender: BridgetBillymum
Subject: Re:Atticus’sshoes
Justtoclarify-didAtticusand Luigigohomefromswimmingjust wearingoneshoeeach?
12.40p.m. Heehee,havetriggeredfunnymassemailresponse: jokesaboutchildrencominghomewithnotrousers,knickers,etc.
Sender: BridgetBillymum
Subject: Billy’sear
Billycamehomefromfootballlast nightwearingonlyoneear.Doesanyone haveBilly’sotherear?ItwasVERY clearlylabelledandIwouldappreciate itspromptreturn.
12.45p.m. Teehee.
Sender: NicoletteMartinez
Subject: Re:Billy’sear
Someparentsappeartothinkthatthe boystakingcareoftheirownproperty andtheparentsclearlylabellingitis amatterforamusement.Itisactually importantfortheirdevelopmentasselfreliantindividuals.Perhapsifitwas theirchild’sshoeswhichweremissing theywouldtakeadifferentview.
12.50p.m. Ohno,ohno.HaveoffendedClassMotherandprobablyhorrifiedeveryoneelseaswell.Willsenddirectmassapology.
Sender: BridgetBillymum
Subject: Atticus’sshoes,Billy’sears,etc.
I’msorry,Nicorette.Iwastryingto writeandboredandjustjoking.Am verybad.
12.55p.m. Gaaah!
Sender: NicoletteMartinez
Subject: BridgetJones
Bridget-Possiblythemisspellingof mynamewasaFreudianslip.Ithink weallknowyoustrugglewiththe occasionalsmokinglapse.Ifitwas intentionalitwashurtfulandrude. Perhapsweneedtotalkallthis throughwiththeheadofPastoralCare.
NicoLette
Shit!IcalledherNicorette!Look.Don’tdigyourselfinfurther.Just leaveitnowandconcentrate!
1.47p.m. Thisisridiculous!I’mjustCOMPLETELYblocked.
1.48p.m. AlltheclassmothershatemeandRoxsterhasnotreplied.
1.52p.m. Slumpedatkitchentable.
1.53p.m. Look.Nogoingovertothedarkside.GrazinatheCleaner willbehereanysecondandshecan’tseemelikethis.Willleavea notereinsectplagueandgotoStarbucks.
2.16p.m. InStarbucksnowwithham-and-cheesepanini.Right.
3.16p.m. Hugegagglesofposhmotherswithpramshavetaken cafeover,talkingreallyloudlyabouttheirhusbands.
3.17p.m. Issonoisyinhere.Hatepeoplewhotalkontheirphones incafes–ooh,phone,maybeRoxster!
3.30p.m. WasJude,clearlyinmeeting,whisperingfurtively,‘Bridget. VileRichardhastotallyfallenforIsabella.’
‘Who’sIsabella?’Iwhisperedurgentlyback.
‘ThegirlwemadeuponPlentyofFish.VileRichard’sfixedtohave adatewithhertomorrow.’
‘Butsheisn’treal.’
‘Exactly.She’sme.He’sarrangedtomeetme,Imeanher,atthe ShadowLoungeandshe’sgoingtostandhimup.’
‘Brilliant,’Iwhispered,asJudesaidbossily,‘Sojustputastop orderoftwomillionyenatahundredandtwenty-fiveandwaitfor thequarterlyprofits.’Thenwhispered,‘Andsimultaneously,theguy ImetonDatingSingleDoctorsismeetingme–theactualme–two blocksawayattheSohoHotel.’
‘Great!’Isaid,confusedly.
‘Iknow,right?Gottogobye.’
HopethemanfromDatingSingleDoctorsdoesn’tturnouttobe madeupbyVileRichard.
3.40p.m. Roxsterstillhasnottexted.Cannotconcentrate.Amgoing home.
4p.m. Gothometofindterrifyinglypungentold-ladysmell.Grazina haddiligentlyfollowedmyscribbledinstructions,thrownallthefood away,cleanedandsprayedeverythingandputmothballsinandbehind anyconceivableentryorexittoallfloorboards,walls,doorsoritems offurniture.Willtakemeallweekend,andpossiblyrestoflife,to
findanddestroyallmothballs.Nomothcouldlivethroughthisor, crucially,toyboy.Butthatis,presumably,irrelevant,asSTILLNO TEXT.
