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 5
Sun, 10 May
9st 2 (bloody overindulgence), cigarettes 6 (better, better), alcohol units 5 (necessity at dinner), deflected jellyfish stings dozens.
11.31 am. Mark was supposed to turn up at noon for lunch, but came a bit early. He didn't really explain why, but the length of his hug suggested his motive. Will have traditional Sunday lunch of salmon and new potatoes, then be on the road back home.
10.57 pm. Mark's house. Back from Magda's dinner party. As suspected was in fact a Smug Married do. Was nice to not be the spare girl. Surprise of life, though, when Giles turned up with Rebecca in tow. Magda pulled me aside as soon as was prudent, mortified about the situation. "Jeremy asked Giles," she said, "but I had no idea they were still together, that he would be bringing her."
Resolved to be above the fray, and said calmly, "It's all right. I can be civil."
"The question is," she said with a smile, "can she?"
Nicest surprise of the evening was Mark. He saw through her saccharine sweetness and deflected her attempts at jellyfishing. Though shouldn't be surprised, as he has always been good about defending self, like at Jude's wedding (we'd had a good laugh for weeks afterwards about the Kurdish-fertility-symbol hole in dress—in fact, shortly after wedding, he bought a small goddess figure for self, declaring that she was the fertility goddess, accompanied by a v. naughty pair of lacy pants designed to be v. convenient to fertility).
All present (save Rebecca) had wonderful things to say on engagement and on ring. Suppose that silence from Rebecca is as best as could expect under the circumstances. Other highlights: Cosmo and Woney—not pregnant for once!—were kind in their way. Suppose would have been surprised if he hadn't made snarky "About time"-style comment and wondering if self was up the spout. Insensitive bastard, though. Giles was a darling though. He paid compliments about happy we look, how happy we would undoubtedly be and how lucky Mark was. (Swear could see steam coming out of Rebecca's ears.) Jeremy also seemed so genuinely pleased for us.
We left as soon as was decent to come back to London and straight back to Holland Park. Had brought along a packed overnight bag to stay with Mark tonight, as it has been hell to be so close to him all weekend and have nothing but a cuddle and a snog. Do not even care that may be late for Monday morning meeting. Was totally worth it.
Tues, 12 May
9st (yesss), cigarettes 5 (v. g.), alcohol units 1 (am ready for canonisation any moment), plans embarked upon 2.
8.26 am. Love working at home, love keeping reasonable hours / not waking at first light, but it does get a bit lonely at times. Maybe will take walk around neighbourhood for some exercise or fresh air.
9.15 am. Morning constitutional has turned into coffee and pastry run. So desperate for chocolate though. Last night, Mark brought up the topic of living together. Specifically, moving into flat while house is done up, which had forgotten we had discussed. But no plans for house being done up yet. "I need you," he said. Had hoped that would go without saying, but then he went on, and realised he meant more than just as life partner, etc. "I don't know how to make it more like your flat, Bridget. All warm and comfy and homey."
Those soulful brown eyes. Of course would do anything possible to make his house a true home. Still remember what he said about preferring to stay at my flat. "I'd love to do whatever you want for the house," I said. "Bear in mind, though, that the ambience of my flat was crafted over many years."
He chuckled. "Duly noted," he said. "We'll just need to find an interior designer. Perhaps a… quirky one."
"We can look at books and magazines, too," I offered. "Maybe an interior designer can come to the flat and look around and then… work some magic." Even as the words came out of mouth, wished self would be struck dumb. Did I really want a snooty stranger coming in to flat to pass judgement?
"That's a great idea," he said with a grin.
So now am charged with finding a designer. Do not know any designers.
10.15 am. Ooh. Can ask Jude later if she knows anyone.
1.45 pm. Back from lunch with the girls. Jude unfortunately did not have anyone to recommend, but there was only a moment of disappointment when Shaz spoke up. "Ooh, I bet Simon knows someone," she said. Had forgotten Simon is architect. She figured he must work with interior designers all the time, so we rang him right there.
"Sure, I know a few," he said casually. "What have you got in mind?"
Briefly explained Operation Holland Park, that was charged to redecorate the place in advance of moving in. "Not a surface redecoration, either," I said. "He plans on moving into my flat with me while the work's done."
"Wow, that's serious," he said with a chuckle. "I'll see what I can come up with."
Hurrah! Feel v. excited about this. Simon knows self pretty well and think he will not steer me wrong.
After Simon put down the call, though, Shaz was a bit of a wet blanket. "So when do you start planning the wedding, Bridge?"
Ugh. Have not given it a thought since returning. Had not thought about it in whilst in LA since could not take action. "I don't know," I sighed. "It all seems so overwhelming."
"You have to break it down to smaller tasks," Jude said authoritatively. "I can guide you through it."
Want help, but imagine Jude to be like scary headmistress, just as when she was planning her own wedding.
3.30 pm. Though Jude is right. Need to start planning soon. Though suppose we should, er, name the day. Spring would be nice, but do not want to wait that long. Is this autumn too soon? Winter? Jude's in December was not bad, though do recall it was a bit cold in the church.
Actually, do not want over-the-top ceremony/reception like Jude's at Claridges. Total insanity, not to mention could afford small island nation for the price of that circus. Suspect that Mark would feel the same. Will ask him over dinner tonight.
11.05 pm. Mark just off. As predicted, when asked, he said he would prefer something small and intimate. Relief must have been instant and obvious, because he looked at me and laughed lightly.
"It's funny," he said with a grin. "I would have pegged you for a fancy do."
Was not sure if should be offended or not. "The wedding's not the end game," I said, thinking of all of the problems Jude and Richard had had after such an expensive wedding. "The marriage part is."
He reached across the table and took my hand, gave it a little squeeze. Seems Mark had a further confession, because he added sheepishly, "I'd actually prefer to keep it out of London."
"Oh?"
"Mm-hm," he said. "Maybe the church in Huntingdon is free."
Saw his point. "Could ask Mum about the church in Grafton Underwood too."
"Very good," he said. "Though I suppose this means we need to pick a date."
Was actually v. casual and calm as we pulled out our diaries to see what was going on the rest of the year. Mark agreed sooner rather than later was best, and we settled on 26 September this year. A Saturday.
