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.
Story notes at the end of this chapter.
Chapter 6
Fri, 18 Sept
8st 13 (must hold steady), cigarettes 5 (practically a saint), alcohol units 3 (reasonable), days until wedding 7 (not counting day of wedding itself).
10.27 am. Big day. Not THE Big Day, obviously, which is next weekend. Peter and wife Sophie arrive from Hong Kong. They are staying with Mark, which leaves me feeling a bit peevish as they are living in made-over house before self. But is silly to have such feelings, and would never say so to Mark. Peter is family, after all, who he hasn't seen for quite a few years.
Mark's gone to get them. Their plane touches down soon, but they will want to settle in at the house, maybe have a lie down until tonight. We are all having dinner together later. Mark's parents were supposed to have come but Malcolm's feeling under the weather, so in order for them to be in tip-top shape for the wedding they're not making the drive. Peter and Sophie will be going up there after the weekend, anyway, in preparation for the wedding.
Going to be a busy week. Tomorrow night is hen night arranged by Magda with (do dearly hope) help from Shaz and Jude. Have suggested they invite Sophie as only seems right for future sister-in-law. Mark is doing a stag night though he doesn't want to do the usual drinks and strippers. Not really his thing. Wonder what his brother has planned.
In meantime, will get all caught up on work then get ready for dinner. Sure will be an appropriately posh place.
10.36pm. Oh dear. Night did not go quite as expected. Mark came for me at about 6.00 pm, looking a bit sullen and his posture was stiff. Asked him what was wrong but he shook his head. "Come, or we'll be late," was all he said.
Ride to restaurant was short and Mark v. quiet still. Was one we had not been to before but it was indeed posh. Peter and Sophie were already there, we were told, waiting at the table.
Peter looked about as had expected. Definitely saw the resemblance to Mark, handsome in his own way. Almost as tall, hair just as dark, though lighter eyes. His wife's a pretty woman. Short dark hair, brown eyes, fairish skin, nice (if reluctant) smile. After Mark introduced me to her (such strange social rituals we partake in), Peter then introduced her to me: "Bridget, this is my wife."
Said to her with absolute sincerity, "How lovely it is to meet you at last, Sophie."
Unfortunately, her first words to me were, "Actually, it's Sophia." Emphasis on the final A, and spoken quietly with the sort of restrained impatience that told of having made the correction a hundred times before.
Mark went kind of stony, so could only apologise: "So sorry, I must have misheard and no one's yet corrected me."
"Until now," Mark added.
Wanted to ask Mark if he had known we'd been fucking up her name all this time, but thought it best to ask later; assumed he must have known since their own wedding was just the June before last. (More on that in a bit.)
Anyway. Was not off to the best start, so endeavoured to make the most of it. "So you're from Seattle," I said. "Home of the grunge youth movement and good coffee, I hear. How exciting!"
"I wouldn't really know anything about grunge youth," she said, seemingly perplexed. Came off a bit snooty, to be honest. Not best of first impressions, so decided to change gears.
"So did you have a nice flight?" I asked. "I've only been to Thailand before and that was long enough."
"Almost twelve hours," supplied Peter. "But it was very comfortable."
"First class, I trust," said Mark.
"Of course," said Sophie. SophiA. "Twelve hours in coach would have been a complete nightmare."
She was of course correct—had done coach to Thailand—but something about the way she said it seemed so… well. Classist. Hm.
Peter seemed to notice we were flailing helplessly so he talked about his wife a bit, giving a bit of background leading up to how they met. "Her mother came from Hong Kong as a girl," he said. "It's what drew Soph to Hong Kong in the first place. Fortunately for me."
She smiled that same reserved smile again and reached to place her hand over Peter's, which was, at least, a positive sign.
"How did you meet?" Sophia asked. "I understand you, Mark, are a barrister, and that you—" Gestured towards me. "—do something in television. How on earth did your paths ever cross, with such widely disparate careers?"
Found it hard to believe that Peter had not explained our shared past to his wife, so took a moment to do so, skimming only v. lightly over the famed paddling pool incident. Was frankly not v. pleased with insinuation that Mark and self were in career orbits that never should have intersected.
"Oh, that's rather sweet," she said with (I swear) Lady Catherine de Bourgh levels of condescension.
"It's too bad Mark was so involved in such a big case," Peter said suddenly. "We would have loved to have met you sooner at our own wedding."
This was a surprise, as a.) had assumed he had been to his own brother's wedding and b.) they had no idea we had been split up during that time. Shot a glance to Mark, who gave me the 'I'll explain later' look.
Between all of this conversation was the ordering then the arrival of our dinner, which consisted of a vast array of seafood dishes. Everything I tried was v.g.—tried the prawn starter, and Mark and I swapped bits of our dishes, my scoglio (seafood pasta) and his cioppino (seafood stew)—but Sophia could only lament that there was no better seafood in the world than in the Pacific Northwest. Realised that dinner had been one comparison after another by her. Better wine there. Better coffee. Better everything.
"I hear that San Francisco has some of the best seafood there is," Mark said abruptly. Have never known him to have any particular opinion on seafood before. "In fact, I understand that this dish—" He pointed towards the cioppino. "—originated there. And surely there's a thriving seafood market in Hong Kong."
"Of course there is," she said with an air of resignation. Maybe just tired? "Believe me, I've had ample opportunity to sample from many places. There is still just no comparison."
Fortunately, with the advent of dessert, there were no further seafood options, and thus no further opportunity for debate. Took advantage of the mountain-high tiramisu and a lovely little glass of dessert wine. Mark went with the panna cotta (custard-y; surprised he had dessert at all, to be honest) and Peter went for the zabaglione (flan-y)… while Sophia ordered a slice of something called ciambellone, which frankly looked like a slice of Bundt cake, only somehow less appealing. Suppose we all have different tastes, but she seemed v. much the odd girl out.
