Bridget Jones's Baby: The Diaries (Bridget Jones 4)

“If you let cloudy water settle, it will become clear. If you let your upset mind settle, your course will also become clear.”

THURSDAY 1 FEBRUARY

5 a.m. I miss Mark Darcy.

—

8 a.m. “I was waiting for this call,” said Dad. “Do you love him?”

“More than anyone in the world—I mean apart from the baby, and you, of course.”

“So what’s holding you back, pet?”

“Well, first, he’s now bonkers, stumbling around doing paintings in the dark; second, he’s broken up with me so many times, for reasons I don’t understand, that I think if I get back together with him he’ll just do it again. I mean, why did he overreact so much at the engagement party and break up our whole lives? Why did he just dump me like that after the christening? Why did he send me that horrible, cold letter after the childbirth class? I’m not intellectual enough for him. Or maybe I’m too old. Never pursue a man, it will only make you unhappy.”

“You girls give men so much power,” said Dad. “Have you really thought about how he feels? Men have feelings too, they just don’t go on about them all the time. You have to be nurturing of the other person’s self-esteem. Talk to him. You can’t just sit around waiting to be rescued.”

“But why did he keep leaving like that? Why has he gone mad?”

“You’ll have to work that out for yourself, love. But I’ve known Mark since he was a little boy. I used to watch him, packed off to the station in his little suit and stiff collar, carrying his little suitcase. Then, when he was a teenager, he was always the quiet, spotty one in the geeky sweater in the corner: the best of all the lads, but never the one who got the girl. You’ll know when you know. You’ll see.”

—

10 p.m. Feel like scales are falling from my eyes. Well, not literally scales. Not weighing scales. But realize I’ve been seeing men as all-powerful gods with the gift to decide whether I’m worthy or attractive or not, instead of human beings. I have not been thinking about what they feel. I have to…I have to…oh, I’m so sleepy.

SATURDAY 3 FEBRUARY

5 a.m. My flat. I understand, I do, I think. It’s what Daniel represents.

WEDNESDAY 7 FEBRUARY

5 a.m. My flat. But then I still think it was bloody brutal to send me that letter. I mean, it wasn’t me that acted out in the childbirth class, it was Daniel. Why take it out on me? Blurry bastard.

TUESDAY 13 FEBRUARY

5 a.m. My flat. I just daren’t call him. I daren’t. It’ll hurt too much if he says no.

WEDNESDAY 14 FEBRUARY

1 p.m. My flat. Gaah! It’s one in the afternoon. I’m starving, the baby’s starving. Have to get up and get some food.

1.05 p.m. Gaah! What’s that?

1.06 p.m. Is baby in stomach. Has started to feel like giant frozen turkey.

1.10 p.m. Cannot put socks on, baby is so enormous.

1.30 p.m. Oh God. There’s no food in the fridge. I have no cash. I’m starving. The baby’s starving.

1.31 p.m. I’ll just have a little lie-down.

1.55 p.m. Just spent ten minutes trying to get up from sofa as had got hands stuck under stomach. Magda is right, cannot do anything on my own. Cannot call Mark to help after all this time, as will seem like act of desperation, not because I really love and understand him. Have to manage by myself, pull self together and go out and forage for food.

—

3 p.m. Tesco Metro. “Is it a boy or a girl?” asked a shopper as I tried to reach the cheesy potatoes.

“Boy!”