“No, I’m the father,” said Mark, just as Dr. Rawlings burst through the doors, pushing a trolley.
“They’re both the fathers,” said Dr. Rawlings, as the three of them manhandled me onto the trolley.
This is not, I thought, not for the first time in this sorry saga, how I imagined this moment would be.
EIGHTEEN
YOU MADE IT!
9 p.m. Hospital delivery room. “There you are, one absolutely perfect, beautiful, baby boy.”
Dr. Rawlings handed you to me, and I actually saw her wipe away a tear. “I never thought I’d see the day,” she said in a choked voice.
And there you were, in my arms, your skin next to my skin, not a little turkey in my stomach but a little person. You were waving your miniature fists, trying to speak to me: tiny, perfect, entirely beautiful. You looked straight into my eyes, and, I don’t suppose you remember, but the first thing we ever did was rub noses.
“Hello, darling,” I said through my tears. “Hello, my darling. I’m your mum. We made it through.”
Looked up at Mark and Daniel to see that both of them were in tears too.
“It’s just, it’s all been so emotional,” sobbed Daniel, clutching Mark’s arm.
“I know, I know,” Mark managed to get out. “Look, can you let go?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, pull yourselves together,” said Dr. Rawlings. “Never heard such a bloody drama.”
The door burst open.
“Bridget!” said Mum, pushing everyone aside to be first. “Do you know, I had just sat down next to Her Majesty when I got the call? I came straightaway. I mean, obviously, some things are more important than the Queen, but then…”
“Pamela,” said Dad. “Look. Your grandson.”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh my darling. My little boy.”
I gently handed you to her and her face crumpled. “Oh Bridget. He’s perfect.”
It was the sweetest thing. Then she said: “Could we text a picture of this to the Queen?”
Miranda burst in with a bottle of mojito mix, followed by a beaming Richard Finch. “Bridget Jones. I’m so proud of you.” He peered at me, worried for a second. “Oh, thank God, the giant boobs are still there.”
Everyone turned up. Tom and Shazzer were hugging each other and everyone in sight. Jeremy got all sentimental with Magda, putting his arm round her. “I’m so sorry, my love. It’s all going to be different now. All our babies. All those years.”
“You are still. In. The. Doghouse,” said Magda.
Just then the doors flung open again and Mark and Daniel appeared, looking nervous.
Everyone looked at them. “So?”
“We have to wait,” said Mark. Daniel reached out for Mark’s hand. Mark didn’t protest, and the two of them sat, holding hands.
“And the winner is!” said Dr. Rawlings, bursting through the doors. “Can I announce it in front of everyone or do you want to be alone? It’s rather fun, isn’t it?—like the final of The X Factor.”
“I think we’re all family, aren’t we?” I said to Mark and Daniel. They both nodded nervously.
“All right, then. The father of Bridget Jones’s baby is none other than…”
AND FINALLY…
“Mark Darcy!”