"Provided the church is free," Mark added.
"It'll be free," I said confidently. "If someone was going to be married there this autumn, my mum would have already told me all about it."
Oh my God, it's really real.
2.03 am. Cannot sleep. Brain thinking a million things about wedding planning. Hope this is not how next few months will be. And redecorating and moving on top of this. Oh God.
Sun, 14 June
8st 10 (but at too great a price?), cigarettes 7 (sod the sodding quota), alcohol units 5 (sod the sodding guidelines), wedding thoughts countless.
9.20 pm. Between wedding plans and redecorating plans, the past month has been beyond busy. Simon really came through and found a decorator called Damian who came by my flat, took one look around, asked Mark some questions about what he liked best about it, then scurried away and worked magic. We did a few shopping trips together, some with just Damian, and some with all three of us. Mark seemed way more interested in the process than ever expected.
Now they are doing up house, so Mark has been living here in flat for a week now. He pops round the house to see how things are going and seems v. pleased with the progress so far. We in turn have been packing up flat (thank God for Mark, once again).
On the wedding front, Mum has taken care of arranging church. Was available, just as expected. Making progress on dress decision. Going to look at flowers (though do not want a garden's worth, just small bouquet). Still need to finalise cake and catering. If not for Mark's efficiency would be way further behind for a wedding that is taking place in three months.
Wedding party decisions were v. difficult as did not want there to be hurt feelings. Seemed only right that friend have known the longest, Magda, should be maid—or rather, matron—of honour. Mark's brother Peter, whom have actually never met, has agreed to be best man. Wanted urban family to be involved, too, so Shaz and Jude will be bridesmaids, and Tom and Jeremy as groomsmen. Jamie will do reading and so will Peter's wife. (Really should learn name.) Had not realised until called to talk that Jamie and Becca split in January. Am such a terrible sister.
9.39 pm. Hm, though. Would Jude be considered a bridesmatron, as is married?
9.51 pm. Though the word 'bridesmatron' looks like would be a type of robot. Now imagining giant metal android stomping through London in satin, crinolines and tulle.
10.15 pm. Mark has just reminded self that have hideously early morning meeting tomorrow and should come to bed.
"Mark," I asked, patting face dry with towel, "why haven't I met your brother before?"
"What are you talking about?" he returned, stowing his toothbrush for the night. "You've met him."
I turned to face him, astonished. "When?"
He chuckled. "My mother didn't just bring me to paddling pool parties, you know."
"Is he older than you?"
Mark chuckled again. "I was born only a year after my parents were married. So, no. He's older than you, though. He's sort of right in the middle between us."
"Ah," I said. Could not remember him, but shouldn't be a surprise as did not remember Mark at that age, either. "Well, it will be nice to meet him again."
Thurs, 18 June
8st 11 (cannot account for fluctuations), cigarettes 5 (better), alcohol units 3 (reasonable for a weekday), number of white objects selected by Mark Darcy 7.
10.07 am. Over the course of wedding planning, have noticed that friends have been ten times more inquisitive (read: hounding) over the progress of said planning than own mother has been. Especially strange in this is odd silence from the one person expected to have loudest opinion on wedding plans: Tom. Not sure what to make of this, as seems like natural order of things has been thrown asunder. Do not understand.
11.45 am. Just got call from Mark to tell me that by the weekend we can begin bringing things over. "They're done with the kitchen level, and nearly done with the main floor," he said happily.
So excited to see finished product. Have seen small progresses (which are v. g.) but have not been there in a while, per Mark's wishes. Not a whole lot changing on kitchen level, but am told is important change: removal of brushed steel cupboard doors. Was funny, though, shopping for things for house with Mark. Seemed to be curiously attracted to all things white, so had to tease him mercilessly about wanting to get married only because bride is dressed in white. V. telling that his reply was to say nothing at all except to smirk and mention his pleasure at confirmation that self will be wearing white. Beginning to wonder if Mark is colour-blind. (Not that there is anything wrong with that.)
Will spend some time putting things into the open boxes so can tape them up, but must finish today's work first.
12.30 pm. Taking short break from packing. Have had thought. Shall find one of those colour-blind image tests and ask him to pick out the number hidden there.
12:45 pm. Oh, even better. Will find red nightie and ask him what colour he thinks I'm wearing.
(Is not fatal flaw, obviously, but hope Mark is not colour-blind, as that makes his driving a bit dodgier.)
6.30 pm. Greeted Mark as he entered flat dressed only in nightie. (Me, not Mark.) He looked a bit startled. "Well, am certainly glad I didn't bring Nigel by for those papers," he said drolly, as his eyes darted down. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Just wanted to show off my new green nightie," I said, trying to catch him in a trap.
He only stared longer. "Curious," he said, "as it looks just like your old nightie, and it's, um, red, to boot. You're not colour-blind, are you?"
Well, that settled that suspicion. Though trap did have delightful side benefit; we fixed supper together, and felt more than once fingers brush against thigh and bottom as we passed each other in kitchen. V. nice.
Weds, 1 July
9st 2 (seamstress will murder self soon), cigarettes 4 (v. g.), alcohol units 6 (give or take 1 or 2), friendships teetering on edge of implosion 1.
9.05 am. Have appointment today with bridal boutique, for fitting for wedding dress, then girls for theirs. A bit apprehensive, actually, as Mum is coming down to go with me.
Pleased to have made final dress decision, though am sure was several pounds lighter when first tried on. Hoping that the weight that has appeared is on calves or head or other convenient place that will not affect dress size. Is beautiful dress. Simple, and potential for reuse after wedding. Looks like something Audrey Hepburn might have worn.
Also have chosen veil to wear with tiara, which was bestowed upon self by Elaine Darcy, since, as she told me, she already thinks of self as a daughter of her heart, since she had no daughter of own. V. touched. Is one she wore to own wedding. Is not huge and grand in manner of Diana on wedding day, but is light and delicately beautiful in manner of fairy princess. Never thought would have tiara for wedding like future princess—though, then again, maybe should not think of that connection, as that had not ended v. well, after all.
Will be nice, lovely day out with own mother, bonding experience. Looking v. forward.
