Bridget Jones: A Brand New Start
By S. Faith, © 2014-2015
Words: 50,000 in 6 chapters
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes, Art credit: See Chapter 1.
Chapter 4
Sat, 14 Mar
8st 10 (running on adrenalin), cigarettes 7 (special occasion, surely is ok), alcohol units 6 (celebratory air), number of glances per hour to ring 20 (approx.).
9.12 am. Past two weeks have been positively insane, calling every friend can think of to give them the news. Perhaps that is exaggeration, but have had nothing but lovely congratulations. (Jude tells me that jellyfisher Rebecca nearly had meltdown in 192. HA. HA.)
Mum was appropriately thrilled and smug about having known all along things were meant to be. Inclined to allow her the victory. Dad tried hard not to weep while on phone but could tell he was happy. So glad sex-god is also ideal potential son-in-law, but Mark is the kindest man have ever known save for Dad.
Malcolm and Elaine were also v. lovely. V. grateful they like me as well as they do. Am not quite like other girls of their social strata (inasmuch as that matters anymore), but they know do not just want to get feet under table, as almost happened in past (whatever became of Natasha, anyway? Ah, do not really care).
Today is party that law firm is throwing for engagement. More like dinner party with his co-workers and their spouses or partners or whatever, as we do not really know anyone else here, but will be v. nice and festive.
10.30 am. Not looking forward to all of the questions, though. Already starting: Have you picked a date yet? What sort of dress have you got in mind? Where will reception be? Ugh. Have half a mind to pack Mark into car and drive to Las Vegas to get married in an all-night chapel like in the pictures, except do not want to be married by Elvis Presley or similar. Not to mention Mum would brutally murder self.
10.34 am. Almost two weeks after Mark proposed, and still find self caught by surprise by glittering ring on finger. Is even more amazing in the sunlight. Expect at times to wake up to find has all been some kind of fever-dream, that am still stuck in prison in Thailand. V. grateful for how everything turned out.
Ooh! Should get dressed. Mark decided last night we should go out for lunch. Offered to take me shopping for dress, too. "Not for wedding," he amended with a grin. "For the party." Told him, though, that had decided to wear the glamorous but understated dress he'd bought self for Valentine's.
"It's a dress that should be worn more than once," I declared. "Not to mention that you have never even seen me in it."
His expression went all soft and tender. Took me in arms and murmured, "How I hope you never stop surprising me."
Think he meant he expected me to want a new dress, will take it as compliment all the same.
3.48 pm. Back at house, now, to get changed for party. Is being held at Eduardo's house, which is not too far from here. Am told is big house, bigger than even this one, and no wife / girlfriend or children. Surprising, really, as he is v. handsome. Perhaps he is fuckwit in manner of Daniel.
(Hm. Do not think he is gay, but one never knows.)
3.52 pm. Oh my God. Have re-read above and realise am Smug Married-ing Eduardo. Did not mean to do. Am genuinely surprised as he seems nice and is v. handsome. Should have partner.
5.20 pm. Just about to leave for party. Got dressed, did makeup and also pinned hair up. Wore the lovely heels and then went to model for Mark. Do not think he blinked for several seconds, then said, "Very nice." Had hoped for bigger reaction, to be honest, but glad he likes it all the same.
11.51 pm. Back from party. Was fantastic time.
Shortly after we left house, during drive to party, noticed Mark was still v. quiet and focused, even more so than usual. Placed my hand on his knee, asked, "Are you all right?"
"For God's sake, Bridget," he snapped, "don't do that."
Confused. Thought perhaps he did not actually like dress, after all, or perhaps was bulging in weird way.
"Sorry," I murmured.
After a moment, heard him exhale roughly. Spoke again and voice was much softer. "It's just that… I can't really do anything about it until after the party, can I?"
It finally struck me what he meant. He liked the dress perhaps a little too much. On one hand, felt quite pleased with self, but on other hand, do feel a bit sorry for putting him in, er, tight spot for whole of night.
More on party later, as now we are home, certainly can do something about it.
Sun, 15 Mar
8st 11 (post-party weight gain let-down), cigarettes 4 (feeling acidic sickness even with cigs), alcohol units 1 (must compensate for party), number of times wished to throttle Mark Darcy for air of mystery 1000s.
8.12 am. Gah. Bloody sun being too bright and shining this morning.
10.30 am. Mark brought coffee and pastry upstairs. Looks a bit rough (Mark, not pastry), though probably due more to late night than drinking. He was driving, after all.
