Bridget Jones's Baby: The Diaries (Bridget Jones 4)
8.20 p.m. Just looked back at my diary of Shazzer’s rant:
As women glide from their twenties to thirties, the balance of power subtly shifts. Even the most outrageous minxes lose their nerve, wrestling with the first twinges of existential angst: fears of dying alone and being found three weeks later half eaten by an Alsatian. And men like Richard play on the chink in the armour to wriggle out of commitment, maturity, honour and the natural progression of things between a man and a woman.
You can hardly call what Daniel had just said the natural progression of things between a man and a woman.
But could it be true that even fuckwits like Daniel do want children? They just can’t ever get past their fuckwittage to make a decision?
—
The strange thing about all this is all through my thirties I’ve thought that children were something you had to sort of wrangle men into. Almost something you had to pretend not to want in order to keep a man, otherwise they’d run off screaming.
Maybe that was the difference between Singletons like me, Miranda and Shazzer and Smug Marrieds like Magda. Smug Married women never had that insecurity or ambivalence, and went for a realistic choice and some sort of balanced lifestyle transaction as soon as possible: never even entertaining the thought that a man would not want to have children with them?
—
8.30 p.m. Emboldened by my new revelation, even if not exactly sure what it precisely was, I sent Mark a text.
Bridget Jones
Mark, I understand how complicated this is, but I am having a scan on Monday 23 October at 5 p.m. and if you wanted to come I would like that very much.
—
8.32 p.m. Staring fixedly at blank phone.
8.33 p.m. No reply from Mark.
8.34 p.m. Still no reply from Mark.
8.35 p.m. But what if he does reply yes? What do I do about Daniel? What if I tell Mark that Daniel wants to come and Mark still says yes? What if I don’t tell Mark about Daniel on the assumption that Daniel’s never going to turn up anyway, and then Daniel does turn up?
8.45 p.m. Realize there have been so many times in my life when I’ve fantasized about going to a scan with Mark or Daniel: just not both at the same time.
—
9 p.m. Right. Broccoli. We’re eating too many cheesy potatoes and we need to enter different food groups. Broccoli is a Crossover Food that embraces more than one essential food group. Like pomegranates.
9.30 p.m. Baby hates broccoli. Am going to have cheesy potato.
10 p.m. Still no text from Mark.
FRIDAY 20 OCTOBER
6 p.m. Sit Up Britain studios. “Sit Up Britain!” said Miranda, to camera, in her urgent newsreader voice. “The hard-hitting news show that makes you shit up!”
BONG.
“Did I just say shit up?” said Miranda, as the title footage showed reporters striding around the globe with determined expressions.
“Yes,” I whispered into her feed, glancing round to check that Peri Campos wasn’t watching.
“Unpronounceable headline, anyway,” said Miranda, looking up at the camera for her next autocue. “So my point is, what sort of MONSTER doesn’t reply to a text inviting him to a scan?”
“Maybe he’s in a meeting?”
“For FOUR DAYS? Sod him. And now—fascinators! Are they the new earrings?”
BONG.