CONSIDERING BRIDGET
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters; they are owned and created by Helen Fielding. I'm just doin' this for fun!
Bridget Jones looks embarrassed. She should, considering she made a right cock-up introducing the Fitzherbert chap. Why she was chosen to do the introductions is beyond me; it's rather obvious she had no bloody idea what she was doing or saying. Now she's just standing there in front of the table were the drinks have been lain out. Taking out a cigarette and smoking nervously while she sips her champagne. I must admit, she doesn't look bad tonight. Better than she did at her mother's turkey curry buffet. But who am I to talk? I wore that damned reindeer jumper Mum gave me.
I should say something to her. It would be better than standing about here with Natasha. All she's interested in is talking about cases, depositions and everything else work-related. She's a fine woman, but dreadfully dull. Like myself, I suppose. Unlike Bridget; she has spark. Perhaps a bit ditsy, though. And a bit on the lumpy side. But in all her faults, I suppose… I suppose… I quite like her, actually.
Yes, I should say something to Bridget. Not that I'm the greatest choice for cheering up anybody, but perhaps we could have a bit of a laugh about it.
"Excuse me," I say to my little group. I turn to make my way over to Bridget and—
Damn it! What's he doing? He swoops in like a vulture and wraps his claws around her waist from behind. What empty promises could he be whispering into her ear? She nods and they head out. I think I heard him say something about going to dinner. I'm sure he will tell her lies about me, about what really happened. It's all right; maybe one day she'll find out what kind of person Daniel Cleaver really is all on her own.
Well, they're gone now. Might as well return to whatever bloody conversation my little group was having. As if it mattered.
FIN