5.30 pm. Totally shattered. Mum was back to her old self; although she tried to keep a rein on tongue, there were some comments she could not hold back. Sample view:
"Are you sure about that?" she said, pointing to the bust line as I stood there on footstool thing, with seamstress on knees hemming around the bottom. "A bit low. Too much décolletage on one's wedding day, I don't know…"
"Mum," I said. "It's not that low, honestly." And it's not. Is hardly a bikini top.
A little while later: "Aren't you going to be warm with those sleeves?"
"Wedding is at the end of September, Mum," I reminded. Sleeves are three-quarter, will have gloves for ceremony. Church is, I recall, an ice chest at that time of year.
"I know, I know," she said. She paced around to look at me from multiple points of view. "You really do look like an angel," she said softly after a few minutes. "Oh," Mum then said. "Almost forgot. Do you mind?" This last question was meant for the seamstress, Dot, ancient, grey-haired granny, but was nimble-fingered and did beautiful work.
"Of course not," said Dot, getting to her feet. "I need to take a little break, too."
My mum, in the meanwhile, was digging into her handbag for something. "We have to complete the look, you know." She looked up and I realised then that she was holding a long clamshell box. Immediately recognised the box, as had seen the box in Mum's bureau for as long as I could remember. She opened it and pulled out the string of pearls within. Couldn't help gasping.
Bent forward as she reached up to clasp the pearls around my neck. As I drew away could see the tears in her eyes.
"There you are! Perfect!" she said brightly, sniffing, attempting to hide the emotion. Turned to look in the mirror. It was perfect. The pearls—a strand that had seemed exceedingly long when I was a child—was short enough that it did not even skim the top of the 'low' collar.
"Now, I have the earrings too, but we'll not try putting those on right now."
"No need," I said, tears in my own eyes. "I love it."
Dot was just finishing up the lower hem—sensible floor length for September, and no mad train on which self or others can step—when Magda, Jude and Shaz turned up for their own fittings. "Hi!" said Magda. Shaz and Jude had brief 'deer in headlights' look before plastering smiles on faces.
Magda loves my mum, and I know Shaz and Jude do too, but I don't think that they knew (or remembered) she would be here with me. "Oh, Bridge, simply stunning," said Jude as her gaze lit on me, despite pins in hem, etc. "So classy, and classic."
Unexpectedly felt tears well in eyes. Whirlwind of emotion, obviously, and not sadness. Suddenly things were v. real. "Thanks," I said, wiping the dampness away from under my eyes. "I love it, too."
"Come now, before you get your makeup on it," Dot tut-tutted, "let's get that dress off and we'll start on your girls."
Got down from the little footstool thing with a steadying hand from Jude (Dot did not seem like she could support self's weight if had a fall). Dot then herded me back to the change room and helped me out of it. She hung it up as I dressed again.
The girls' dresses are equally simple and streamlined. No mountains of lace and frill, but chosen using Audrey Hepburn principle, i.e. would she have worn this? (Am sure the seventies were not the pinnacle of her fashion choices (as was the case for most) so disregarding those years.) They are in a dark royal blue, which is favourite colour. Mum thinks blue is too wintry, but did not want more autumnal burnt sienna or yellow ochre.
Magda went first because of needing to get back to her kids. Could not help but think how great she looks considering she's had three. Then Jude went next; was a bit depressing watching Jude getting her dress altered, with her flat stomach and flawless tone. Shaz is more normal, but with less cellulite than self. Felt like self was a fat splodge. Hope Mark's having better luck with his suit stuff. Assume he is handling this, as he is good at handling most things. Gave him swatch of blue from dresses for coordination purposes. (Oh God. Hope he does not think this means he should get blue suits.)
Speaking of Mark, should be here soon. Complications in remodel mean he is here at least through July. Hurrah! We are not driving each other mad yet. V. g. sign.
7.35 pm. Interesting night.
Mark came shortly after end of previous entry, looking rather pensive, bringing takeaway supper. Asked him what was the matter. Apparently Jeremy could not make the appointment—possibly because of Magda's?—so he told Mark he'd be happy with whatever was decided. (Same as what Peter said, though Peter is in Hong Kong.) So it was just Mark and Tom. Mark told me all about it as we ate. They chose something nice—black suit with tails, charcoal grey waistcoat, and top hats!—and will do ties in the same shade of blue as the girls' dresses. (Should have guessed Tom would not disappoint.)
He concluded with, "Tom seemed a bit… off."
Thought about it. Thought it may be due to fact that Mark and Tom have not gone out together before without self. Perhaps a bit of awkwardness. Shared this speculation with him.
He drew his brows together. "I don't know if it's that. He seemed really down. And he said something odd about… well, I don't think he knew I could hear."
Had noted his sombre demeanour but no idea it had had persisted. Was beyond intriguing. "What? What?!"
Mark looked like he was about to break a confidence. "How if he was going to lose his best friend that at least it wasn't to a fuckwit."
My mind spun off in a whirl. Was this what his depressive state was all about? He thought he was going to lose me? Silly, silly Tom.
"Bridget?" Mark prompted.
"I have to call Tom," I said, then went to where my mobile sat, swept it up then rang up Tom. When he answered, sounding a bit like Eeyore, I commanded him to meet me for a drink after dinner. Not asked. Commanded.
"But I—"
"No excuses, Dukes Bar, 8pm," I said. Then, softer, added, "We have something very important to discuss."
Mark was kind enough to offer to drive me to Dukes. Told me to call when done. Love him.
11.52 pm. Blurry goodime love the tommy Tom.
Thurs, 2 July
9st 2½ (but worth it in end), cigarettes 5 (vile hangover), alcohol units 0 (never drinking again as long as live), feelings of bliss despite vile hangover countless, unsettling feelings about friend's fuckwit husband also countless.
11.26 am. Thank goodness can set own hours and did not have early morning meeting. Mark was lovely coming to get me far later than he likes to stay up.
Because Mark drove self, got there with time to spare. Ordered first cocktail of the night before Tom showed his face. Got a bit worried, actually, that he might ditch me, but after such silly worrying he simply turned up late.