Party was fantastic. V. interesting, though. Have not spent a lot of time in law partners' collective company, but the dynamic between them is v. different compared to partners in chambers in England. Maybe is presence of surf and sand in such close proximity, but attitudes are much less uptight amongst these lawyers. Mark is most uptight of all, whereas he is usually least so amongst his English colleagues. Feel as if am a tighter mesh with these lawyers than Mark is.
Witnessed too the playful teasing. Is obvious they are v. fond of (and respect) Mark, but get the impression they think he is stiff and reserved in almost comical proportion. Mark is also v. fond of (and respects) them in same way. Think he thinks of himself, at times, as the only adult in the room, even though he is not the oldest by far. But not in resentful way. More of a paternal way.
Got my share of teasing too. Gave as good as got. Eduardo said to me with a wink, "I expect you will be a timid bride."
"Oh, yes," I retorted. "Obviously. I'm a shrinking flower, you know. Practically a virgin."
Had all had quite a bit of wine at that point, and at this declaration Mark said in exasperated tone, "Bridget!" This caused all present to erupt in laughter, even Mark.
"I'm sure you're waiting until after the church," said Eduardo, sarcastic tone obvious.
Ron sputtered a snort of disbelief. "Couldn't even wait 'til the suitcases were upstairs!"
Alcohol may be urine of Satan but is great social lubricant, to the extent not even Mark blushed at that reference to our first day there. (Occurs to me now that since other folks chuckled, Ron must have shared the story with others. Am mortified in light of day.)
Food was amazing. All jokingly referred to type of food as 'California cuisine', which seems to be fusion of many different cultures, such as Japanese and Mexican. Results surprising in v. g. way.
Was v. interesting to meet the partners of the lawyers (not law partners, obvs.). Soledad's husband Mario is a darling man. About the same age as she is—they apparently grew up in the same neighbourhood of Mexico City. Was not surprised that Ron's not married, though he does have a girlfriend, Rosie, v. cute with ginger hair and really very likeable. Introduction to her entailed hearing all about her nightmare experience at hairdresser two nights before, an experience with which could relate. Her hair looked decidedly better than own Mr Spock fringe, which has (thankfully) long since grown in again.
Had a moment of confusion and embarrassment when Juliza introduced self to Marisa. After all of the comments about picking up dinner for the two of them, or going away for a weekend, was expecting that Marisa was Juliza's girlfriend, after but one look at her, realised clearly she was 1.) a girl no more than twelve and 2.) the spitting image of Juliza, same long, dark, curly hair and everything. Felt my face go livid with my embarrassment. Must have been daughter, not girlfriend at all.
"It's really lovely to meet you," I said, reaching out my hand to shake hers. Marisa smiled and shook it, looking v. pleased.
"My mom told me all about you," Marisa said with a beaming smile. "That you live in London, and you're on TV and everything!"
"I'm not on TV," I said, "well, not anymore, anyway. But I do work for a television show. I come up with ideas for the show."
Was practically celebrity or similar with Marisa, who spoke in glowing tones to me. Complimented my dress, at which explained that Mark had bought it for self for Valentine's Day ("Oh, so sweet," Marisa said and Juliza explained she'd helped pick it out). We made tentative plans to go to the pictures or out for lunch on a weekend soon. Mark joined us at that point. Introduced him to Marisa, at which she complimented his taste re: the dress. He looked really surprised, and said "Thank you" to her.
Was the end of the evening that was most interesting. Party was winding down but we stayed behind to give proper thank-you to Eduardo. Was still feeling a bit squiffy and affectionately put arms around Mark's waist, giving him big hug, which he returned in full. As we broke apart saw Eduardo returning from being out of the room. Though Eduardo seemed at first glance to be fairly sober, was clear to me that he was not, and his expression spoke volumes of… well, not sure what saw there. Wistfulness? Unhappiness? Longing? (Not for self, but for… something.) Before could think better of it, blurted out, "What's wrong?"
Think that if not for the drinks in him, he might have brushed it off with a confident laugh and said, "Nothing." Instead, he said "Nothing" in tremulous voice, and his eyes went over glossy.
Could not let it go. Swept away from Mark and went to Eduardo, grasping his sleeve. "That's not nothing," I said in v. sweet tone, meeting his gaze. "You can say, go on."
After a moment, he did. In a voice more vulnerable than had ever heard from this usually strong person, he said that early on, he'd had to choose between the woman he loved and his career. "Young and foolish, I chose career," he said. "I have regretted it ever since. Seeing the two of you reminds me of the happiness I threw away."
"Oh!" I said, filled with overwhelming sadness and pity. On impulse (possibly fuelled by residual alcohol in system), reached forward to give him a compassionate hug. "I'm so sorry!"
