Mad About the Boy (Bridget Jones 3)

‘Jonesey,’ he whispered, looking into my eyes. ‘I . . .’ He turned away and did a little dance. He was so drunk. He turned back and looked sad for a moment, then happy, then burst out, ‘I heart you. I’ve never said this to a woman before. I wish I had a time machine. I heart you.’

If there is a God, I’m sure He has more to deal with, what with the Middle East crisis and everything, than giving tragic widows perfect nights of sex, but it did feel as though God had taken His mind off His other troubles that night.

The next morning, when Roxster had gone off to his rugby match and the children had been deposited at their respective magic and football parties, I climbed back into bed for an hour, savouring moments from the night before: Roxster emerging from the pool, Roxster in the lamplight, happy, saying, ‘I heart you.’

Sometimes, though, when a lot of things happen all at once your mind gets confused and you can only dissect all the bits of information later.

‘I wish I had a time machine.’

It bubbled up through all the other words and images from the night before. The split second of sadness in his eyes, before he said, ‘I heart you . . . I wish I had a time machine.’

It was the first time he had ever mentioned the age difference, apart from jokes about my knees and teeth. We had been caught up in the excitement, the exuberance of realizing that, in the flotsam and jetsam of cyberspace, we’d both found someone we really liked, and it wasn’t just a one-night stand, or a three-night stand, it was a real connection full of affection and fun. But in his moment of inebriated joy he had given himself away. It mattered to him, and with that came the elephant in the room.

PART THREE

HORRIBLE NO-GOOD VERY BAD DAY

Tuesday 4 June 2013

134lb, calories 5822, jobs 0, toy boys 0, respect from production company 0, respect from schools 0, respect from nanny 0, respect from children 0, entire bags of cheese eaten 2, entire packets of oatmeal cookies eaten 1, entire large vegetables eaten 1 (a cabbage).

9 a.m. Mmm. Another highly erotic night with Roxster. Though at the same time, feel lurch of unease. Billy and Mabel weren’t quite asleep when he arrived, and they came downstairs crying, because Billy said Mabel had thrown Saliva and ‘blinded’ him in one eye. Took ages to get them back to sleep.

When I came down again, Roxster, not realizing I was there, looked a bit pissed off.

I said, ‘Sorry!’ and he looked up and laughed in his usual merry way and said, ‘It just wasn’t how I imagined I was going to be spending the evening.’

Anyway, once the food was on the go he was back to normal. And it was dreamy. The bathroom chair and mirror really came into their own. And the mini-break is next weekend! We are going to find a pub in the country and go hiking and shagging and eating and everything! Chloe has done the school run so can get early start on Leaves – which is starting to look less like an impossible dream and more like a fantastic reality – a movie, written by me, starring Ambergris Bilk! So everything’s fine. Definitely. Must just get on with rewriting it.

9.15 a.m. Mmmmm. Keep getting flashbacks to last night in the bathroom.

9.25 a.m. Just sent Roxster text saying:

9.45 a.m. Only thing is, why hasn’t he replied? ‘I wish I had a time machine.’ Oh God, why do I have all these images of myself that I immediately go to – like I’m a stalker, or a tragic deluded grandmother waddling around a discotheque in leggings and a sleeveless top with flappy arms, frizzy hair, a sticking-out stomach and a novelty tiara.

9.47 a.m. Right. Have got to pull self together, get up and get on. Cannot be floating around in lingerie having some completely unnecessary push-me-pull-you inner dialogue about why toy boy hasn’t responded to text, when have screenplay to write and children to take responsibility and schedule things for.

But why hasn’t he texted back?

9.50 a.m. Will check email.

9.55 a.m. Nothing. Just a forwarded email from George from Greenlight. Maybe something nice?

10 a.m. OMG. Just opened the forwarded email and detonated a bomb.

FWD: Sender:

Ambergris Bilk

To:

George Katernis

Just spoke with Dougie. He’s soooooooo awesome. Am so totally

Leaves

now. So glad he’s on the same page about putting a proper screenwriter on it.