After we were through and were gearing up to leave the restaurant, Peter was all smiles and gave me a brotherly hug and peck on the cheek. "We had such a lovely time with you both tonight," he said. "Didn't we, darling?" (Peter's use of this term of endearment made me felt oddly possessive of it, though know is used all over the world.)
"Very much so," Sophia said, smiling again in that reserved way. "Oh, Bridget, I believe I'll see you tomorrow night?"
Fuck. Forgot she was coming to hen night. Overly brightly, I said, "Yes, of course! So looking forward!"
We finished saying our goodnights then Mark escorted self to car in order to drop me home (wished he could stay over, but would have been v. rude to his guests). He seemed v. quiet, much as he had been all night. As we got on our way, remembered I'd wanted to ask him about a few things, so I did.
"Mark," I began, "why did we think her name was Sophie, and how had no one corrected us before now?"
"I think my mother had got it wrong," he said. "Maybe she just forgot, or had heard but misremembered."
"But you picked them up at Heathrow," I said. "You spent the afternoon with them. It never came up?"
"Peter always just called her 'Soph' or 'darling'," he said. "Believe me, I never would have let you put your foot in it. If I did know it, I forgot." (This surprised me, since he usually doesn't forget things like that.) "And the time around their wedding…" He trailed off.
"So why didn't you go to their wedding?"
Thought maybe he'd say he was too crushed with a broken heart over our (temporary-but-didn't-know-it-at-the-time) split, but the actual reason was far more mundane:
"This is embarrassing," he confessed, "and you must never tell them, but I… forgot it was oncoming."
"You forgot?" I asked, incredulous, fighting back laughter.
He smiled too, then chuckled. "I was so wrapped up in you and me, first blush of romance," he said; surely he was tinting pink, "and then I took a case just after… well, to immerse myself in work, and then when my mother reminded me I could not back out."
We drew up to my building, and he put the car in park. "I hate to say this," Mark said, "and I would never say this to Peter, but… I don't like her much."
Grudgingly had to agree. "Maybe she'll grow on us, once we get to know her better," I said.
He took my face in his hand. "Always trying to see the silver lining," he said softly. "I love that about you." He gave me a little kiss. "And you have to take her along on your hen night. I'm sorry, darling."
"It'll be fine," I said. "Besides! There'll be a lot of drinking."
Sun, 20 Sept
8st 13 (miracle given intake last night), cigarettes 2 (poss. nicotine overdose last night), alcohol units 1 (polar opposite to last night), days left as singleton 6.
12.30 pm. Hangover so bad, difficult to sit up. Herculean effort, actually. But, was v. g. day yesterday.
Was fetched for hen night just after half five in the evening. Standing on the street outside my building was Magda, Shaz, Jude, Tom (honorary hen), Woney, Tina, Talitha, Perpetua (!), Patchouli (!) and Sophia. Perhaps in honour of now-legendary Tarts & Vicars misfire, they were all wearing bunny ears, and with a huge grin, Magda handed me the bunny ears that were mine, complete with mini-veil.
Was a beautiful night with promise of wonderful weather, so the plan was to pub crawl around the neighbourhood on a sort of boozy scavenger hunt, where the drink has to match the criterion provided by drinks mistress Shaz. The first stop was just 'round the corner.
"All right, ladies," said Shaz as we entered—all heads turned as we came in, and expressions were equal measure of amused and annoyed. "First on our list is 'red'."
Mind went instantly to Bloody Marys. Not that was a complaint. A bloody one sounded v. g. We got some snacky food too, which we shared amongst us all. Not sure now if had one drink there, or two, but soon we were on the move again. Next stop: vodka.
Was on a roll. Got vodka martini. More starters. Is miracle did not vomit all over hen party.
Was so good to see and talk to Tina, who has been abroad until recently. Rarely see Patchouli outside of work, but we are allies in our mutual antagonist, the maniacal (though mostly recovered) Richard Finch. At least he is no longer my boss. And was nice to see Perpetua again—think of our rocky start and how it has transformed into a sort of respect. We are not best of friends, but we are friendly enough.
Another pub, another requirement ('blue'). Noticed that though quiet, Sophia was keeping up with the lot of us, and as we moved on again, could see the frosty shell beginning to shatter.
"Hey," I said, making the extra effort, as am sure she felt a bit like the odd one out—she only knew me, and we'd only met the night before. "I'm glad you were able to come out with us, I really am."
"I'm glad too," she said, and this time when she smiled it was really full and v. sincere. "I confess I was a bit nervous coming to London. I don't know anyone here at all. Well, except for you and Mark, now."
"Have you ever been here before?" I asked.
"Actually, no," she said, "but I'm really starting to like it. Mark has an amazing house! It's gorgeous, and so w—" Her hand flew up to clamp over her mouth. "Oh, but it's supposed to be a surprise to you!"
Laughed out loud—too loud as was pretty pissed by then—and said, "It's okay, it still is. A surprise, I mean." (Though was concerned that 'w' might mean 'white'. Hope not as have had enough of white rooms with white chairs for one lifetime. Hope instead it means 'wonderful'.)
By the time we made it to the last pub on the crawl—conveniently, the pub on the ground floor of my building—we were mostly all stumbling drunk. Sophia had turned into quite the chatterbox now the ice had been broken, and she was funny and charming. Could see what Mark's brother could see in her. Most of the party had pre-arranged minicabs, but Sophia had not, so when the lot of them had gone off, said to her, "Just crash with me."
