Monday 15th March (part 2)

5 p.m. Mark and I drove to his home not long after and felt a sense of foreboding as if all the sudden was going to fall out of car or driver swerving off to a ditch or find self cornered with Olivia pouncing on me for being in Mark's life.

5: 30 p.m. Mark's home.

"Olivia and her mother should be here soon," Mark said anxiously, taking off his coat. He stood back and looked at his massive home appraisingly, "Do you think I ought to get something for Olivia? What do young girls like these days?"

"Um…" I began.

"What's a popular band? Perhaps I could get her one of those iPods. I can't say I know much about them." Mark looked at me, hoping for encouragement.

"You could ask her what she would like." I said in a soft voice. Already, I was practically whimpering at Mark's devotion. It was quite endearing yet also made me paranoid as images of Mark snogging his ex-wife kept popping into mind.

We heard a knock on the door and both of us jumped. Mark dashed to open it. I slinked back in the shadows, hoping I could camouflage myself. Perhaps I could press myself against the wall and be a three dimensional painting.

"Mark!" I heard a woman's voice exclaim.

"Hello, nice to see you both again. Come in, please! Bridget?" Mark called, looking around and spotting me half concealed behind the sofa. "Bridget, come meet Christine and Olivia."

Christine---slim figured and wearing Armani-----stepped into the room holding the hand of a little girl.

"Hello," she greeted, her hand outstretched. "You must be Bridget Jones." I caught a waft of Vera Wang perfume.

The little girl proceeded forward and placed her hands on her hips. "I'm Olivia."

"Yes, I know." I said, shaking her hand. "It's very nice to meet you." I turned to her mother to shake her hand in turn. "And it's very nice meeting you too."

"Well!" Mark stepped forward, obviously very pleased. "Well, let's have dinner shall we? We can all get acquainted."

I followed them to the dining room, meek and uncomfortable. Aside to Christine, I felt like a pink elephant. As we seated around the table, I stole a glance at Mark looking at Olivia affectionately. She seemed oblivious to this and was tugging at her mother's sleeve to whisper something in her mother's ear.

Christine leaned over and then said very quietly, "We'll talk about that later."

"What is it?" Mark asked, puzzled at Olivia's now upset expression.

"She wants to stop by Priscilla on the way home to buy a new doll," Christine replied with a slightly stern look over at Olivia. "I dare say she has far too many."

"Not at all!" Mark said immediately. "In fact, I was just wondering what sort of present I should give to you, Olivia. Why do you say we go and buy that doll after dinner?"

Olivia immediately brightened up. "Yes, yes!"

"Oh no Mark, you shouldn't---" Christine began.

"Please, let me do this." Mark said eagerly as if he very much wanted the doll himself.

The chef then brought out a platter of grilled lamb on a bed of spinach and goats cheese. As he proceeded to serve us the dish, I caught the smell of it and immediately wanted to vomit. I managed not to, but lost my appetite. Instead, I directed my attention to Christine.

"How long are you in England for?" I asked whist trying not to inhale thus giving my speech a restrained, nasal sound.

"I'm here for my job, for about a year. I work at Priente and we are recently marketing our new line of products in England." She said coolly with no hint of holding her breath.

"Are you going to be my stepmother?" Olivia asked, looking me in the eye while poking at her lamb with no apparent desire to eat it.

"Um…yes." I looked at Mark.

"Bridget is great with children." Mark said happily, tucking into his lamb.

"Are you two thinking of having children?" Christine asked, taking a sip of her wine.

"Um…" I trailed off, hoping Mark would answer.

"We're not thinking of that yet," Mark replied, looking at me. "Too soon, right, Bridget?"

"Of course," I nodded, disagreeing whole heartedly. I turned to down my glass of wine.

"Bridget...Jones…" Olivia called to me in a sing-song voice. "Bridget Jones…you have something stuck on your bottom…"

Horrorstruck, I looked on my bottom and found that I had tiny knickers stuck to my jeans, obviously product of shagathon.

"Olivia!" Christine chided sternly.

Olivia slinked down and mouthed, "Sorry."

Mark covered his face with his hands for a moment and then looked up very serious, "Well! How's the lamb Bridget?"

"Um…I'm allergic." I said in a feeble voice, not sure why I am lying. Of course I couldn't just say, 'It makes me want to vomit all over this table', could I?

"Oh…oh!" Mark said. "I didn't know, I'll have Rodrigue bring out something else, darling."

"Darling," Olivia echoed. "That's what my mummy calls me."

"You are quite a darling," Mark said affectionately. "Your mother is right."