He tried to be cheerful and smiley but had a look about him as one might see in a boyfriend suspecting he might be about to be dumped. He ordered his martini then, after it had arrived and he'd taken a long draw off of it, he asked with buoyed brightness, "So, Bridge, what's this about?"
"You," I said, "are being a ninny."
"What?" he said, shocked at my being so direct.
"Mark overheard you worrying about losing me as a friend because I'm getting married."
"Oh God," he said, covering his face with his hand. "I'm sorry, Bridge. I should know better, but…" He sighed. "I know what I'm like when I'm in that shag heaven with a new boyfriend. I never call anyone, never see anyone."
"But I don't do that," I said gently, though wondered if it was totally true since back from LA. He went on as if I hadn't spoken.
"But a husband is a commitment well beyond 'boyfriend'. It's for life," he said, seemingly relieved to be unburdening himself at last. "And what about children? They'll eat up your spare time…"
Mark and I had not even really discussed children yet. Felt somewhat overwhelmed at that moment, which meant a lightening of the tone was necessary. "Yes, well, I have every intention of being a very inattentive mum," I joked, "who plans on getting drunk every night."
Tom's sidelong glance was priceless. "You're just saying that to make me feel better," he murmured.
"I'm not!" I protested, then smiled, then began to laugh. Tom did, too. "Really, Tom, I'll always be here. I've been here the whole time I've been going out with Mark. Hell, even while I was in California, I was there." I reached over and patted his hand. "I'm really not going anywhere."
"Oh, Bridge," he said, then leaned over to hug me so quickly he almost tipped off his bar stool. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
With that out of the way we each had another drink, and then another and another. Before we knew it we were closing the place out, ringing for Mark (thank God he's on speed dial), and he scooped us both up (Tom to Mark: "You're too good for me… you're too bloooody good!") to take Tom home and then take us back to the flat. Was so squiffy. Am sure I tried his patience but he was so good and kind. Owe him a nice little present or a favour or something.
11.50 am. Having coffee and lunch now. Imagining what Mark will look like in hat, tails and waistcoat. Phwoar. V. Mr Darcy.
6.45 pm. Hm. When Mark came in he looked v. distressed. Met him practically at door—one cocktail short of 1950s housewife—to give him hug, then asked, "What is it?"
He looked really torn, though knew he wasn't going to get away with not saying anything. "I went to lunch today with Giles. I saw… I saw Richard."
"Is that all?" I asked. Really not like him to get so worked up over Vile Richard. "I know he's a bit insufferable and all but…" Trailed off when saw the stern look on his face.
"I mean," said Mark, "he wasn't alone."
Felt heart in throat. "Oh no," I said. The fact that Mark did not immediately say "But it was another man" or "But it was his gran" told me everything. "Oh God." Felt urgent need to sit, and Mark must have too. We sat together on the sofa. He took my hand in his.
"I know," he said. "It seemed… more than platonic. The moment he saw me he snapped into best behaviour, at least until he thought I was out of sight."
Torn about what to do. Had always suspected that Richard was not going to easily change his ways, but should Jude hear about this? She trusts Mark would not lie. But we're all so innately biased against Richard—and who knows what Mark actually saw? He is pretty prudish when it comes to public displays of affection. Or at least used to be.
"I knew you'd want to know," he continued. "I wasn't sure…" He trailed off. Great rush of relief that he wasn't certain either.
"Oh God!" I said again. "What should we do?"
He looked at me with an impossible-to-interpret expression. "I suppose if it were as easy as telling her, I would have just done that without hesitation," he said at last. "What if I misread the situation? I don't want to throw unnecessary suspicion on him."
Agreed and nodded, though could not help thinking of witch in the Whistles suit with Jeremy, how I had said nothing and it had been an affair—though that had ultimately worked itself out without outside interference. Then, as had never told him about it before, explained that whole situation.
Could see Mark begin nodding too. "You did the right thing with Jeremy," he said. "The natural course worked itself out there, and Jeremy's a better husband for it. I think at this juncture, non-interference is the way forward." Sounded so lawyerly.
Then he smiled, tugged the hand he held to pull me to sit on his lap. Surprised self, though was not unwelcome. Held me close, hands broad and reassuring on back… Mmm.
"Another Dating—or should it be Relationship?—War Command scenario handled admirably," he murmured, "but it was sort of nice, being more than just observer."
Tsked him with a tongue-cluck. "This isn't over," I said. "We have to plan for Jude should things take a turn for the worse. Have to also bring Tom and Shaz up to speed. Support system's got to be in place."
Heard him chuckle v. close to ear, then kiss that little bit of ear just above the lobe. Mm. "You're lovely," he said. "I've told you that recently, haven't I?"
"Never," I said with mock offense. In truth, says so quite often, but will never tire of hearing it again.
After a few minutes of lovely cuddling, Mark suggested that since we need to have dinner anyway, we should go out. "Why not ask Tom and Sharon, too?" he said. "Do one of those… what do you call them? Emergency summits?"
"Oh, yes, good idea," I said, though was beginning to feel a bit discombobulated. Although like this new aspect v. much, is as if Mark is not Mark but pod-person.
10.15 pm. Home, pleasantly buzzed.
Rang them up to insist upon emergency summit at Café Rouge. Advised was about potential crisis re: Jude, so she was not to know.
When they arrived (we were, of course, first), neither could hide surprise at Mark's presence. "This was his idea," I said. "Let him explain."
So Mark did, laying out the case like a lawyer in trial. Was actually kind of funny how he took things over. V. authoritative (which love).
Sharon and Tom were incensed, but sadly, not surprised.
"That bastard," Shaz seethed, sipping her cocktail. "Can't I just bollock him myself?"
"I wish it were that easy," I said with a sigh. Think I was more certain than Mark was that Vile Richard had been a cheating fuckwit.
"And you don't want to tell Jude?" asked Tom. "For the love of God, why not?"
"Because I don't want to cause strife if what I thought I saw wasn't what I actually saw," said Mark. "But we can be prepared if things fall apart."
Tom seemed v. thoughtful, then nodded.
So we had our dinner and cocktail, and planned. If they split up, the flat is still hers, so is not physical support she needs. We agreed to emotional support shifts. Pizza, chocolate or wine on demand. Shoulder to cry on.
"You forgot one thing," Mark said.