Like pissed sherpas we hiked up to my flat and promptly collapsed onto my furniture, the room spinning like a top. At some point a mobile began to ring, and it took us some time to figure out it was Sophia's. Eventually answered it but she had trouble communicating with Peter. Perhaps was bad connection. Managed to communicate that she would be staying with me. Then own mobile began to ring, which promptly answered, though Mark couldn't seem to understand me either.
"Bridget, what on earth is going on?" he asked, concern in his voice. Told him that it was okay, that Sophia would be staying the night at the flat, and not to worry.
Woke this morning (well, afternoon) to find Mark and his brother standing over our prone forms, which were on the sofa where we had come to rest, still dressed up from the night before, bunny ears and all (miraculous even if precariously askew). They were both grinning.
"Morning," said Mark.
Brought hand to head. "Shhh," I admonished against the noise.
So after bringing something for the pain, they are now fixing coffee and something for us to eat.
1.17 pm. After hangover / headache subsided, managed to converse with Mark and Peter. It soon came out that the both of us were totally incoherent on the phone. "The only thing we could figure out," said Mark, "was that Sophia was at your flat, so we didn't worry too much."
"Sorry," Sophia said.
"Oh, heavens, don't apologise," said Peter. "Sounds like you had a marvellous time, and I'm glad for that."
"I did have a great time," she said, still rubbing her forehead, then removing the bunny ears from her head. Prompted self to do same. "Don't think I ever drank that much, even at college."
Realised we did have a great time. Had warmed greatly to Sophia. Then had a brainstorm.
"Why don't we have an early dinner? A late lunch? Before you do your drive north, I mean."
Mark looked dumbfounded. Hoped v. much that his brother did not notice (Sophia did not know Mark well enough to know his version of 'dumbfounded'). "That's a marvellous idea," said Sophia.
Now Mark looked confused, but said only, "Why don't I take you two back to the house, then we can come back for you, darling." The latter part, obviously, was addressed to me. "Go on and head downstairs, I'll catch up with you in a moment at the car."
Once they had departed, Mark fixed a curious gaze on self. "What's going on?"
"We were so wrong about Sophia," I said. "She was just feeling shy, not knowing us, or anyone in town. We had a lovely night."
He still looked dubious. "Are you sure we were wrong," he began delicately, "or was it that you're such a generous, nice person who happened to be very drunk?"
Pursed lips at him.
At this he chuckled a little. "Sorry to laugh. That's quite an expression. And sorry, too, to be so sceptical. It just seems like such a volte-face."
"Fair point," I said. "But I think that tonight might change your mind."
With that he kissed me goodbye, and left the flat to go and take them back to the house—a v. nice way of saying, "Let me give you time to freshen up," which truly needed to do. Must now take shower and get made up before Mark turns back up and scolds self for lolling about.
10.30 pm. Amazing night with Peter and Sophia. Suspect that once Sophia realised we (she and I) had much in common, she was better able to understand Mark's personality and the differences between him and Peter. Mark v. quickly saw the light and that I'd been right. The atmosphere compared to the one from Friday night's dinner was the difference between night and day.
Now they are on the way to Huntingdon to spend time with Malcolm and Elaine. Have realised that will soon be last night in flat, and am v. sad. Mark is staying tonight and every night until we leave to go north on Thursday (me to The Gables, and Mark to Huntingdon). Everything will soon be such a whirlwind: brother's arrival to Grafton Underwood, the arrival of LA friends, rehearsal dinners….
Mark assures me that everyone who's coming has secured accommodation and not to worry about it. Feeling irrationally guilty that so many are coming so far—Hong Kong! LA! Manchester!—just for me. Well, for us. By same token, though, is v. flattering.
Fri, 25 Sept
8st 12 (God exists and He clearly loves me), cigarettes 8 (understandable), alcohol units 2 (does not pay to get too pissed—hungover bride v. bad), hours left of singletondom v. few.
10.30 am. Been unbelievably busy, rare moment of calm before the storm returns. Coffee and chocolate croissant because not even self can put on a stone overnight. Will do best to recap past few days.
Monday brought the arrival of the friends from LA. Feels simultaneously like was just yesterday that saw them last, yet also like years. They arrived in the wee hours and insisted we did not need to pick them up, so we arranged to have dinner together their first evening here.
Everyone looks much as they did. Once at the restaurant, greeted Soledad with a bright smile; she surprised me with great big warm hug. "How happy you look, both of you," she said. Mario, her husband, had come too. His smile and happy personality filled the whole restaurant.
Ron's hair was shorter than it used to be—possible he'd gotten a cut just for the occasion?—and while was v. glad he was still with Rosie, was sad she'd been unable to come to London and to the wedding. Like her v. much.
Eduardo looked as handsome and as dashing as ever, with those dark curls and warm eyes. Think he will be v. popular with the single ladies. Probably even the single men. (Actually, Ed is rather Tom's type—looking forward to seeing the little floating hearts in Tom's eyes.)
Last but not least, Juliza with her darling daughter Marisa. Juliza looks fantastic, v. happy, with immaculate hair (and, I swear, a foot more of it). Marisa seems to have really bloomed, too.
Dinner was fantastic. In trying to find a place to take them, stumbled (online!) upon the perfect restaurant, a newish place that prides itself on offering a sort of 'California cuisine' and that has reasonably good reviews from both locals and former Californians alike. Decided on restaurant because could not do at Mark's house, what with house re-do supposed to be a surprise for self post-wedding. Anyone who saw all of us together, drinking, talking and laughing, they probably thought we were old friends going back for years and years.