There was a sudden buzz and I jumped, then remembering that my celly was on silent.

All three of them looked at me.

"Hello?" I hissed, whist trying to look apologetic.

"How's the family reunion going?" Tom asked eagerly.

"Now is not a good time." I whispered.

"That bad, eh?"

"Well no…not exactly. Just..."

"Awkward?"

"Yes!" I said.

"You're feeling nervous? They seem well acquainted?"

"Yes." I answered lamely.

"They have history, you feel like an outsider…"

"Tom you are not helping."

"Sorry love, word of advice. Be cool."

"It's rather hot in here…"

"No Bridge. Be an icebox. Do not let them see you sweat. You are ice-queen, top of the line, trophy in Mark's arms."

"Thanks." I replied, "Okay goodbye, Ms. Grant!"

I turned to face Mark, Christine and Olivia.

"That was my boss." I announced. "She has me working a very important deadline."

"Mark was just telling me about your job," Christine said smoothly. "I have seen you on television."

"Oh…goody." I answered flatly. Great.

The next twenty minutes passed like the clock does when you're eagerly awaiting the examination results of your finals: too slow, too nerve-wrecking.

"Dessert is served," Rodrigue announced, carrying platters of pear soufflé topped with mass amounts of cream. That's when I couldn't stand it, the blot of excess cream mingled with the lingering smell of grilled lamb….

I pushed my chair out and ran towards the bathroom and reached it just in time, vomiting into the toilet.

Wednesday 17th March

129 pounds, alcohol units 4, cigarettes 2 (v.g.), calories: 2100 (v. v. bad)

8 p.m. Boots Pub.

"Fuck them," Shazzer said immediately. "They are nothing, but snottish poker up arse cold…fish."

"She can't 'fuck them', Shaz. She and Mark are getting married!" Jude responded. She was the only one not gorging down Chardonnay or holding a fag in hand. Could already see tiny bump and felt jealous at thought of her and Richard starting a family with no cruel race ex-wife to worry about.

"He could have been more supportive. All he did was talk about Olivia, didn't he?" Shazzer pointed out.

"And he keeps buying her things…" I moaned. "He wants me to adopt her and I'll just be a really crap step-mother."

"No you won't Bridget. You're terrific with children," Jude said brightly. "Remember Magda's christening?"

"The one where the boys kept smacking my bottom?"

"No…where you and Constantine got along so well!"

"I'm going to use the loo." I said, hoping to clear my head of the noise and confusion.

"Uh…no! Why don't you sit down and…think about the situation some more?" Shazzer suggested, pulling me back into my seat.

"Why?" I asked suspicious.

"Don't look!" Tom and Jude both said while their eyes scanned the entrance.

I looked over to the entrance.

Daniel Cleaver (with insect blonde vixen) caught my eye, whispered something to the insect and headed over.

"Jones," he growled. "How are you? Still with arsey Darcy?"

"Hi, I'm Tom and it's very nice to meet you." Tom greeted enthusiastically.

"Charmed, I'm sure." Daniel replied and then turned to me, completely oblivious of Jude and Shazzer throwing daggers at him. "Listen Jones, why don't you and your mummy-pants pay me a visit sometime? We can go on holiday to Rome. Think about it."

He turned back to his vixen and strode off.

"Bridget!" Jude hissed. "Tell me you are not thinking about his offer!"

"He wasn't serious, you know." Shazzer prompted, lighting up another fag.

"Of course I'm not going back to Daniel, I'm engaged! Honestly, who do you think I am?" I said with a huff. I checked my celly and was disappointed that there were no calls from Mark.

"But he's really rather dishy, don't you think?" Tom prompted, pouring some more Chardonnay into his glass.

"He's nothing but a horny shag machine." I said, not realizing that it would just turn Tom on even more.

"Forget about him, Bridge. Think of yourself. Now…what is your wedding dress going to look like?" Jude asked, picking up her sparkling water.

"White...and...oh...I don't know if I should wear white..." I said tentatively. "I'm not exactly the most..." I trailed off and sulked, looking at my empty Chardonnay glass.

Tom immediately refilled my glass and said encouragingly, "And you and Mark will move in together so you don't have to worry about being a single, barren spinster who will die---"

"Alone and found three weeks later half eaten by wolves." I finished for him, trying to brighten up. The idea that Daniel Cleaver had playfully suggested a mini-break and Mark was off buying Olivia tons and tons of presents while ignoring me was too hard to bear. What if this was life from now on? What if Mark and I drift further apart after we tie the knot instead of being closer together? Perhaps he only wanted to marry me because I am ridiculously laughable?