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Never, ever, ever say 'I told you so.'"
Solemnly we looked to one another, and nodded agreement. Thought immediately of first thought at the first sign of trouble with Vile Richard so many months ago, and was ashamed. Poor Mark and his cruel, cuckolding ex-wife—I'm sure he'd heard "I told you so" from more than one quarter. (His mum, at the very least.) It's always difficult when a relationship ends, worse so for a marriage (or so imagine), but when all of your friends had reservations—and you know they had reservations—it must be even worse when they're proved right.
Reached over to place my hand over his, offering a smile. "Excellent advice." He looked up and smiled back.
Tues, 12 Aug
8st 13 (oddly enough, stress eating counteracted by stress, results in loss—but at v. high cost), cigarettes 7 (necessary), alcohol units lost count (oh God necessary), number by which fuckwits in world have increased 1 (though was never not fuckwit, come to think).
11.26 am. V. sad. Is last week that Mark will be at flat. House makeover is nearly complete. Mark is v. v. happy at the result but doesn't want me to see it yet. "I want it to be a surprise," he said. "After the wedding, after the honeymoon… I want you to move in for good after you're my wife."
Had to chuckle at that. Really is a traditionalist in his little Tory heart, even if he has been living with me, unmarried, for most of this year.
Every box of non-essential stuff is already there (books, boxes stored in closet, roller skates, summer clothing), and movers (!) will bring the rest of it over while am on honeymoon. Coordinating with friends who have keys. Have not contacted estate agent yet. Know this should be taken care of soon but do not have heart to start process to leave flat. Is silly, because of course am v. happy to be moving to Mark's after the wedding, but cannot help feeling this way all the same.
12.45 pm. Whilst having something to eat, remembered v. odd occurrence from last night: woke at the sound of Mark murmuring in his sleep. Do not recall him talking in sleep before. V. odd.
Better get to computer and get to working.
1.05 pm. Oh no. Had just sat down to computer when mobile went off. Was Jude, in the sheepiest sheep voice have ever heard.
"It's over!" she bleated. "He's left me!"
"Jude, no!" I said, shocked yet not shocked. Perhaps not more shocked that she had not been the one to do the leaving. "Are you sure?"
"I popped home for lunch, and his stuff is bloody well gone," she said, "not to mention the bloody note he left on the dining table."
My heart sunk. "What did he say?"
She sighed. "That he wasn't happy, that he had made a big mistake, that he was going to live with… someone called Kiki."
Instantly wondered if this was the woman Mark had seen with Vile Richard. "Oh, God," I said. "Kiki. Jude, I'm so sorry."
She sobbed a little more, then said, "I feel like such a fool."
"I'm coming over," I announced.
"Oh, God," she wailed. "What will everyone think? Everyone told me—"
"Don't worry about that, Jude," I said soothingly. "No one wished you anything but the best. Give me a few to get ready. I'll come over."
So now am dressed and made up to go help Jude in time of need. Only hope he hasn't stolen anything. Bastard.
3.00pm. At Jude's. During the drive here, rang up Shaz and Tom to give them the dismal news. "It's happened. Richard's left her," I said. "I'm on my way now."
Rang Mark too, who said immediately after I gave him the news, "You're not driving while you're on the phone, are you?"
"No," I lied. "I don't know when I'll be home tonight. Or if I'll be home."
"I understand," he said gently. "She needs you right now." After a pause, he added, "I'm sorry for Jude."
"I know you are, Mark," I said.
"If he had doubts, he shouldn't have gone through with it," he said philosophically. Flash of panic—was this signalling his own doubt?—before he added, "So glad I have none."
"Me neither," I gushed. "Oh, I'm here, better get up there."
"Not driving, indeed," he said, laughing. "Oh. If she needs any help, legally, let me know. I'll do what I can."
"Thank you, Mark."
Went upstairs and knocked at door. Jude was a mess. Still dressed as if for work, with hair in face and mascara down cheeks. "I suppose he didn't think I'd find it until the evening," she said, as gave her a big, supportive hug. "Bastard."
"I know he is, I know," I said. Felt self turning into protective mama bear mode. Got v. angry on Jude's behalf. How dare that fuckwit hurt my friend like this? "First things first. Before we pull out the wine, you should ring work and tell them you're not coming back this afternoon. Next we find a locksmith to change the bloody locks."
She burst out in tears again. "I know you're right," she said. "You were all right."
"Shush with that talk," I said, patting her hair. "He'd fooled us all into thinking he'd changed. Perfectly understandable that you thought so, too." Tightened the squeeze before letting go. "And you're putting on trackie bottoms and an old sweatshirt," I said with a smile. "We can't get sloshed on wine and badmouth men with you in a suit."
"Not Mark," she said.
"Right," I said, nodding. "Of course not Mark."
"You're so lucky, Bridge," she said. "You may well have found the last of the good ones."
Could only smile. Starting to feel that way, myself.
As Jude rang up work, went into kitchen to scavenge for wine and comfort foods. Ended up ringing Shaz to tell her to bring mini-pizzas, ice cream, etc. as Jude's fridge and pantry is filled with healthy food. Now am looking up locksmiths in directory, because if Vile Richard's going to leave, he's sure as hell not going to come back whenever he wants.
11.56 pm. Blorrygood wine best icecream bestest friends tom secondbestest man in univers.
Weds, 13 Aug
9st (suppose is to be expected), cigarettes 4 (good), alcohol units 1 (saint), days until wedding 44 (not counting day of wedding).
9.37 am. Head is clanging like church bell, but cannot regret last night, as it seems to have helped Jude immensely. In fact, Jude seemed a million times better, so much so that she decided to go to work as soon as the locksmith is done (of course, he showed up nice and early, ugh). Except for Jude, we are all hunched over at kitchen table cradling coffee as if elixir of life. Will head for home as soon as have eaten restorative pastry.
Noon. Home.
After calling work and changing clothes, Jude had come down to ring up for the locksmith, then we immediately cracked into first bottle of wine, lamenting that Jude's stores were low. Before could even get the mobile to make the call, Shaz and Tom turned up, bringing all manner of foods and, as if psychic, even more wine.