Things got a little racy when Eduardo (with a few drinks in him) began to tease Mark not about the wedding, but the honeymoon. "Eh, Mark," he said in a slightly too-loud voice with a wink, "you need pointers for your honeymoon, you come to me, all right?"
Mark went scarlet and commented only that everything was under control in that area. Attempting to support him, I blurted out, "Yes, yes, I can vouch for that totally." Sent the whole table into fits of laughter and made Mark go even redder.
This makes it seem like it was an awkward, embarrassing evening, and it was anything but. Had such a great time—so hard to believe that a year ago had not even met them yet. Was a bit odd to say goodnight, knowing we would probably next see them on the day of the wedding. Wish I had more free time to do touristy things with Marisa (and Juliza), but at least was able to give suggestions for off-the-beaten (tourist) path.
Tuesday meant was time to meet the girls to pick up dresses. Tried on gown one last time to make sure was not weirdly bulging or that there were no bits of unsightly flesh sticking out, but all is the same, which is nothing short of miraculous. Saw girls trying to fight sappy tears when saw me in it, but in the end, none of us could fight urge to cry. Thank heavens had changed out of dress before all of the wet, snotty bawling began.
Afterwards, needed the consolation of a cocktail, so we went to Café Rouge and had a round of Bloody Marys (seems ideal mid-afternoon cocktail when compared to gin and tonic or similar) and some starters. Kept it festive; after all, it is v. happy occasion and not in fact funeral for singleton status.
Wednesday night was rough, as was last day (and night) in flat. As we packed the last straggling bits of stuff into boxes, there were more tears but thankfully also plenty of cuddles and snuggles. Last shag in singleton bed, too, but writing that out makes it seem cheap and crass. It was all v. wonderful and full of love and security. Not a shred of doubt, not one, about choosing to marry Mark Darcy.
Thursday (yesterday) was tougher than Wednesday in some ways. Morning came too soon but had to prise self (and Mark) out of bed since cleaners were coming to go over the place, and the rest of my things went into a van to go to Mark's (Mark went with them there once van was packed up). Bizarrely thinking of how much will hate unpacking it all, but all of the fuss of moving surely going to be well worth it.
With packed suitcase (for wedding & beyond), well-camouflaged wedding dress (so Mark couldn't see) and other wedding paraphernalia securely stowed into boot, we made the drive north after dinner. He brought my things in from the boot, then we said goodnight. "See you tomorrow," he said softly, then kissed me.
Shortly after got in, brother and girlfriend Marty turned up from Manchester, so got to meet her. Kind and v. gorgeous, with the best features of an Irish mum and an Ethiopian dad. Liked her a lot. Far more than Becca. Mum is making Jamie sleep in Granny's old room (which he hates being in) and has given Marty his bedroom. Is all v. ridiculous, but is, after all, Mum. (Suspect Jamie will sneak out anyway. Mum will be none the wiser.)
Am now being beckoned to start getting ready. Is rehearsal at church and then a dinner afterwards for our two families and the wedding party.
9.55 pm. Home from manicures, rehearsal and dinner.
Shortly after prev. entry, after getting made up and dressed, we all of us girls went for manicures in Kettering. (Jude, Shaz, Magda, Jeremy et al. drove down this morning and met them there at the spa; Jeremy and sprogs taking it easy in hotel room watching cartoons.) Was a bit sceptical (was recommendation of Mum's) but they did a fantastic job, pale pearlescent pink and pretty much perfect. Should not have doubted; Mum would never have wanted to ruin only daughter's wedding day to perfect son-in-law candidate.
The rehearsal drove home how real this all is. Tomorrow. TOMORROW! Everything went smoothly (mostly) at the church. Constance decided that she wanted to be the ring bearer. We all feared that this would cause an uproar with her brother, but fortunately, Harry eagerly took to the idea of throwing flower petals on the aisle in front of us. Fortunately, the smallest of Magda's brood is too young to feel left out of anything.
Dinner was held at a nice restaurant in Kettering. Gave the wedding party their thank-you gifts, ate fantastic roast meal with veg and potato, didn't even drink too much. Mark walked self to the door again. While it was very sweet, we were both oddly shy and awkward. In a sense, it felt like he was taking self home after a first date. Not in a bad way.
"Well," he said as we stood there on the front porch, face to face, "you should get inside. Try to get to bed early. Busy day tomorrow." He kissed me goodnight, told me he loved me (told him I loved him too, obvs.), stroked my face tenderly, then walked back down the path to the car. Watched him leave one last time as singleton.
Now should take his advice as will be v. busy day indeed. Wedding at 1.00 pm (sharp, as my mum continues to remind me). Preparation to begin well in advance: hair, makeup, etc. so had better get self a cup of herbal tea, then into bed to attempt to sleep.
Sat, 26 Sept (Wedding Day)
8st 12 (have won self's wedding day), cigarettes 5 (no time to smoke), alcohol units 5 (after ceremony), wedding ceremonies 1.
6.30 am. Suddenly woken from dead sleep and unable to get back to it. Might as well get up and make coffee and something to eat for self.
7.25 am. When went downstairs, after coffee was on, Dad came downstairs. "Morning, pumpkin," he said, then unexpectedly gave me a big hug. Could hear the emotion in his voice. "Going to be a good day. It is."
"Of course it is," I said, hugging him back. "I've imagined this day since I was a little girl." It was true, though had imagined slightly more unrealistic wedding day goals, along the lines of Cinderella with magic pumpkin, glass slippers, gigantic pouf dress, etc.; actual day would surpass impossible childhood fantasies, or so that was the hope.
"I remember," he said almost wistfully. He pulled away and began to prepare himself a cup of coffee. "I don't have to tell you that marriage beyond the big day isn't Utopia."