4.15p.m. Gaah!Thereisbang,clatterandvoicesofeveryonecoming home.IsFridaynight,istimeforChloetoleaveandhavenotprepared myThoughts.
4.16p.m. HowcouldRoxsternotrespond?Eventhoughmylast textwasaquestion.Orwasit?Willjustcheckmylasttextagain. <SosorryabouttheNinePlaguesofEgyptandforlaughing.Will haveentirehouseandoccupantsfumigatedforyournextvisit.Are youallright?>
Lurchedindismay.Therewasnotonlyaquestion,anendingof textwithaquestion,butanundeniablypresumptuouspresumption thatIwouldseeRoxsteragain.
6p.m. Wentdownstairs,attemptingtoconcealmeltdownfrom BillyandMabel(whofortunately,asisweekend,wereabsorbed respectivelyinPlantsvs.Zombiesand BeverlyHillsChihuahua2) whilstsimultaneouslyheatingupspagbog(actuallyspagcheese withoutspagasGrazinahasthrownawayallthepasta).Finally, whensupperwasover,somethingaboutloadingthedishwasher mademecrackandsendRoxsterafraudulentlycheerytextsaying: <It’stheweeeeeeekend!>
Thenwentintoparoxysmsofagony,sobadthatIhadtolet Billyjuststaypermanentlykillingplantswithzombies,andMabel watching BeverlyHillsChihuahua2 fortheseventhtimesothey wouldn’tnotice.Realizedwasirresponsibleandlazyparenting,but decidednotasbadasemotionaldamageinflictedbyawarenessof melting-downmotheroversomeonecloserinageto–Gaaah!Is RoxsteractuallycloserinagetoMabelthanme?No,butIthink hemightbetoBilly.OhGod.WhatamIthinking?Nowonderhe hasstoppedtexting.
9.15p.m. Stillnotext.Able,atlast,tofree-fallintowellofmisery, insecurity,emotional-pillow-pulled-from-under-feet,etc.Thething aboutgoingoutwithayoungermanisthatitmakesyoufeelthat youhavemiraculouslyturnedbacktime.Sometimes,whenwe’reon thechairinthebathroom,andIcatchsightofusinthemirror,I justcan’tbelievethisisme,doingthiswithRoxster,atmyage.But nowit’sgoneawayIhaveburstlikeabubble.AmIjustusingthe wholethingtoblockexistentialdespairaboutgrowingold,andthe fearthatmaybeI’mgoingtohaveastroke,and whatwould happen toBillyandMabel?
Itwasworsewhentheywerebabies.HadconstantdreadthatI wouldspontaneouslydieinthenight,orfalldownthestairs,andno onewouldcome,andtheywouldbeleftalone,andendupeating me.ButthenasJudepointedout,‘It’sbetterthandyingaloneand beingeatenbyanAlsatian.’
9.30p.m. Mustrememberwhatitsaysin ZenandtheArtofFalling inLove:whenhecomes,wewelcome,whenhegoes,welethimgo. Also, whenZenstudentssitontheCushiontheymakefriendswith Loneliness,whichisdifferentfromAloneness.LonelinessisTransience andthewaythatpeoplewelovecomeintoourlivesandgoaway againwhichisjustpartofLife,ormaybethatisAloneness,and Lonelinessis...Stillnotext.
11p.m. Cannotgettosleep.
11.15p.m. Oh,Mark.Mark.IknowIdidallthis‘Willhecall, won’thecall?’whenweweregoingout,beforeweweremarried.But eventhenitwasdifferent.Iknewhimsowell,I’dknownhimsince Iwasrunningroundhisparents’lawnwithnoclotheson.
Heusedtohaveconversationswithmewhenhewassleeping. That’swhenIcouldfindoutwhathewasreallyfeelinginside.
‘Mark?’Thatdark,handsomeface,sleepingonthepillow.‘Are youlovely?’
Sighinginhissleep,lookingsad,ashamed,shakinghishead. ‘Doesyourmummyloveyou?’
Verysad,now,tryingtosay‘no’throughhissleep.MarkDarcy, thebigpowerfulhumanrightslawyer,andinside,thelittledamaged boy,sentawaytoboardingschoolatseven.
