Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Glee or any of the dialogue from the film Bridget Jones's Diary on which this fic is loosely and sometimes not quite so loosely inspired by. (I just wanted to not have to write in an American voice, which I'm not that good at doing anyway.)

This fic was started in April 2012 and is the one I had the most fun writing.

As this is the prologue it begins exactly the same way as the film. M rating is for future chapters. I can't write actual smut (although I might try a little this time round) but there are definitely sexual references and swearing.

Just a note that although the fic is in third person, the sections in italics are Mercedes' personal narrative and/or diary entries

It all began on New Year's Day in my 32nd year of being single.

Once again, I found myself on my own and going to my mother's annual Turkey Curry Buffet. Every year she tries to fix me up with some bushy-haired middle aged bore and I feared this year would be no exception.

Mercedes kicked her boots on the front step of her parents' house to remove as much snow from them as possible before taking a deep breath and pushing the doorbell. She gritted her teeth at the sound of the chime that rang for precisely three seconds too long and straightened her spine for the moment she had been dreading for the entire journey up.

"There you are dumpling!"

Her heart sank. Not even through the front door yet and it had already begun. To anyone on the outside it sounded like a term of endearment. To Mercedes it was just her mother telling her that she's lumpy and heavy like the dumplings she makes in her stews. As a result, to be the complete opposite of her mother, Mercedes always made the lightest fluffiest dumplings known to man and was famous for them. She reluctantly received the air kisses and stepped inside the home where she grew up, forcing a smile at her mother.

It was a poorly concealed fact that Camille Moreau-Jones was frustrated with the way that her daughter had turned out. Camille had always been somewhat of a snob, loving the fact that like her father before her, she'd been born in Switzerland, moving to the England at the age of six. And despite being one of the few black students in her posh private school, had used the fact that she was fluent in French, German, Italian and Spanish as well as being exceptionally pretty and dainty, to force her popularity. It worked like a charm and she lived the life of a social butterfly until accidentally getting carried away with someone who she'd just thought was just a cute piece of fun in her friend's circle had suddenly landed her with an unexpected pregnancy at the age of 23, rapidly followed by the new surname of Jones, when all of her friends were still out and about making their mark on society. She resented having to take a name as common as Jones and insisted on keeping hers and adding the hyphen. She'd expected the child, which had turned out to be her only one, to be a miniature version of herself. Sadly she was very wrong.

Mercedes was very much her father's daughter. The only things she took from Camille were the chocolate drop brown eyes. The rest was all Gregory Alexander Jones. She'd inherited his darker skin tone, heavy body structure and relaxed to the point of lazy attitude towards dress, grooming and the opposite sex. It frustrated Camille no end and caused her to make it her life's mission for her only child to at least marry well.

So far it had proved to be 'mission impossible.'

"Camille! Where should I put the vol-au-vents? "

"On the side table Emma! Next to the blinis!"

Mercedes cringed. Emma was her mother's best friend from the Women's Institute. Nobody even goes to things like the Women's Institute anymore. It's a dying breed. Except for her mother. And the need that she felt to go there and 'represent'. And all the edibles that they produced! Yes to the lighter than air Victoria sandwich cakes and scones from their bake sales, but hell to the no to the time warp seventies food that her mother loved to dish up when she entertained. She didn't doubt that somewhere in that kitchen there was a Blackforest Gateaux. It had been less than twenty seconds and she was already fighting the urge to turn around and run out screaming back into the snow.

Surely it couldn't get any worse?

Her mother shot her a knowing look, "By the way, the Evans' are here." Her tone was that hushed conspiratorial one which meant trouble of the worst possible kind. And together with that sinister smile, she knew she was definitely going to be in trouble. "They brought Sam with them."

Mercedes closed her eyes in an attempt to hide the three-hundred and sixty degree roll that they were currently attempting. Ah, here we go. Less than thirty seconds through the door and I haven't even taken off my coat and scarf yet…

"You remember Sam. You used to play in his paddling pool! This was all before they moved to America for all those years. He stayed on after they came back and went to law school before moving back a couple of years ago. He's a barrister. Very well off."

"No. I don't remember." She unraveled the scarf from her neck and started to shuffle out of her coat.

"He's divorced. His wife was Chinese. Very cruel race-"

She opened her mouth to point out the sheer offensiveness of that statement, together with the fact that one of her closest friends, Tina, also happened to be Chinese, but her mum didn't even pause, instead casting a disapproving look at the trousers and warm comfortable top that the removal of her coat had now revealed. "Now, what are you going to put on?"