"No, Dad, I know."
"I suppose you do," he said light-heartedly, "after watching your mother and me."
"Oh, Dad," I said, with a laugh. "Besides, Mark and I lived together in LA for all those months," I added.
"That's very true," he said with a smile. "I suppose all of the blinders are off by this point." He went serious. "He still treats you like a queen."
Was more of a statement than a question, but answered anyway. "Yes, Dad, he does."
"Doesn't take you for granted."
"No, Dad," I said without hesitation. "He really doesn't."
He looked at me again, his mouth crooked up with a little smile. "Doesn't make you do all of the cooking and washing up."
"He pulls his weight," I said, thinking of all of the times we had cooked together, done our laundry together (or, more accurately, gathered his suits to the cleaners and did the rest in the washer).
"Good," he said with finality. "I don't have to make a scene today." Looked to him to catch him winking at me. Went to him with another laugh and hugged him again.
Mum came down just then. "What's this about a scene, then?" she asked.
"There won't be one," Dad said. "Everything will be perfect. Right?"
Girls will be here soon. Will all of us get all done up, dressed, then go to the church. Time to sign off in diary for last time as singleton.
11.38 pm. The deed is done. Am newly married woman!
Girls (Jude, Shaz, Magda) came to the house just after eight with dresses in tow. Had decided to do hair up and off of neck with lots of Kirby grips, curling rod and hairspray. Shaz had practised helping self a few times, so there were no surprises, and tiara/veil looked wonderful with it. Jude helped with eyeliner and shadow, and it was just perfect, though had no illusions it would remain so.
After fixing the pearls (earring and necklace) into place, Mum and the girls delicately helped to get the veil and the tiara on. They pinned the veil in just behind tiara so that part of it could be brought over face once at church. Left putting the dress on until the very last minute so as to avoid spilling coffee or similar on, but once put it on… felt like a queen, esp. with the tiara. Was smart and got low kitten-type heels, but they too are Cinderella-esque (though not glass slippers as that would be disaster waiting to happen).
Must pause for a moment and say how wonderful the girls and Mum looked, v. classy, v. elegant. Mum's dress is pale blue with sparkly crystals sewn on the lower hem, with a matching pillbox hat. She looked the picture of sophistication, and with the way my dad looked at her, he certainly seemed v. pleased and proud at how beautiful she looked.
While we were putting on finishing touches, a car (the boys) came by to pick up Dad so he could be with them to help with ushering duties, etc. Expect Mark and Peter followed up in Mark's own car closer to time of ceremony.
There was a momentary panic as the sky clouded over—we all feared it would begin to rain as it seems to have rained most of the night, and thus rain on us—but the clouds passed and the sun returned just as we left for the church.
Mum and the girls rode in Jude's car, following self in hired car, a v. luxurious silver Bentley driven by Mark's faithful driver, Henry. Was v. short ride, but even still Mum made v. sure we left on time so as not to be late—as being late would give Mark palpitations—and was v. glad for her herding us, as by this point had begun to lose all track of time and sense of reality.
Thanks to muddy road conditions we got there perhaps a minute or two late. Jude, Shaz, and Mum headed straight out of their car and through front of the church as we'd been told to do. Waited for door to open, then got up and out of car with Magda's help. She gave me a breath mint as was feeling quite thirsty; mouth was v. dry, and had been afraid that if had even tiniest drink of water, would desperately need loo at worst time. Could have been worse, though, such as massive pouf dress in loo. Anyway. Heard music start up. Felt heart start to beat faster. She helped me up the stairs to where my dad was waiting to escort me up the aisle to where Mark was waiting. "You look great," Magda said. "You'll be great." Then she ran over to where Peter was waiting to escort her up the aisle.
Turned to my dad. "Showtime," he said with a happy-teary smile.
Learnt later that the procession before me went wonderfully, with Harry gleefully throwing flower petals, Constance solemnly carrying the pillow with the ring, Jude and Jeremy, Tom and Shaz, then Peter and Magda. The moment Dad and I stepped forward, though, my own focus was pinpoint and on Mark, who looked nervous and happy and so incredibly handsome in his waistcoat and morning suit, top hat at his side under his arm. From the look on his face, he seemed v. pleased with how self's own wedding attire had panned out.
Unsurprising to anyone, the vicar was wearing his favourite apricot vestments. Did not clash with the blue of the wedding party, so was not too fussed. He was so pleased that his prediction so long ago at the Ruby Wedding had come to be. During the procession, also spotted Una and Geoffrey, who seemed very pleased and teary, too.
Everything went just as rehearsed, and thank goodness for rehearsal as knew what was expected next without having to think to much about it. We had decided to stick to traditional vows as could honestly not see Mark pouring his heart out to me in front of everyone. Anyway, the words felt comfortable and right (and not a hint of 'obey' in sight).
Constance almost didn't hand over the ring, which was momentarily funny, but in the end, the rings were exchanged. Mark lifted the edge of the veil, looking at me with admiration and love like had never seen, before sealing the deal with a kiss.
The tiny church erupted with cheers.
Can barely remember Jamie's or Sophia's readings, though am told they did v. well. Thought only of Mark beside self, and the ring on my finger. We signed as needed (as did Magda and Peter as our witnesses), then the vicar gave a final prayer before we made our grand exit into the foyer. With the wedding party serving as buffer between us and the exiting congregation, it was our first moment alone that day.
"Hi," I said, as he took me into his arms.
"Hi," he said, then stole a quick kiss.
"Husband," I said breathlessly, almost in disbelief.
"Wife," he said matter-of-factly, in response. "Hmm, yes, that'll do nicely."