Heard a little chuckle as I pushed away. "Do not worry about me," he said with a kind expression, though misty eyes still. "I hope one day to make right my mistake and find someone who can love me."
"You will!" I said emphatically. "You can still make it right, can't you? Try again, call her—" Broke off. He had started to shake his head.
"She is married now," Eduardo said sorrowfully. "To a man who undoubtedly deserves her more than I."
"Don't stop looking for it, though," I said with equal emphasis. "Never know when you'll find it."
Mark added in uncharacteristically emotional voice, "Or even when it will find you." Then Mark chuckled and broke the tension of the moment with, "We sound like a pair of agony aunts, don't we?"
Shortly thereafter, with my own eyes a bit teary, we left for the car, Mark's arm supportive around waist despite not being quite that pissed anymore. Didn't mind much, truthfully.
"You are lovely," said Mark quietly. "Drawing that story out of him, then reassuring him. That was very kind."
Tightened my arm around his waist. "You're lovely too," I said. "Heard what you said there, and I'm sure he did, too. You're like the walking testimonial to love. If even the stiffest shirt in the room can find it…" Trailed off as felt had gone too far, insulting my fiancé. (Still feels v. odd to say.)
He laughed lightly. "I'm very much aware that I'm the most reserved of the lot of them, darling," he said. "If I can serve as an example to never losing hope…" Then he pecked a kiss into my hair and said, releasing me so that he could open the door to the car, "You're very cute when you're squiffy."
With way head is still throbbing, suppose was more pissed than thought. Was worth it.
12.45 pm. Must have dozed off again, as Mark just returned, waking me as he sat heavily on the bed. To be honest, think he dropped down heavier than usual on purpose to be a bit of a (playful) git. "Time to rise and shine, sleepyhead," he said.
"Why?" I muttered, traumatised from the shock of waking. "Have we somewhere to go?"
"No," he said. "Not yet, anyway."
"What? What do you mean?"
"Nothing," he said. "Care to join me for lunch?"
"Mark, what do you mean?"
He only gave me a smug, satisfied look, then stood and left.
Bastard. He's going to force me to get out of bed when feel like gyroscope in head is off-kilter.
5.45 pm. Went down in pursuit of lunch and to find out why Mark was suddenly being so mysterious. What had happened this morning to affect such change? Tried every trick could think of to persuade him to tell me—yes, even that—but have had no luck.
5.52 pm. Oh! In wake of engagement excitement, nearly forgot is birthday next weekend. Perhaps mystery is related to birthday extravaganza!
6.03 pm. Damn. Tried to interrogate him further, but would only say, in perfect lawyerly fashion, that could not confirm nor deny any plans that may or may not be in motion. Frustrating bastard. Love him.
Oh! Have just been called back downstairs. Time to make dinner, after all.
10.02 pm. Startled to find Mark waiting with keys in hand in the foyer. "Shoes on," he said. "Got your handbag?"
Ooh! Must have been alluded-to surprise. "Where are we going?"
He said only again to get shoes on and come on.
Drove us to Santa Monica, where we had a wonderful candlelit dinner and walk on the beach. Still so hard to believe that is still only March!
On the way home, said to him, "Thank you for the wonderful surprise night out, though really, you didn't have to be quite so mysterious."
He chuckled. "Oh, darling," he said in almost patronising way that made me immediately suspicious.
"What?!"
As we came to a halt in the drive, he switched off the ignition and turned to me. "That wasn't the surprise," he said with a devilish grin.
Is lucky am too lustful to make him sleep on sofa.
10.07 pm. Must mean this really is birthday-related surprise. Surely does not mean to drive me mad until next weekend, does he?
Tue, 17 Mar
8st 13 (How? Why?), cigarettes 8 (includes 2 hoarded from earlier in week), alcohol units 4 (insufficient), Cinderella moments 1.
8.10 am. Having seen off Mark, have got up and put on the telly for current events with coffee, and am discovering an odd thing: lots of green clothing, shouting, weird plastic leprechaun hats, sparkly clover deely-boppers protruding from head like antennae.
9.00 am. Ah. Is St Patrick's Day. Saw scenes from huge parade in New York City. Massively strange. Not even sure there are parades of this scale in actual Ireland.
1.24 pm. US seems to have unholy fascination with St Patrick's Day, which seems to focus mainly on drinking oneself insensible. Actually surprised London's singletons haven't more fully embraced this aspect of the saint's day.
2.17 pm. Just had call from Mark. Bizarre.
"Darling," he said. "What is your shoe size?"
"What?" I asked. "Why?"
"What is it?" he pressed.