"This!" She looked down at what she was wearing. It was perfectly suitable for spending the next couple of hours in an overheated room eating food so retro it could pass for vintage and making small talk with people at least twenty years older than she was.

Camille was not impressed. "Don't be so silly! You'll never get a boyfriend if you look like you've just wandered out of Auschwitz! Now run upstairs, I've laid out something lovely on your bed."

Knowing resistance was futile Mercedes huffed as she made her way up the stairs to see what kind of monstrosity her mother had laid out for her this time. They both had polar opposite definitions of 'lovely' when it came to clothing.

Mercedes smiled as she entered her old room, memories flooding back to her. It had been years since she left but they still kept it exactly the same way, photographs of friends and posters of boybands from long ago still gracing the walls. The smile ended when her eyes dropped to the bed. The ensemble was particularly horrific, even by her mother's usually terrible standards. It looked like something whipped up from a pair of curtains, Scarlett O'Hara style in Gone With The Wind. Only Scarlet's was better.

"Here she is! My Mercedes!"

She groaned inwardly. Wherever she was, he was always the first to spot her entering a room. And today was worse than ever because she hadn't yet made it to the drinks table to pour herself some Dutch courage. "Hi uncle Will!"

She really hoped that her grimace came across more as a smile as he leaned to peck her cheek. "Have a drink? No? Come on then, I'll take you." Will Schuester was no relative at all. Especially evident when he was as white as the snow outside, with greying curling hair that was losing the battle against the ever increasing bald patch it surrounded. He was, in fact, married to Emma from the WI. Repulsive and married as he was, he insisted on her calling him 'Uncle' while he groped her ass at every opportunity and, as he poured champagne into a glass of orange, asked the question that all singletons like herself dreaded…

"So, how's your love life?"

She forced another grin and spoke through the gritted teeth, "Great! Thanks Uncle Will!" She held it firmly in place as she accepted the glass of Bucks Fizz that she really didn't want.

"Still no fellow then, eh? All right then."

They were joined by Emma who had to have her say. "You career girls. Can't put it off forever you know! Tick tock, tick tock!"

She turned and found her salvation standing quietly in a corner wearing a comfortable cardigan, cigarette in one hand, and an entire bottle of wine in the other. She was most definitely her father's daughter! "Hullo dad!"

His eyes lit up completely when he saw her, "Hello darling!" She reached up to kiss him as he put his arm around her, "How's it going?"

"Torture!" was his instant response. Without asking he immediately tucked his bottle under his arm, lit a cigarette and handed it to her. "Your mother's trying to fix you up with some divorcee. Human rights barrister. Pretty nasty beast apparently."

She scanned the room in an attempt to find out who her mother's latest victim was, and saw Mr and Mrs Evans talking to a younger man. He was facing away from her but the firm body in the polo-neck jumper and the curve of his butt in his trousers had already caught her attention, as had his blonde brown hair which was cut just so, ending at the nape of his neck.

Whew!

Ding Dong!

Maybe this time mum had got it right!

As was her habit, the woman materialized from nowhere carrying a tray of mini blinis. She grabbed Mercedes with a smile. "Come on, let's see if Sam wants a blini! We've just made these salmon ones fresh."

If Sam was in his right mind there was no way on earth he would touch a blini when there was real food available.

She shot her dad one final glance of desperation and he mouthed 'Good luck' at her as she was dragged away by her mum. "Sam?" she called as they reached closer with the offending tray.

Maybe this was the mysterious Mr Right I've been waiting my whole life to meet…

He turned slowly and she was lost in a pair of the greenest eyes she had ever seen. His hair was light brown, almost blonde at the tips, his eyes had a cute crinkle in the corners and his full lips were clearly there simply to be sucked and bitten on. She'd never seen lips like that on a white guy before but it most definitely worked. And despite having only just clapped eyes on him for the first time, was more than happy to ignore her dad's forewarning that he was a nasty piece of work and see just what kind of magic he would work with those aforementioned lips. It wouldn't take long to come up with a list of things that she definitely wouldn't mind him doing to her with them. Unfortunately, in an attempt to take a second glance at that hot body she'd seen from behind, she cast her eyes down at the awful Rudolph the red nosed reindeer jumper that he was sporting.

Or aybe not…

The mood was instantly killed. He looked like his mother had dressed him.

"You remember Mercedes!" said her mother with a smile. He silently looked on at the older woman with an indeterminate expression on his face which she clearly took as an invitation to continue. "She used to run around your lawn with no clothes on. Remember?"

Mercedes had to look away out of sheer mortification. Finally he found his voice.

"Er, no. Not as such."