Made the pizzas, drank more wine, ate chocolates and ice cream (if had not been pissed probably would have been sick). Sat on sofa and surrounded Jude, both literally and figuratively. Started the BBC Pride and Prejudice and catcalled at the screen every time Mr Darcy came on. Catcalls doubly loud in bathtub scene and after the dive in the lake. Stayed up far too late venting and ranting, and got her to laughing more than once.
Think need a little nap, though. Head is still pounding, Thankfully no work due this afternoon so can do so without guilt.
6.27 pm. Bugger.
6.35 pm. Woke at the feel of gentle fingertips on face. Of course was Mark, looking amused. Then he bent and gave me a nice little kiss. "Have a nice sleep?" he asked.
"Guess so," I said. At least headache has gone. "Didn't mean to sleep quite so long. Haven't given dinner a thought—and here I wanted to make something nice since it's your last week here…." Felt like total failure.
"It's okay," he said as if reading mind, then he chuckled. "I know exactly what'll make you feel better."
Realise only now he meant the pizza, which Mark is ringing for right now. Is okay. Time for more later.
11.23 pm. Lovely evening of pizza then snuggling then snogging then shag heaven. Cannot now sleep, though. Trying not to think of Jude's marriage's implosion as a bad omen to own wedding next month. Relationship with Mark is worlds apart from Jude's with Richard—so why is there such a heaviness in pit of stomach? Is ludicrous.
11.37 pm. Weird. As wrote the previous, Mark began mumbling in sleep again. Would swear he's talking about not wanting to go off to school. Ended with him saying, "No, Mummy, no." Heart-breaking. Dropped down to wrap him in my arms, at which he stirred and woke. "Bridget?" he asked.
"You were talking in your sleep," I said, then kissed him. "What were you dreaming about?"
"I… don't remember," he said, and seemed genuinely puzzled. "Did I wake you?"
"No," I admitted. "I couldn't sleep."
Of course, he asked why, and could not keep quiet. Told him my thoughts of Jude and Richard, and did it mean bad things for us?
"Oh, darling," he said. "I hate to say this, as much as it pains me to say this, and as much as I would never say this to anyone but you… Richard leaving Jude seemed inevitable. He is, as you are wont to say, a fuckwit through and through. It's nothing to do with us." He smiled, and I believed him totally. "Now come on, we could both use the sleep."
V. g. advice.
Thurs, 14 Aug
9st 1 (nononono!), cigarettes 5 (still below ration), alcohol units 3 (reasonable), number of unexpected phone calls 3.
12.30 pm. Saw Mark off this morning, did a little work, then went out to pick up a few groceries. Now am back, am struck how bare things look in here; all photos and knick-knacks down and packed, bookshelves empty of books and discs. Is going to be a v. strange few lonely weeks.
Ooh, telephone.
1.30 pm. Was brother Jamie. Surprised me so much did not at first recognise his voice. "Hey, Bridgey, how goes the wedding planning?" (Though should have guessed immediately as no one else calls me that.)
Told him it was going pleasingly well and surprisingly smoothly. "And how are you?" I asked.
"Well, very well," he said. Sounded really v. happy. "Had a question for you, actually. Is it too late to ask if I can bring a date?" Had fleeting horror thought of reunion with Becca, but then he added, "I've met someone new and you'll love her. I told her all about you and she can't wait to meet you."
"Oh, really?" I asked, exceedingly intrigued as well as flattered. "Of course you can bring her!"
Surely Mum and Elaine will not have unholy conniption at this addition, as is own son/future daughter-in-law's brother making request. Am looking forward to meeting Jamie's girlfriend, and to possibility of her actually not just acknowledging self's existence, but maybe even liking self too. Will call Mum now before slips mind. Maybe will luck out and reach Dad, instead.
1.36 pm. Phone call with Mum usually never short, but today is exception. Told her about Jamie asking to bring girlfriend to wedding. Knew instantly had stepped in it.
"Girlfriend?" she shrilled. "What's this about a girlfriend? Is it that same girl he was with before?" Don't think that Mum liked Becca much either, as Becca never ate her (non-vegan) cooking.
"No, someone new, I think," I said, realising did not even get name.
"Well," she said coolly, "if he's bringing her to your wedding it must be something. I'll get to the bottom of this, I can tell you."
And then, shockingly, she put the phone down. Hope Jamie is not angry with self.
1.45 pm. Just received SMS from Jamie: Forgot I hadn't told mum about Marty—whoops!
Then, a few seconds later: Oh yeah, her name is Martina. Didn't say, did I?
Most have heard from brother all year. Messaged back: You didn't. V happy for you, sound happy.
Then he said: Thanks. Happy for u, too.
Telephone again. Do not recognise number. Wonder who can be now?
2.37 pm. Oh my Christ alive, on phone was Mark's brother Peter.
"Thought I would give you a call, Mark told me you work from your flat," he said; v. posh sounding voice, swear could hear the family resemblance. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"No, of course not," I said, though felt a bit foolish for some reason. Should I be busier? "Are you still in Hong Kong? Oh, it must be very late there," I added.
"No, actually, not very," he said. "It's 10.20 pm. Eight hours ahead."
"Ah," I said, feeling silly, but only for a moment, then normal gabbling mode commenced (though sincerely meant): "I'm so glad that you'll be coming to the wedding! You and your wife both. I really can't wait! Do you need some help arranging things on this end?"
"No, not really," he said. "I was just calling to chat. I'm also looking forward to the wedding—to meeting you for the first time."
"Oh," I said, suddenly short for words. Had not expected Peter to be as chatty as Mark is not. Then I remembered what Mark had said. "Not the first time, though."
"Oh, it's not?" he asked, so I told him about the paddling pool.
"I was pretty young—I don't really remember it, myself. Just relying on what my mum tells me. And Mark."
He chuckled, and intonation was so like Mark it was eerie. Pictured ever-so-slightly younger version of Mark at the other end. "I do remember that, though I was pretty young, too," he said thoughtfully. "I hadn't realised you and the paddling pool prodigy were one in the same."
Couldn't help chuckling, either. "So, tell me about yourself and your wife," I said, feeling suddenly like my mother. "How is life in Hong Kong? Must be very exciting."