Ooh, more later. Is, after all, wedding night and must prepare self accordingly.
Wed, 30 Sept
8st 12 (excess of food burnt off by excess of shag heaven), cigarettes 4 (would smoke post-shag but Mark dislikes), alcohol units 6 (all champagne), husbands injured in wedding night mishap 1, days as newlywed 5.
10.30 am. Refuse to feel bad about embarking so enthusiastically on honeymoon that diary has been neglected. Honeymoon is a charming, rustic cottage in the Lake District, secluded and delightful, and exactly what we needed. Honeymoon not really about sightseeing, anyway. Will get to Paris some other day.
However, do need to put down events while they are fresh in mind. Mark is resting anyway. He needs it.
After exiting the church (with requisite tossing of rice), we posed for some photos, then loaded ourselves into the Bentley for the reception, which was hosted at the Darcys in Huntingdon. They offered their spacious garden and were pleased to do so, though we were not taking any chances and hired a huge marquee to fit everyone underneath should the weather decide not to cooperate. The reception followed immediately, as what were all of our guests to do between ceremony and reception out there in the country?
Have heard that some brides change dresses for reception, but wanted to wear my dress for all it was worth. Dress was gorgeous and comfortable and extremely flattering, as evidenced by the way Mark kept his hand on my waist, kept touching me (could also be that he was a bit shag-starved, as we had not really had much chance for intimacy since we'd departed the flat). Also left on tiara and gloves (until eating), but did remove the veil. It all felt v. Princess Grace.
Did take a breather in a sitting room that Elaine had set up for our use, to put our feet up and relax before the guests arrived in full. Mark sat in there with me, his hat again by his side—God, did he look delectable, with that hat and cravat and waistcoat; think self was a bit shag-starved too—and massaged my feet a bit.
Was not a formal lunch or dinner but series of starters then buffet items. We did have a head table and we did do the requisite best man toasts and reading the telegrams and other messages from those who couldn't be with us that day. Had dance with Dad. Mark danced with his mum. Even danced with Uncle Geoffrey, who was surprisingly the perfect gentleman for the first time in life.
"I've known you since you were a little girl," he'd begun, as per usual, "and I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you end up with Mark. So very pleased." Was too stunned to respond. "I know he's had a tough time of it, so it's nice to see the two of you find each other and be so happy." Could not account for what had come over him. Could only think that he was maybe getting older, maybe a bit more sentimental and less pervy. (Would be disproved later when he made to grab bottom. Perhaps he was just more sober when it was earlier in the evening.)
Noticed right away that Eduardo seemed to be paying Jude a great deal of attention. Knew that he was a bit of a charmer and also knew Jude was still reeling from the split with Vile Richard. However, needn't have worried; he asked me for a dance and told me how much he liked Jude. "She seems very caring, very lovely, but a bit down," he said, "and she is here all alone. Tell me, did she have a recent split?"
Was surprised she had not told him herself, as she would often tell anyone who would listen. "She did," I said quietly, then explained that her husband had left her in August, less than a year after they'd gotten married.
"I see," he said. "You will not mind, then, if I endeavour to lift her spirits this evening? I promise not to do anything more."
Was filled with great love for Eduardo. Well, not same kind of love as for, say, Mark. "You do anything to hurt her and you will answer to Mark," I said with a light-hearted tone.
"I swear," he said, drawing a small X over his chest with a thumb. "Cross my heart. No… how do you say it? Fuckwitted."
Laughed, then corrected him with, "Fuckwittage."
"Ah yes, of course," he said. "No fuckwittage. I just want to make her smile. It's a nice smile."
The rest of the evening, have not seen Jude so happy, being paid so much attention by a gorgeous Latin American man. How that would boost her self-esteem! And Shaz was v. happy too, with her new beau, the American client of Mark's colleague Gavin. When they danced, they danced with no one else, made gooey eyes… made me wonder how serious things had gotten in under a month. V. happy for her, of course. After all the shit she's been through, she deserves someone looking at her with gooey eyes even for just a little while. Tom… well, got my dance with him. There were tears and (re)assurances that would not be abandoning our friendship. In moment of weakness, he had brought Jerome, who have to say, was v. well-behaved. Tom assures that he is not going to get involved with all that again. (Was right, too, re: Eduardo; saw Tom's v. appreciative look at him more than once.)
As for the Los Angeles crew, they all seemed to have a v. g. time. Made sure to have a dance with Ron; Mark made Marisa's day by asking her for a dance, which made her feel like a young lady, not a child.
Before we knew it, it was nearing eight, and we needed to make our departure for our honeymoon, which was a four hour drive north. We said our goodbyes (tearful, but in happy way) and got into the Bentley.
First thing Mark said to me as we drove away: "So you made sure our bags are in the boot, yes?" Gasped, looked at him with alarm. But then he started to laugh. "Kidding. Henry assured me everything's in there."
Gave him a light punch on the arm, then leaned into him fully for a long kiss. Had been such a tiring day that we never even cracked into the champagne that had awaited us in the car. We both fell fast asleep.
Awoke with the car came to a stop at last. Henry had drawn up to where we were to check in. The proprietors had expected our arrival so late in the day, which was very kind and accommodating of them. With warm smiles and congratulations, the couple running the cottages brought us to ours. Mark and Henry brought in all of the bags, the unopened champagne (which was a pair to the bottle that awaited us inside), and with a final flourish, Mark swept self up into his arms and carried self over the threshold and inside.
"Mark," I said as he set me down, took my face in his hands.
He looked a bit rough, but so v. happy. He furrowed his brows. "What, darling?"
"What about Henry?" I asked.
"He'll not be joining us, don't worry," he said, then nuzzled into the hair by my ear.