The uncomfortable moment was broken by Emma who appeared out of nowhere with a voice full of fake enthusiasm. "Come and look at your gravy Cam. I think it's going to need sieving!"

"Of course it doesn't need sieving. Just stir it Emma!"

Mercedes felt like the temperature in the room went up by a hundred degrees as Una nodded her head at both her and Sam before making eyes at her mother and jerking her head towards the kitchen in the least subtle attempt at hinting at leaving them alone for a bit of matchmaking known to man. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, her mum finally got the message.

"Ah yes… Of course... I'll be right there. Sorry, lumpy gravy calls!" Discretion and subtlety were never her strong point, and this time she clearly wasn't even bothering as she flustered her way back to the kitchen, leaving her alone with Sam.

"So-"
"So-"

Dammit! Now I have to think of something to make conversation because this guy wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to start speaking!

"You have an American accent!" Yay for stating the obvious!

"I grew up in Ohio."

"So are you staying at your parent's for New Year?"

"Yes. And you?" He was eyeing her suspiciously. She didn't blame him after that particularly mortifying introduction.

"Oh, no. No. I was in London at a party last night. So I'm afraid I'm a bit hung over. Wish I could be lying with my head in a toilet like most normal people." She could feel the nerves forcing words to come out of her mouth and knew it was totally out of control. And now the nervous laugh and body twitching had started. This was not the way to make a good first impression. She was leaning forward into his personal space now, and yet the words just kept of flowing, "New Year's resolution: Drink less. Oh, and stop smoking."

She looked down at her hands, drink in one and lit cigarette in the other and cringed internally as the hysterical laughter got louder. "Ooops! And keep New Year's resolutions."

Again with the stupid laugh. She wished the ground would just open so she could die instantly. But all that happened was a continuation of the stupid giggle. "And stop talking nonsense to complete strangers!" She reached and touched his chest with the hand that was holding her drink and glimpsed his expression of complete mortification at being touched. But the words just wouldn't stop coming. "In fact, stop talking full stop!" Was that out loud too? Oh shit, yes it was!

Poor Sam looked beyond uncomfortable. "Yes, well… perhaps it's time to eat."

Something in his facial expression said to her that he was desperately hoping that if she had food in her mouth it might just possibly stop her from speaking. It sounded like an excellent plan. Before she could respond in the affirmative he'd already walked off leaving her feeling like a complete lemon.

She found him talking with his mother in hushed tones. As she started to approach she heard his voice raise slightly. "Mother, I do not need a blind date. Particularly not with some verbally incontinent spinster who smokes like a chimney, dinks like a fish and dresses like her mother!"

She froze to the spot, curry spoon poised above her plate, staring at the back of their heads, his words cutting her like a knife through her heart. She knew she hadn't created the best first impression but she had no idea that he was so cruel! Her dad had been completely correct in his assessment that the man was a nasty piece of work. As if feeling the intensity of her stare they both simultaneously turned their heads back towards her.

Mercedes tried to style it out as best she could, pretending that she hadn't heard his hurtful words, yet another fake smile plastered on her face. "Yummy. Turkey curry! My favourite!"

But the pain was oh so real.

The whole world stopped.

And that was it! Right there... THAT was the moment.

I suddenly realized that unless something changed soon, I was going to live a life where my major relationship was with a bottle of wine.

And that I'd finally die, fat and alone… And be found three weeks later, half eaten by Alsatians.

Or I was about to turn into Glen Close in Fatal Attraction.

And so, at 9.57 that night, a bloody Friday no less, sitting alone in my flat, wearing the least sexy pair of Snoopy pajamas, downing yet another bottle of Pinot Noir and mouthing along to Jamie O'Neal's version of All By Myself I made a decision.

It was now 1999. We're staring the bloody new Millenium on the face, and I had to make sure that next year I wouldn't end up shit-faced and listening to Sad FM, easy listening for the over 30s. I decided to write a diary. To tell the truth about Mercedes Jones. The Whole Truth.

Here goes…

1st January 2000

Dear Diary,

Weight: 169lb

Cigarettes: 28 (stressful day)

Alcohol units: 5 (stressful day)

Clearly time to start work on making those New Year resolutions!

Resolution number one: Obviously will lose 30pounds! Resolution number two: Always put last night's knickers in the laundry basket. Resolution number three: Give up smoking.

Equally important, find nice normal guy to go out with and not continue to form romantic attachments to any of the following: Alcoholics, Workaholics, Commitment phobics, Peeping Toms, Meglomaniacs, Emotional fuckwits or Perverts.

And especially will not fantasize about a particular person who embodies all these things…

In a tall, dark and dashingly handsome persona.

My boss. The one and only…

Finn Hudson.