Realised this must have been related to mystery yet to come, or possible Cinderella complex. "A size 5," I said matter-of-factly.
"Great. Thanks."
That was the extent of it.
6.45 pm. Mark arrived home. Knew that he knew would be expecting him to present pair of shoes to self, so looked up expectantly from my place on the sofa as he came into the room.
"Here you are, darling," he said with a grin, bearing a carrier bag. He knelt down before me, drew out a box, then opened it and pulled out—
"A trainer?" I asked, puzzled.
"Not quite," he said. "I'm assured these are among the most comfortable walking shoes around."
"Sensible," I muttered.
"Yes, very much. Here, let's try it on."
Was rather Cinderella-like, after all, in the sense that try as he might, shoe would not go on to foot. Said to him jokingly, "How do I know you're not just taking these around the whole of the city, trying to find someone to fit the shoes?"
To his credit, he chuckled, but continued to stare at the shoe, as if it would magically grow larger through brain waves. Then asked him to hand shoe to me. Indeed seemed v. small. Looked inside and found it was, indeed, labelled with size 5. Drew brows together. "I don't understand."
"Nor do I."
"Are we sure it's not a 2?" I asked, poking at the inside of the shoe again, turning the shoe 180 degrees.
"No," Mark said. "Not possible. According to the saleswoman, five is the smallest adult woman's shoe they have."
Seemed v. strange to me. Know a few adult women who had feet smaller than self. "What does the box say?"
"Size five." He dug into the bag for the box, examined it, scowled, then started to laugh. "Seems there's been an international mix-up." He turned the box around to show me what he'd obviously missed before. Size 5 in US equals size 2½ in UK. "I'll have to return these for a larger size. So sorry."
"What is this all about?"
"Your surprise," he said. "It will involve some walking, and I don't think you have anything suitable here with you."
A surprise involving walking? Not so sure about this.
Thurs, 19 Mar
9st 1 (life v. unfair), cigarettes 4 (best behaviour), alcohol units 1 (saint), anticipation levels v large sum.
7.19 pm. Perfectly ordinary day in all but one respect. Returned from quick run to grocery store (will never get used to driving on wrong side of road) and as closed the door behind self, heard crashing sound from upstairs. In retrospect, probably foolish to go upstairs alone to investigate, but did so anyway, and found Mark trying to hastily clean up where he had knocked over a vase (thankfully empty and not broken). On the floor, a small suitcase that had disgorged contents, probably during course of crash.
"What are you doing?" I asked, possibly the most obvious thing that could be asked in the situation.
"Was just getting things ready for tomorrow."
Noticed then that the contents consisted of pants, socks and my bikini. Bikini? "What's going on?"
"Nothing." Quickly he scooped up the contents back into the case, then looked at me plaintively. "Can't you let me surprise you with anything?"
"You have managed to do so once or twice," I said with a smile, waggling my wedding ring finger, thinking too of our first Christmas at Hintlesham. "I heard the crash and was worried… but don't say anything more. Believe it or not, I do actually like surprises."
Of course, this is not completely true; love surprises when they're not spoilt in advanced. Otherwise feel antsy until the reveal. But Mark looked so distraught at the thought of there being nothing left to surprise, so felt the need to make him feel better.
Feeling v. impatient to know what awaits birthday surprise. And excited. Mark hasn't yet disappointed.
Fri, 20 Mar
9st (dropped in shock), cigarettes 2 (best behaviour), alcohol units 5 (poss. more), bliss levels off the chart.
2.12 pm. Was just working on reviewing another television script for Grant D Pike when heard someone come in. Went to investigate and found it was Mark, home v. early. Wore a great big grin on face.
"What?" I asked.
"Are you ready?" he said, playful and devilish at same time.
Hadn't expected anything until the next day, maybe that evening, so could only gawk in silence until brain rebooted. "What?"
"Don't say 'what,' darling," he teased. "As you well know, I've got your bags all set. Time for lunch, then the start of your birthday surprise."
After marking my spot (do not need to finish review until Weds) I went to brush hair, mascara on lashes, then we went out to lovely little bistro. Sitting in bright LA sun, drinking glass of wine at outdoor table, and feeling v. lucky and not at all freaking out that am entering late-thirties in less than twenty-four hours. Have finally attained cool, professional maturity have always dreamt of.
3.57 pm. We left bistro and immediately headed to freeway heading south. Ooh. Perhaps weekend on coast, hence need for bikini. Maybe Manhattan Beach? But then why the walking shoes? Suspense killing me.
4.22 pm. Oh my bloody God and fuck. Have just entered departures at the airport. Could be going anywhere!