"No, I mean, does he have to drive all the way back to London tonight? Poor fellow."
He chuckled. "No. Booked him a room at a hotel just down the road. He'll get to rest."
"Oh, good," I said. "Now I don't have to worry." Then I slipped my arms around his neck and kissed him. And then… our first night together as married couple. Not sure it is possible to put into words how happy, safe, warm, loved, cherished self felt in our marital bed. Pretty convinced Mark felt the same, and hope we ever shall be. (There was a non-fatal, champagne-cork-related mishap on wedding night, but Mark rallied and overcame the resulting injury splendidly.)
Ooh, Mark's awake. Going to dress and take a walk through the woods. Is so peaceful and beautiful here. Fresh air and silence. As lovely as it is here, though, as wonderful as our time here has been, can now see that more than a week would start to send self round the bend. Will be heading back to London on Friday for another week there. Mark is eager to bring me home and show the house off, help to finish unpacking my things… plus we intend on spending the time in London like we're tourists, going to galleries, etc. V. much looking forward.
10.37 am. Have realised as wrote above that am technically homeless: have moved out of flat, but not yet into house. Hm.
1.45 pm. As we took our walk, asked Mark how we were getting back to London on Saturday. "British Rail," he said with total deadpan, then squeezed my hand. Bastard. Love him.
1.47 pm. …not that British Rail would be end of world. Have taken it plenty of times. Just not, er, ideal for honeymoon travel. Do not want to sound like snobby posh lawyer wife.
1.48 pm. Also, not sure Mark Darcy has ever taken British Rail in life, so was obvious joke on his part.
Sun, 4 Oct
9st 1 (inevitable), cigarettes 6 (all in back garden, for sanity's sake), alcohol units 3 (reasonable), days with Holland Park mailing address 1.
9.21 am. London. Can no longer sleep. Cannot help feeling like am staying over and need to get back to flat. Do not wish to make it seem that am not happy with house do-over—because it's beautiful and perfect, what the designer has done to cosy up the place—but just am not used to it.
Should start over, as feels as if entry is off on the wrong foot. We arrived home to London yesterday, deposited before the Holland Park house by Henry in the usual car, not British Rail after all (ha, ha). "Shall I carry you over this threshold, too?" he asked, in apparent seriousness. Smiled and nodded; it made sense that he should, to our newly shared home.
Hardly seemed the same house. Wasn't overly cluttered (after all, that takes time and accumulation of bits and bobs) but gone were the white walls, white furniture, and décor devoid of colour and design. The sitting room was done over with wallpaper and framed art; the weird, uncomfortable chairs and sofa were replaced with new, comfy ones with gorgeous, lush fabrics. (Later saw that the guest bedrooms had been similarly re-attired—no more giant white chairs!) The kitchen was no longer dominated by brushed steel and impenetrable pantries—now there was warm pale wood, wine and dish racks, totally accessible, airy, and open. And the master bedroom, oh—gone was the stark cold white, replaced with creams and blues like Delftware, but also dark red accents for a hint of warmth and depth.
Had said nothing during the tour Mark took me on, and admit felt a bit breathless. "What do you think?" he prompted at long last.
"Oh, Mark," I managed. "I love it. It's absolutely gorgeous. I don't know what to say. That you did all of this for—"
"Shhh," he interrupted. "I did this for us. It should feel like a house people live in, not a museum showpiece. Plus, as a bonus, I can find my frying pans and coffee maker without issue now."
Laughed, then took him in my arms. "I feel so incredibly spoilt," I murmured, before I got up on my toes to kiss him.
"Good," he said. "Just as it should be."
Still, it's a new place and am not used to it being home yet, though Mark's efforts have not been in vain. Today we'll put my clothes into the bedroom. Hope it is not weird for him, after being in this house for a while on his own, to suddenly have another person around here all the time. Know that he has been preparing for this, mentally and logically, but the reality of it is likely going to be harder than he thinks.
Suppose should head down to the kitchen and give making coffee a go. Mark claims he can find the coffee maker, but whether anyone else can is unknown.
10.01 am. Had just found the cafetière when mobile started going off. Was Jude, ringing to see how we were settling in. Was the first we had really talked since wedding reception.
"That really was such a lovely do," Jude said. "I had no idea that the Darcy family house was more of an estate! You could tell everyone was having a great time." Wasn't sure where she was going with this, so waited for the inevitable 'but'. It came in short order. "But I have to ask you something."
"What?"
"That Eduardo from Los Angeles," she said. "So charming. I know I'm here, he's in LA, nothing's going to come of it… but you must tell me if you put him up to it."
"I swear on Mark Darcy's perfect bottom that I did not."
Jude was silent for a short time, then, "You promise."
"I do." Decided to come clean with Jude. Mostly. "He came to me, actually," I said. "He hated seeing you so blue, and was it okay if he tried to make you smile."
"Really?" she asked. Her voice had brightened considerably.
"Yep," I said. "He liked you. He liked seeing you smile. That was his goal for the day."
"He succeeded," said Jude. Could tell she was much cheered. "So what are you doing today?"
Told her that we hadn't really made firm plans. "Making coffee is at the top of my list right now," I said. Felt a hand on my shoulder, which gave self a start. Was Mark coming up from behind.
"I'll do that for you," he said quietly, kissing my temple.
"That's my cue," said Jude in my ear. "Have a lovely day, Bridge."
So now Mark's making breakfast in the kitchen. Our kitchen. Still seems v. weird to say that.