‘DoIloveyou?’I’dsay.Andthenhewouldsmileinhissleep, happy,proud,nodhishead,pullmetohim,snugglemeunderhis arm.
Wekneweachotherinsideout,backtofront.Markwasa gentlemanandItrustedhimcompletelyineverythingandIwent outfromthatsafeplaceintotheworld.Itwaslikeexploringthescary underwateroceanfromoursafelittlesubmarine Andnow...everythingisscaryandnothingwillbesafeagain.
11.55p.m. WhatamIdoing?WhatamIdoing?WhydidIstart allthis?Whydidn’tIjuststayasIwas?Sad,lonely,workless,sexless, butatleastamotherandfaithfultotheir...faithfultotheirfather.
DARKNIGHTOFTHESOUL Friday19April2013(continued)
Fiveyears.Hasitreallybeenfiveyears?Tostartwithitwasjusta questionofgettingthroughtheday.Thankfully,Mabelwastoolittle toknowanythingaboutit,but,oh,theflashbackstoBilly,running allthroughthehousesaying,‘IlostDada!’JeremyandMagdaatthe door,apolicemanbehindthem,thelookontheirfaces.Running instinctivelytothechildren,holdingthembothtomeinterror:‘What’s wrong,Mummy?What’swrong?’Governmentpeopleintheliving room,someoneaccidentallyturningonthenews,Mark’sfaceonthe televisionwithacaption:
MarkDarcy1956–2008 Thememoriesareablur.Friends,family,surroundingmelikea womb,Mark’slawyerfriendssortingeverything,thewill,thedeath duties,unbelievable,likeafilmthatwasgoingtostop.Thedreams, withMarkstillinthem.Themornings,wakingat5a.m.,washed cleanbysleepforasplitsecond,thinkingeverythingwasthesame, thenremembering:poleaxedbypain,asthoughagreatstakewas rammingmetothebed,straightthroughtheheart,unabletomove incaseIdisturbedthepainanditspread,knowingthatinhalfan hourthechildrenwouldbeawakeandI’dbeon:nappies,bottles, tryingtopretenditwasOK,oratleastkeepthingstogethertillhelp arrivedandIcouldgooffandhowlinthebathroom,thenputsome mascaraonandbraceupagain.
Butthethingabouthavingkidsis:youcan’tgotopieces;you justhavetokeepgoing.KBO:KeepBuggeringOn.Thearmyof bereavementcounsellorsandtherapistshelpedwithBillyandlater
Mabel:‘manageableversionsofthetruth’,‘honesty’,‘talking’,‘no secrets’,a‘securebase’fromwhichtodealwithit.Butforthe soidisant ‘securebase’–i.e.(trynottolaugh)me–itwasdifferent. ThemainthingIrememberfromthosesessionswas,bottomline: ‘Canyousurvive?’Therewasn’tanychoice.Allthosethoughtsthat crowdedin–ourlastmomenttogether,thefeelofMark’ssuitagainst myskin,meinmynightie,theunknowinglastkissgoodbye,trying torecapturethelookinhiseye,theringatthedoorbell,thefaces onthedoorstep,thethoughts,‘Inever...’‘Ifonly...’,theyhadto beblockedout.Thecarefullyorchestratedgrievingprocess,watched overbyexpertswithsoftvoices,andcaringupside-downsmiles,was lesshelpfulthanfiguringouthowtochangeanappywhilstsimultaneouslymicrowavingafishfinger.Justkeepingtheshipafloat,if notexactlyupright,was,Ithought,90percentofthebattle.Mark hadeverythingarranged:financialdetails,insurancepolicies.Wegot outofthebighousefullofmemoriesinHollandPark,andintoour littlehouseinChalkFarm.Schoolfees,home,bills,income,all practicalmattersperfectlytakencareof:noneedtoworknow,just MabelandBilly–myminiatureMark–allIhadleftofhimtokeep alive,andtokeepmealive.Amother,awidow,puttingonefootin frontoftheother.ButinsideIwasanemptyshell,devastated,no longerme.
Bythetimefouryearshadgoneby,however,thefriendswere nothavingit.
PARTONE Born-AgainVirgin ONEYEARAGO... 