5.30 pm. Sitting on airplane. Going to Las Vegas. LAS. VEGAS.
5.45 pm. Oh God. Reading in-flight magazine, article about Las Vegas quickie wedding chapels, reminding self that they exist. Suddenly wondering if steeped-in-English-tradition Mark would be so impetuous and disobedient to plan weekend trip to Las Vegas for chapel wedding that would irritate/anger/disappoint my parents and his. (Because only Mark could pull off impetuous planning.)
10.52 pm. City is amazing. Mark got a lovely suite in a hotel just off of the strip. View outside window is even more glittery and sparkly than LA, which seemed impossible. Amazing too is giant beam of light coming up off of glass pyramid of (am told) Luxor Hotel.
After landing at airport, came straight to suite to deposit things, then went to hotel's v. posh restaurant for dinner. Cocktails, dessert, then a walk hand in hand amongst the other tourists over to something called the Fremont Street Experience: arched canopies over the street (no vehicle traffic, just pedestrians), on which displays mind-blowing light shows. It's something so totally over-the-top outrageous, so very… Las Vegas. But it's beautiful and mesmerising and in its own way, romantic.
Am now exhausted, though suspect will have the energy to join Mark in the spa tub, especially as am feeling v. full of love (and lust) for him tonight.
Sun, 22 Mar
8st 12 (despite gorging self on rich food), cigarettes 0 (cravings vanished amongst glamour and glitz), alcohol units 4 (delightful), wedding chapels countless.
5.23 pm. On plane, on way back to LA. Entire weekend absolutely perfect. A few moments of annoyance while at lunch (not at Mark, but at other patrons being loud and brayingly obnoxious) but otherwise no real complaints.
Birthday itself yesterday started with pastries and coffee in bed (after rather long lie-in, ahem), then dressed casually to do a bit of walking around the Strip, and to have lunch out. (The comfortable walking shoes did their job admirably.) Returned to hotel for a swim in the outdoor pool—a first ever in life, bikini in March outdoors in the sun—then back to suite to dress for dinner and surprise which turned out to be my birthday gift, tickets to the marvellous production at Treasure Island Hotel, Mystère, from a tumbling troupe called Cirque do Soleil who, I swear, are able to defy gravity itself. (As if weekend minibreak in Las Vegas was not gift enough.)
Then, this morning, another long lie-in before lunch and packing to catch flight. As we drove to airport with the usual hours to spare, we passed a sign for a wedding chapel. "Oh," said Mark, noticing it. "Those seem to be everywhere, don't they?"
Heart had started racing, as had indeed noticed they seemed to be everywhere. He wasn't going to tell the taxi driver to pull aside, was he? "I guess," I said. Did not want to make it sound like self had noticed.
He chuckled. "That sure would make everything a whole lot easier, wouldn't it? Hm."
Worried that maybe he would actually divert taxi to the next one we saw. To my great relief, though, we did not in fact pull over and get hitched by Elvis.
Trying not to jinx self, but everything going so well since our reunion—so right and perfect—that half-expect some disastrous chain of events to ruin it all. And that the chain will be something set off inadvertently by self.
Mon, 13 Apr
8st 9 (miracle of miracles), cigarettes 5 (good), alcohol units 4 (saintly), sunny days remaining 17.
9.15 am. V. busy few weeks doing more script reviews for Grant as well as work pitches and time-lapse meetings. Despite big fears previously expected, everything still going swimmingly, which is miracle or similar. Have discussed wedding off and on, though we have decided not to start any planning (or plans to plan) until back in London, as we can take no action until then, anyway.
Oh. Telephone.
9.26 am. Was Mark with unexpectedly devastating news. "Job is wrapping up earlier than we thought, darling," he said.
Took a moment to realise what he meant. Job being over meant we would be leaving heavenly Californian paradise. "Oh," I said.
Heard him chuckle down the telephonic line. "We'll be home by the end of the month," he said, "but it almost sounds like you're disappointed to hear it."
"Of course I'm not," I lied. Not that did not want to go home, but was not expecting it to end a month too soon.
"So between your work," he said, not addressing my comment because he probably didn't believe the lie, "you should start to make sure your things are gathered together to be packed up. We can ship back things we can't fit into our suitcases."
Suddenly it seemed an impossible task. Had completely and totally insinuated self into rented house without much thought to leaving. Flat will now seem like tiny postage stamp, and London a place that the sun has decided to boycott except for vomiting heat in the dead of August.
3.17 pm. Feeling lower than low. Have spent entire morning and afternoon so far walking around house and am seeing so much to do that feel will never get it done before we leave. Do not know where to begin.
