Mad About the Boy (Bridget Jones 3)

Texted back:

No reply. I shouldn’t have put the thing about the sick.

Another text!

11.40 p.m. Just bustled Chloe out of the house, rather rudely, so could carry on texting.

Here it comes! I love being back in the world of flirting again. It’s so romantic. Oh.

Sent back:

Long pause. Oh no. That was the wrong tone. Not flirty. Schoolmistress. Blown it already.

11.45 p.m. Just went upstairs to check the children: Billy beautiful, asleep with Horsio. Mabel snuggled up, head on back to front, with Saliva. Never mind. I’m rubbish at dating but at least I’m keeping the children alive.

11.50 p.m. Rushed back downstairs to check phone. Nothing.

This is all wrong. Am a single mother, cannot afford to be tossed this way and that by vagaries of texting total stranger young enough to be legal son.

11.55 p.m. Text just came.

Surge of happiness. But then realized he hadn’t suggested another date. Should I reply or leave it? Leave it. Jude says you should always be the last one in the texting thread.

11.57 p.m. I wish he was here, I wish he was here. Though of course would never bring a young whippersnapper man back to the house. Obviously.

Wednesday 23 January 2013

5.15 a.m. Such a good job he isn’t here. Mabel just burst into my bedroom with a loud clatter. Only instead of being in pyjamas with her head on back to front she was fully dressed in her school uniform. Poor little thing, I think she was so obsessed with me creating the appearance of lateness, by being flappy in the mornings, that she decided to get dressed well in advance. I do see her point, but the thing is, when Chloe does the school run, she arrives at 7 a.m. all shiny and fully dressed, calmly helps the children to dress, prepares breakfast, allows them to watch TV without becoming randomly infuriated by the plot lines and overexcited high-pitched screaming on SpongeBob SquarePants then has them out of the door by eight and waiting on the wall when the school door opens.

I mean, I did all that yesterday and we were on the wall, freakishly, by 8.05, which I guess was good? Spending ten minutes sitting on a wall? I suppose it improves social interaction with the other parents.

Anyway, I snuggled her down to sleep in all her clothes, finally got back to sleep myself, then slept through the alarm.

GETTING TO SECOND DATE

Thursday 24 January 2013

9.15 p.m. Children are asleep. Almost forty-eight hours have passed since Roxster’s last text.

Determined not to ask for friends’ advice because – cf. Dating Rules – if I need friends to orchestrate the whole relationship there is clearly something wrong with it.

9.20 p.m. Just called Talitha and read her Roxster’s last text.

‘And you left it at that?’

‘Yes. He didn’t suggest meeting again or anything. It’s like he was saying he had a great time and drawing a line under it.’

‘Oh, darling.’

‘What?’

‘What am I going to do with you? How long is it since

he sent this text?’

‘Two days.’

‘TWO DAYS? And he sent it at night, at the end of the date? OK. Hang on. Put this.’