Mad About the Boy (Bridget Jones 3)

Now am going back to sleep.

NIT-INFESTERED POWER MEETING

Friday 26 April 2013

12.30 p.m. Greenlight boardroom. Oh God. There was a tense atmosphere when I walked in. They were all talking amongst themselves and suddenly stopped.

‘Bridget, hello! Come and sit down!’ said Imogen. ‘Thank you for the pages. There are some lovely things in there.’ (Have subsequently come to realize that ‘There are some lovely things in there’ means ‘It’s crap’.)

There was a flat, tired air of weariness, quite different from the excitement of last week. Felt overwhelming urge to scratch my head.

‘How is the road trip a good idea when these are people who like yachts?’ George bulldozed in.

‘That’s exactly what I thought!’ I said, quickly giving my head a scratch as if to illustrate the dilemma, but actually to squash the worst bit of itching. ‘If Hedda’s going to come back and be disappointed by her new yacht, how can she already have been on a honeymoon on it?’

‘Yes, but they don’t have to go on a road trip, they could go to . . . to . . .’

My phone vibrated. Talitha.

‘Vegas!’ said Damian eagerly.

‘Not Vegas,’ said George disparagingly. ‘People get married in Vegas, they don’t have their honeymoons in Vegas.’

‘What about Costa Rica?’ said Damian.

The phone vibrated again.

Was Tom.

‘Or the Mayan Riviera?’ said Imogen.

‘Not Mexico. Kidnappings,’ said George.

‘But does it matter?’ I ventured, trying not even to start with the chilling implications of Tom’s text. ‘Because we’re not going to actually see them on the honeymoon, only when they get back.’

Everyone stared at me, as if this was a totally brilliant, original thought.

‘She’s right,’ said George. ‘We don’t need to see the honeymoon.’

Suddenly had sinking sense that George was not actually interested in the quality of my writing so much as the filming locations. Felt should quickly text Tom back reassuringly about the crabs/nit distinction, though did not have a definitive answer. Simultaneously sensed I must seize my advantage, and take control of the meeting.

‘Look,’ I said, in what I could already tell was going to be an annoying, schoolmarmy voice, scratching my head, and having a lurching fear that the reason Roxster hadn’t texted was that he too now had nits or maybe even—

‘I think the yacht is a great idea,’ I fraudulently enthused, ‘but it does throw up some issues with the adaptation. It’s important that we remember that The Nits in His Hair is making an—’

‘The Nits in His Hair?’ said Imogen, suddenly reaching her hand to her head.

‘I mean The Leaves in His Hair,’ I said hurriedly. Damian was scratching his head now and George, who is bald, was looking at us as if we were completely mad. The phone vibrated. Roxster! No, it was Tom again.

‘The important thing,’ I ploughed on, ‘is it’s important that we don’t lose the important . . . Look,’ I said grandly, opening my laptop, ‘I’ve made some notes about the important themes.’

Everyone gathered round to look at my screen, though keeping a distance from my head. Just as I was adding, to fill the embarrassing silence while I got the laptop to start up, ‘You see, this is, essentially, I believe, a feminist piece,’ the screen popped with the pink and lilac home page of Princess Bride Dress Up.

Gaah! How had Mabel got on my laptop?

Started fiddling around trying to find notes, then George said impatiently, ‘Look, while you’re looking for this stuff, why don’t we go off and read the pages and we can order in some lunch?’

‘Read the pages?’ I said, mind reeling. ‘But haven’t you already read the pages?’