6.12 pm. Mark returned home to find self face down on the bed with head under pillow (would have climbed under duvet but was far too warm).
"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting and placing a hand on my back, rubbing reassuringly.
"Never going to be able to pack this all up," I said in pillow-muffled voice.
"After only three and a half months? That doesn't bode well," he said with a chuckle.
"I knoooow," I lamented.
"It really doesn't bode well," he went on, not particularly helpfully, "for when you finally leave a flat you've been in for years."
Total trauma at the thought of eventual day when would move out and in with husband (at the moving, not the husband). Uttered long, sustained groan, at which he began to laugh a little heartier.
"It's not funny," I said.
"Sorry to tease you," he said. "I'll be here to help."
Lifted head out from under pillow to look at him. "You will?"
He nodded. "Well, after Wednesday."
Huge wave of relief. Mark could organise anything. Then became indignant at his assumption. "Wait!" I said. "Why is it that I have to leave my house? Why isn't it that you have to leave yours?
He just gave me penetrating look. Realised at once it was ridiculous thing to say, as he and all of his law books, despite minimal decoration, would never fit in my flat. "Actually," he said, "I had a thought…"
"Oh?"
"Mmm," he affirmed. "Bring the best things about your flat to my house. The reality is that the flat—"
"I know," I said, chastened. "It really is too small for us to live in."
"But it could do temporarily," he said.
"Temporarily what?"
"I want you to make the house…" Mark faltered. "…less white. And while the house is being done up, we can stay in your flat."
Blimey. Had no idea he had been giving this so much thought. "Where did this come from?" I asked. Not that was unreceptive, mind. Just so out of nowhere.
He took a moment to think about his response. "I don't want to go on living apart," he said. "Not after living together here for months. It'll feel like a step backwards."
Love that he was so willing to be so open about his feelings. Never would have happened before our reconciliation. Then realised what he was really saying. "You mean as soon as we get back?" I asked. "Not when we're married?" He looked a little hurt. Did sound like I was objecting, so quickly amended, "I mean, it's a lovely idea. I love it. I just… I didn't expect you'd want to live together before we were married."
"I'm not that steeped in English tradition, darling," he said, smiling, obviously more relaxed now. "If I were, we wouldn't be living in sin with you halfway 'round the world in sunny LA." Started to chuckle as he drew me into his arms.
Truth be told if not for 'living in sin' like we have been, would be far more terrified at the prospect of permanent cohabitation with Mark. Believe with all my heart that Magda was right, after all; because LA scenario was a temporary one, it served as a no-pressure trial period. If it had been a total cock-up, we could have returned to London and back to our respective places until we could figure out our future. Fortunately, LA had not been a cock-up at all. In fact, it had served to make all transitions smoother.
Tues, 14 Apr
8st 9 (continued magic), cigarettes 4 (does this mean am giving up?), alcohol units 5 (not quite as saintly as would like), days left in Pacific time zone 16.
10.25 am. Took deep breath first thing this morning and rang up Mum to give her news about the end of our stay in LA. Am only just off. Now worrying that phone bill will be astronomically high, but Mum would not be put off until she had told me all about Julie Enderby's passel of tiny brats.
"So you'll be back, and you can get properly married at last," Mum said.
"Yes, Mum," I said. First twinges of horror to come, planning wedding with motherly interference.
"So looking forward," she said. Dooooom.
Noon. Just about to have lunch, still feeling overwhelmed by thoughts of packing up things from our stay here. Looking forward to Thursday when Mark will be here to take charge of things. Surely okay for now to have little glass of wine with lunch to calm nerves, in lieu of smoking.
12.17 pm. Hm. Will just have a little more wine. Now feel as if have the willpower to maybe tackle some packing tasks.
1.30 pm. Ooh. One side of bureau now empty! Easier than thought.
3.13 pm. Bit more wine. Make things much easy-peasier.
9.30 pm. Oops. Got a little tipsier than expected. When Mark returned home, found me sat on floor of bedroom with contents of bureau around me. He laughed, sat next to me, then wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. "You're ridiculous," he murmured, then kissed me.
He suggested then we perhaps tidy the clothes into some semblance of order (i.e. put them back into the bureau) then make dinner, which we have just finished eating: stir fry with turkey breast, broccoli crowns, onion, snap peas and rice. Have almost regained sobriety levels again. Feel a bit sheepish for making spectacle of self.
Gah!
11.45 pm. Was Mark behind me began to chuckle.
"Don't read," I said, holding diary to self.
"I'm not, I promise," he said to me, then nuzzled into neck. "The 'making spectacle of self' caught my eye, that's all. If you are a spectacle… you're the best sort."