So got to hear all about Peter and his wife, who are both doctors but work in vastly different fields (he's a surgeon and she's a psychologist). Sophie (his wife) is American, apparently, from Seattle, and they met in Hong Kong. They live in a nice apartment close to the hospital at which they both work. "It's really quite beautiful," Peter said. "Not at all like that shot you always see of the high-rise buildings that look like something out of Blade Runner. Maybe you and Mark can come and visit some time."
Experiences have had in southeast Asia have not, to date, been stellar, but surely visiting brother- and sister-in-law would be vast improvement over stinking hut, jail cell or similar. "I really like the sound of that."
After an extended but not dull conversation, finally put the phone down with a smile. In many ways he's v. like Mark, but much more easy-going and friendly. Lots of pressure on a first-born child, am told, though this has never been evident in own (older) brother.
Right. Should finish up the work due for morning. Poss. start dinner.
6.10 pm. Mark now home, especially smiley and affectionate. Questioned him with expression alone, and he said, "Spoke to Peter."
"Yes, he called here," I said.
"Yes, I know," he said with a broad grin. "He called me again after disconnecting with you, just to tell me how lovely and down-to-earth you are." Stepped forward, set attaché down, then took me into his arms. "Very good sign."
"Sign? What of?" I asked, though returned the embrace.
"Total familial harmony," he said. "Not that I doubted for a moment, because my mother and father already adore you. He was the last unanswered question." After a beat, he added, "He really didn't like my ex-wife. Should have been a sign."
"He didn't?"
"He refused to be best man," Mark said. "In fact, he didn't even come to the wedding. I should have taken his lead."
"Poor Mark," I said sympathetically, tightening my hold.
"All water under the bridge, so to speak," he said. "Lesson learnt, and better off for it, I'd say."
10.05 pm. Is the day for out-of-the-blue-though-not-unwelcome contacts. Had v. cosy dinner, which was not v. complicated: spag bol—pasta-making talents vastly improved in recent months, surely nothing to do with cohabitation with Mark—and red wine. Were finishing up, cuddling on sofa, savouring last few nights before things revert to the tedious logistics of living apart again, when the telephone began to go off.
Have been amply trained to let telephone go to answerphone, but was startled from cuddle when smooth American voice boomed out: "Hello… I hope it's not too late there, just looking for Miss Jones or Mr Darcy—" Scrambled off of the sofa, as instantly recognised Antonio's voice. Er. Eduardo's. Mark did not look offended at hasty departure, so he must have recognised it, too.
Swept up the receiver. "Hello!" I said brightly. "How nice to hear from you! How's everything? All set to come here?" (We invited them to the wedding.) "How's Los Angeles?"
He chuckled. "More or less how you left it, my dear. How are you?"
"Very busy," I said, then related how wedding prep was in final stages, how Mark was having the house done up, how he was going to move back before the wedding. "This weekend, actually," I said.
"You don't sound happy about it," he said.
"It's only temporary," I said, which more or less confirmed his suspicions. "He wants to make sure everything's in order and ready for me to move in after the honeymoon."
"That's lovely," he said. "So is Mark there? There was a something I wanted to ask him."
Did not even occur that he might have actually wanted to speak to Mark when calling. "Oh, yes of course," I said, walking to bring the phone over to him. "It's Eduardo," I said.
"Yes, I gathered," he said with a smirk, reaching out to take it from me. "Hello, yes, Mark here." He listened for a bit, nodded, then said, "Yes, of course I've got a moment. Hold on." He covered the receiver with his hand. "Case talk, darling. Sorry. We won't be on long."
Knew how to take a hint, so just nodded and found something to do: serve up bowls of ice cream for each of us. Sat down, gave Mark his bowl with a spoon, then sat with mine, reading through the newest Marie Claire. Tuned out the conversation until Mark said, "We're looking forward to seeing you all. Yes, you have a good night too. Goodbye." He pressed the end-call button, then set the phone on the table.
"Everything all sorted out?" I asked, setting the Marie Claire to the side.
"Yep," Mark said, spooning up more of his ice cream. "Had a tricky question about a case related to the one with which I helped them," he explained. "By the way, Juliza's bringing Marisa and she is so excited to see London. And you, too."
Couldn't help chuckling. Sure was a v. exciting prospect to travel to a new country so far away from California, whereas a wedding's more or less a wedding wherever you go. (Though concede perhaps not in India or similar.)
Am now setting aside empty bowl to move closer to him again. Is penultimate night living at flat, after all.
Fri, 28 Aug
9st 2 (fuck), cigarettes 7 (first time over ration in days), alcohol units 2 (reasonable), unexpected dinner guests 2.
2.30 pm. Busy day working on reading through another a voice-over script for Grant, that did not realise time had passed until phone rang. Was Mark. He does come over most nights for dinner but can't usually stay over. Has v. been lonely without him here, and wasn't supposed to come over tonight because of work, so was planning on having a night in with a v. down Shaz, who has been off with Simon for months now, and is starting to feel the dry spell will never end. (Jude may come later, after late meeting with lawyers and Richard about—awful word approaching—divorce.)
"Hi," I said, always happy to hear from Mark during day. "How's it going?"
"Everything's fine," he said. "Slight change of plans for this evening. Are you free, after all?"
"I've got Shaz coming over for dinner and a girls' night in," I said. "Why? What's going on?"
"Ah," he said. "I was wondering if I might bring a new acquaintance by with me to dinner. He's a client of one of the partners in chambers, newly in from America… He's a really nice guy, very friendly, and is eager to make friends in town while he's here."
"That's fine," I said, suppressing the urge to match-make in my mind, and failing. "It'll be nice. I can make more pasta, no big deal. Bring some wine?"
"It's a date, darling," he said. "See you around half six."
"Oh, wait, Mark," I said, before he could put the phone down. "Favour for me?"
"What?"
"Can we pretend that maybe I didn't know you're bringing this fellow over?" I asked. "I don't want Shaz thinking I'm trying to set her up."
He was silent for a moment. "Bridget, do not think about playing matchmaker," he said darkly.
"I'm not!" I said, though not v. convincingly. "If I were, though, I don't want her to think I knew anything in advance, that it was planned, that this is what the evening's all about."
"But that's not what the evening's about."