5.31 pm. A busy day unpacking boxes and bags of clothes upstairs into the bureaus and wardrobe. Mark hardly had to prune down his own clothing, as his things barely filled either. Was a little more difficult integrating my toiletries into the en suite as had rather a lot, but we made it all fit. Going to now get cleaned up to go out for something to eat. Mark's going to pick somewhere nearby that we haven't been to before.
5.52 pm. Pizza, wine, massive dessert menu. Mark is most perfect husband. PERFECT.
9.36 pm. Back home now. Home. (Getting easier and easier to call it this.)
Had lovely dinner. Told me that we will have unfortunate non-honeymoon-related meeting tomorrow afternoon, relating to sale of flat, which listed with estate agent week before wedding. V. difficult subject, conflicting emotions, as was v. happy to be starting a new phase of life, but v. sad to let go of flat that represents the life am leaving. Apparently is already prospective buyer. Someone called Bryony. Will see tomorrow if she is worthy successor to my lovely flat.
9.45 pm. Mark now running a bath for us in massive spa bathtub. Know that this is brand new marriage, that we are new at this and on best behaviour, but also know the reality of living with Mark while we work and live our lives together as individuals and as a couple. Am excited for what's to come. He has seen me at my worst and loves me anyway.
11.20 pm. Hm. Had just settled in to bath, sitting facing one another, when Mark dropped something of a bombshell on self.
"Have something I want to discuss with you," he began. Instantly felt apprehensive, even as his fingers brushed up and down my shin. "This wouldn't be until the new year, but… there are at least two cases I'm keen to take on. They are both long-term…" He paused. "And they are both abroad."
"Oh," I said, staring at the shifting water, the distorted shapes of our bodies beneath the soap suds. Thought of months spent on own in cavernous (though much friendlier) home. Was this how our married life would actually be?
"Bridget."
Looked up to catch his eye.
"You'd be coming with me," he said gently, with big, soulful eyes. "I mean, if you could, and you wanted to."
In relief, smiled, then laughed. Of course I wanted to. Would still go wherever he was, and time in LA proved could work from just about anywhere. "Oh," I said again. "Yes." Sniffed with the budding emotion, then asked, "Where are they? The cases, I mean?"
"One's in South Africa," he said. "The other's in Greece."
Both sound lovely. Might just manage to help him make the right decision.
11.56 pm. Another bombshell just as we were settling in for the night. "Actually," he said nonchalantly as he put away his toothbrush, "I could keep taking these cases abroad as long as you want to come with me."
Hm. Hmmmmm. V. much like the sound of that indeed. But also thought about children, how we'd talked about how we'd both wanted them (suspected he had, but it was good to be sure). Would not be practical to bring babies abroad for these cases.
"What are you thinking?" Mark asked, his tone grave.
"Planning," I said. "Our family, I mean. Of course I'd want to come with you, but…"
"Ah," he said. "Yes, I've been thinking about that, too." He offered me a smile. "I thought it might be nice to have a couple, a few years to ourselves, then start trying."
"But Mark," I said, "I'm thirty-s—"
"And I'm forty-two," he said, interrupting me. "So?"
Offered him a great big smile. He seemed so certain that I suddenly was, too. "All right," I said. "That's okay, then, since they'll think of you as the ancient one."
At that he flicked water at me from the running tap, so naturally had to splash back, and… mmm. We may not be starting a family yet, but practise does make perfect.
The end.
Story notes
Deductions made from information presented in Mad About the Boy:
Mark's birth year is given as 1956, which means he was 41 in January 1998. It's never noted when Mark's birthday is, so I think of it as being around Colin Firth's (10 Sept), just because it's easy to keep track of. (And I don't commemorate it in this story, either. Poor Mark.)
We know Bridget is 51 in April, 2013. That means she was born in 1962, and therefore was 35 in January, 1998 (she turns 36 on 21 March, 1998; we know her birthday from BJD).
We know that Bridget's brother Jamie is older by four years and thus 39 (since it is mentioned in BJD that Jamie is 37 (entry from Thursday, 21 December) and she would have been 33 that year).
Since Mark turns 39 the year of the Ruby Wedding (1995), and a Ruby Wedding celebrates a 40th wedding anniversary, it's easy to assume that Peter must be younger than Mark. I made him three years younger than Mark (but he still older than Bridget), 38, which seemed reasonable.
Things get weird because 1996 is, um, missing. This is how Bridget can turn 33 in BJD and turn 35 during of EOR—not that her age is given in either—even though there is no actual break between the two books.
Tom says Richard leaves Jude ten months after wedding. Since they were married in early December, that places him leaving her in October, but since I wanted Jude and Richard to split before Bridget's wedding as a Portent of Doom, we'll just pretend Tom's memory is foggy. Perhaps October was when divorce talk was really initiated.
Shaz is not in the book (MATB) because she ran off to get married to a dot-com whiz from Silicon Valley. No reason Bridget and Mark couldn't have set them up.
Tom is a therapist. It's never clear what he does in BJD or EOR, but since he's a former pop-star in the movie, I presume that he gets certified at some point later. I'm assuming this happens sometime after returning from San Francisco.
EOR leaves us at the end of 1997, but Billy is not born until 2006 and Mabel is born just 3 months before Mark's… well, you know; why did they wait so long to have children? It was curious to me that they would have either put off getting married, or would have waited so long to have children intentionally. Bridget never mentions having had fertility problems in MATB. The only possibility left that seemed reasonable was that they had decided consciously to put it off, to have time together alone or because of Mark's work, or maybe some combination of both.
Also, the potential flat-buyer Bryony is a hat-tip to Bryony Gordon, whose book The Wrong Knickers is very, very funny and very much a modern spiritual companion to Bridget (regardless of whether the character Bryony equals the author Bryony, but then again, Helen Fielding has all but admitted she's Bridget).