Then kissed me properly, swept me up and off to bed (figuratively and a tiny bit literally)… but now cannot sleep as brain is fixated on notion that Mark would surely chuck self from life if ever he read diary. Or horrified to think he has read parts and not said anything, too terrified to mention to self as if am too unstable to handle hearing the truth.
No, no. Must not undermine self-confidence—or relationship!—in this way. Everything is good. Life finally on track.
11.47 pm. Surely, though, Mark has never read diary. He is far too respectful of privacy. Would be remarkable lack of trust on my part to even ask.
11.54 pm. "Bridget, go to sleep." Was Mark's drowsy voice, slightly irritated.
"Can't," I said.
After a pause, he said, "You do know I would never read your diary, right?"
"Of course," I murmured.
Feel better having heard him say it. How well he knows me. Time to snuggle up and go to sleep, properly.
Mon, 4 May
8st 13 (harsh reality), cigarettes 12 (bloody hell), alcohol units 5 (total necessity), holes in wall 0.
12.16 pm. London. Absolutely crammed schedule once Mark was available to help pack. Total taskmaster, but on other hand is exactly what was needed. Finished with days to spare, shipped a bunch of stuff back to Mark's house.
The law partners threw us a party the Friday before our Sunday flight. It was v. g. but bittersweet, having to go after getting to know them. The fun of going out for the afternoon with Juliza and her daughter, chatting with Eduardo and him asking advice before passing the phone over to Mark (to be honest, became convinced he was calling really to talk to me but didn't want Mark to think he was trying anything funny). But had always known this would be the case, so not unexpected.
Many promises made at party of coming London to visit, though will not hold them to it, as were all pretty hammered and London is, after all, v. great distance away from LA. Promised to keep in touch, which do intend to keep, despite being hammered.
All of Sunday lost to flying and time difference. Returned to flat, also slightly bittersweet, with slightly stagnant air. At least friends had been coming by to tend to continued accumulation of mail. Nothing urgent or friends would have let me know, surely. Quick review proved correct. Spending night alone in flat reaffirmed decision to cohabitate with Mark in near future. Was v. lonely, too quiet.
Had decided in advance not to wake to attend Monday morning meeting, so have not roused self from bedroom until now. Too hungry to remain in bed further.
12.23 pm. Gah! Hole in wall is magically gone!
12.33 pm. Rang up Mark to tell him news of wall.
"Mark!" I said. "Hole in wall has mended itself while we were gone!"
"Ah, has it, now?"
"Yes!" I said. "There is no more hole. It's a miracle!"
He began to chuckle. Suspected at self, not with self. "It's not a miracle," he said. "I coordinated with Sharon to get someone to fix it and patch it up for security reasons."
Then remembered the point of the hole in the first place. "What about the infill extension?"
"Hardly need it now, do you?" he reminded, and couldn't really argue with that.
12.47 pm. Hell. Have run out of cigarettes, and Mark has the rest of the packets sent to LA. Suppose now am back can stop at shop on way to office and get a packet, so is not end of world. V. dangerous threat to my attempts to give up.
11.04 pm. Exhausted after the afternoon at work, more of an appearance than anything else, as got nothing accomplished. Nice to see everyone again. Even Finch (who is back and on probationary period after rehab stay) offered grudging respect. Will work at home tomorrow, though, and probably Wednesday as well, at least.
Then for dinner Mark came by with Chinese takeaway. "Too tired to cook," he said, "and I missed you." So sweet. Spotted the packet of cigarettes on the table by the couch and asked if had kept to my six a day.
"Of course," I lied.
"How many cigarettes did you have so far today, then?" he asked, calmly yet authoritatively, in manner of top barrister.
"Five," I lied again.
Before I could get to them, he swept up the packet. "So there should be at least fifteen in here," he said, "as I know you had a few from your mass-purchase left over. Will I find fifteen or more cigarettes in this packet?"
Said nothing. Had been caught red-handed.
To my surprise he gave the packet over to me. "I could portion out more for tomorrow," he said gently, "but at the end of the day, you're a grown woman and I can't make you stop. Please do try, though. For me."
He couldn't stay much past dinner as he had loads of papers to review. Cannot help reflecting on how much guiltier will feel when smoking the seventh or more cig of day. Is true what they say about killing more flies with honey than vinegar.
Weds, 6 May
8st 13 (holding steady), cigarettes 15 (more guilt than not), alcohol units 2 (making up for the cigarettes), bad habits not resumed 0.