"You see? We're on the same page."
He chuckled a little. "All right," he conceded. "I'll play dumb. But do you really think she's going to think I'm so inconsiderate as to bring home a stranger for dinner?"
"She probably won't give it a thought," I said. "She thinks all men are fuckwits now. Sadly, even you."
He chuckled. "I'll be sure to bring you a little something to beg forgiveness for the last minute change of plans, to quell any doubts."
We signed off. Should now pop to store and get more pasta and sauce. One jar surely not enough now.
10.07 pm. Excellent but v. puzzling night. Shaz came over about 5.00 pm, bringing deluxe Milk Tray and wine, which we opened right away. (Had to play into not-knowing-Mark's-bringing-someone story.) At about six, while putting on the water to boil for the pasta, the quantity of pasta portioned out raised red flags. "Why so much pasta?" Shaz asked. Was too buzzed on wine to think of a lie. Told her Mark might be by for dinner, but didn't mention the American guy he was bringing along.
"Oh," she said, visibly deflated.
"I'm sorry," I said.
Shaz shook her head. "Don't apologise," she said. "You're not likely to refuse dinner to your perfect-pants fiancé." She didn't say it in a sarcastic way at all, which was almost more heart-breaking than if she had. "Besides, he's a bit clueless at times but means well."
Tried not to bristle at the 'clueless' comment—though small part realised that he had had his clueless moments in the past.
"And," she added with a glug of wine, "I happen to really like Mark."
"I'm glad," I said. All previous slights instantly forgiven.
At about half six, as predicted, heard key in the lock. "Bridget," Mark called out. From behind him, saw who must be the American client of Mark's partner in chambers. "Sorry to spring this on you, darling, but… this is Ryan Thompson. He's from California, and a client of Gavin's."
"Mark," I said, a hint of irritation in my voice, as we had previously planned. Heard Shaz groan a little.
"For you," Mark said, handing a little gift bag to me, "to make up for my inconsideration." He dropped and pecked a kiss onto my cheek. "Ryan, this is Bridget, my fiancée, and Sharon, her friend. Well, and my friend, too." At this Sharon offered a little smile.
Thinking of our stay in California, I asked him, "So, Ryan, how close to Los Angeles do you live?"
Ryan chuckled. "Silicon Valley, actually," he said; he had a nice voice, v. pleasant. "California's a big state."
Visions of glittering metallic mountains filled head, though was sure that couldn't be possible. "Where's that?"
"Northern part of the state," he said. "Up near San Jose. San Francisco. It's called that because of all of the technology companies."
"Oh! I know where that is," I said proudly, beaming to Mark. He smiled back. Then the timer went off in kitchen so excused self to get boiling pot off of the hob. "I'll just get the sauce warmed and we can eat. Want to get the wine, Mark?"
"Looks like you're already started in on that," Mark quipped. "But I'll give you a hand all the same."
Mark helped me serve up plates of food, carried the cheese, etc., and when we returned to the table for good it was to a budding conversation between Shaz and Ryan. It was obvious he had just asked her what she did for a living, and she was explaining in a sort of strangely quiet manner that she was a journalist.
"Oh really?" he asked. "Anything I might have read?"
"I doubt it," she said. "Not exactly Time magazine or the like."
Behind his rather sizeable specs, he really was a decent-looking fellow, not the sort of man who would cause all conversation to stop and all women to throw themselves at him as he came in the room, but nice-looking all the same. He had short blond hair and greenish eyes and wasn't terribly tall—possibly Shaz's height, or even shorter—but he was looking at her like he thought she might be a challenge, that he liked a challenge. "Try me."
So she told him her paper's name, and for a split-second thought he would rise up and proclaim that yes, he had heard of her local paper and had heard of her and that they were meant to be. But no, he hadn't heard of it. Not surprising. Have lived in London for years and would not have known of it but for her.
"So what is it that you do, Ryan?" I asked, covering the embarrassment of the moment (think Shaz had hoped he might have known her work).
"The internet," he said. "There's a boom on right now, and we think it's only going to get bigger in the future."
"Really?" asked Shaz. "But there's nothing…" she moved her hands around, trying to find the right word. "…tangible about the internet."
"Sure there is. Hardware, software, content for sites… the internet's going to be become more and more integral to modern life," said Ryan. He went on, though honestly, do not know half of what he was talking about, but Shaz did. "Obviously, it's not going to boom forever," Ryan concluded. "I'm not going to be stupid about it. But I don't think the internet's going to go away."
Could tell that Shaz was intrigued. In fact, as he spoke, there was almost a certain… respect in Shaz's eyes. "So what brings you to England," Shaz asked, "talking with the likes of Gav the barrister?"
"Just making sure my 't's are crossed and the 'i's are dotted for possible expansion to the UK," he said. "The beauty of the internet is that it's not limited to our manmade geographical boundaries, but those boundaries do still come with laws to consider. And I could have done it with proxies over such long distance, but I'm a hands-on sort of guy."
Don't know if Mark or Ryan saw it happen but at that statement, Shaz's brow lifted ever so slightly.
After we finished our dinner, Ryan offered to clear the table, and to my surprise, Shaz offered to help him. Mark leaned towards me. "They seem to be hitting it off after all, aren't they?"
Promised self would not say 'told you so' any more, so merely smiled. Watched them in the kitchen as they washed then rinsed off the plates and stacked them off to the side of the sink to dry. He kept leaning close to talk, and she kept smiling and leaning close to reply.
"I predict," I said, "that you and I will be closing the evening alone."
"I'm going to state for the record," retorted Mark, "that I have no objection to having you all to myself."
Sure enough, after they finished the last of the kitchen tidying, Shaz called me aside. "Do you mind if I… you know, postpone our girls' night?" she asked, her voice low. "Ryan's asked me out for a coffee and… I'd really like to."
"No, I don't mind at all," I said brightly.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely sure!" I said. "Go right ahead."
"Thanks," she said. Her voice dropped even more conspiratorially. "You know, if this was a setup, I don't even care now. He seems really nice."
So now they have gone, and there is a present from Mark have yet to open.
10.20 pm. Belgian chocolates. What Milk Tray? Must now thank Mark. Properly.