12.16 pm. Worked at home yesterday and today as expected. Mark came by yesterday evening, and of course it was nice to see him again, but it felt a bit strange to revert to pre-LA rituals and logistics after so much time together. Not sure how will ever pack up flat without Mark being task-master, overseeing entire operation. Maybe can get him to help. Secretly think he likes to be all authoritative, and am all too happy to let him feel that way when he is really doing self a big favour.
This weekend going to Grafton Underwood and environs for parental visit, as have not seen them since Sit Up Britain trip, but before that will have night out with friends on Friday. Will be v. g. to see Mum and Dad, though am sure Mum will drive me bananas within short order.
5.30 pm. Mark has dinner meeting so am on own for tonight. Bad habits reasserting themselves as have made mini pizzas for dinner with wine, and now that have been free to purchase own cigarettes and am not under Mark's rationing have been smoking more than should again.
Will make up for excessive cigarette consumption by only having this second glass of wine.
Sat, 9 May
9st 1 (This. Must. Stop.), cigarettes 8 (making effort—6 per daily allotment, 2 with Elaine), alcohol units 0 (too much last night), parental surprises multiple.
9.07 am. Startled awake just now by sound of mobile trilling away. Lifted head to find it to answer call, and felt as if mountain of broken glass shifted in head. Was Mark, reminding that he would be here by 10.00 for drive to Grafton Underwood. Why did self think a night out before parental trip was a good idea? Will never learn.
9.50 am. Glugging down coffee, devouring a pastry before Mark arrives. Shocking that have managed to pull self together for his arrival with time to spare. Must be that am well-trained after months of living together.
Last night was v. g. time. Went to 192 to meet up with Tom, Jude (who'd brought Vile Richard), and Shaz (with Simon). Didn't have to buy any drinks for self all night. There were many… and they were excellent, excellent drinks. Was relief to not have to pop outside every time wanted a smoke, unlike LA. Danced so much that feet still hurt, so am almost looking forward to two hour car ride.
Oo! Telephone.
9.59 am. Was Mark, who just arrived. Really, did not have to sound so surprised that am ready to go.
10.03 am. Ooh! Mark has brought self the remaining Silk Cut from LA. Honestly, did not have to tease me that was hugging packets as if a new puppy.
11.01 pm. In bedroom of parents' house, alone in single bed. Wish v. much that Mark could have stayed, but sharing single bed impractical, and Mum would have had unholy conniption at the very thought. (Is a bit weird, actually, to think of having a shag with Mark in this bed. Or with anyone, actually. Though do not want anyone else.)
Today with parents was actually v. g. Mark was only going to drop self off but Dad met us in the drive and invited Mark to stay for lunch. (Love that there is never a worry about whether parents actually like Mark.) Mum saw ring for the first time in person and she went all pink and fluttery in the manner of Una Alconbury.
"Oh my godfathers, Bridget," she said in a tremulous voice. "It's beautiful. Mark, it's just beautiful. You chose it yourself?"
"I had a little help," he admitted. "The saleswoman at the jewellers, who alerted me to the ring. It was off to the side, not the usual choice for engagement in the US."
Mum was unexpectedly subdued. "Such good taste," she said. "Colin, doesn't Mark have marvellous taste?"
"Of course he does," said my dad. "He picked Bridget, after all."
Had thought that after lunch that Mark would go over to his parents to spend the night as originally planned, but Mum advised otherwise. "You're going too," she said. Had moment of glee at thinking could stay with Mark at their house, but then she added, "You're having dinner tonight with the Darcys, and Mark will bring you back afterwards."
Should have guessed that Mum and Elaine Darcy had arranged things for us, but at least Mark and self could sit (read: cuddle) on the sofa for a while as Dad watched the football. Weirdly, Mum sat to my other side, and was unusually physically affectionate, made conversation in the lulls, at the appropriate times. Reminded me of the day at Colour Me Beautiful when she had consoled me when had bared soul about Mark. Was v. nice, but was so unlike her.
Dinner at the Darcys was equally lovely. Malcolm can be a bit reticent—not a surprise, as steeped in tradition as the Darcys are—but he is clearly approving of me. Elaine, well… she and I went out in the garden to smoke a few Sobranies together and when we came back inside, Mark just sort of smiled and rolled his eyes playfully. Think he is equally glad his parents like me.
Had dessert then a little snog in private (his childhood room is literally a snapshot of his youth; debate trophies, etc. etc.) before he brought me back here to my parents'. Lengthy kiss at the door made me wish he weren't leaving.
Tomorrow's plan is to head back to London just after lunch, in time to prepare for dinner at Magda's. Fear it is a Smug Married do, but surely is no big deal now that am engaged.