Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy (31 page)

10.20 a.m.
Oh, just called them. It’s the Bridal Suite. Texted Roxster.

<*Sighs* Yes, Roxster, they do.>

10.45 a.m.
No reply. Oh God. Maybe he thinks I’m serious?

I braved.

Then decided to give him a way out in case he really just wanted a relaxing setting for the full break-up.

Held my breath . . .

<*Googling menu* Of course you are, my little chicken and mushroom puffball.>

11 a.m.
Feeling suddenly light and giddy, I booked the room and texted:

Long pause, then . . .

MINI-BREAK OR BREAK-UP?

Saturday 8 June 2013

Texting has been more high-spirited than ever with Roxby McDuff, full of plans for our trip, so maybe it was just a wobble brought on by the Ellen Boschup toy-boy article, and he is in the Present Moment and everything is all right.

But anyway had better finish packing or will miss train. Ooh, text from Roxster.

Was he going to cancel?

I texted nervously.

<*On one knee* Will you be my wife?>

Stared at the phone. What was going on?

Thought carefully, then, suspecting a trick, I texted:

Sunday 9 June 2013

Mini-breaks 1, shags 7, alcohol units 17, calories 15,892, weight 193lb (including, feels like, 60lb small animal).

Mini-break was heaven. It was ambrosia. We carried on the marriage joke all weekend. It was balmy, sunny weather and it was blissful being away from the noise and to-do lists. Roxster was at his most cheerful and merry. The pub was tiny, in a hidden valley by a little
river. The Bridal Suite was in a separate barn, painted white, with a sloping ceiling and rough wooden beams, and windows on two sides, one side looking straight onto the river and, beyond, a water meadow. Tried to block out memories of Bridal Suite for my real wedding with Mark. But started laughing when Roxster carried me over the threshold, pretending to stagger under the weight, and flung me on the bed.

The windows were open and all you could hear was the river, birds, and sheep in the distance. We had sleepy dreamy sex, then slept for a while. Then we walked along the river and found a little ancient chapel, where we pretended to get married and that the cows were our wedding guests. Eventually we came to another pub, and drank too much beer to quench our thirst and topped it with wine. There was no talk about breaking up. I did tell Roxster about being sacked from
Leaves
and he was so sweet and said they were all mad, and didn’t appreciate my rare genius, and he was going to fight them with his beefy arms. Then we ate a meal so gigantic that afterwards I could hardly move. I had this huge . . . thing in my stomach . . . it felt like being pregnant with a strange creature with very protuberant arms and legs.

We went outside to try and walk it off. There was a full moon, and I suddenly thought about Mabel: ‘There’th the moon. It followth me.’ I thought about Mark, and all the times the moon had followed us, and all the years when I was sure, sure that he would always be there and that there wasn’t heartbreak ahead, just years of being together, stretching before us.

‘You all right, baby?’ said Roxster.

‘I feel like I’ve eaten a Bambi,’ I laughed, to cover the moment.

‘I feel like I want to eat you,’ said Roxster. He put his arm round my shoulders and everything felt fine again. We walked along the river a bit, then got into a bog, and decided it was too dark and too far and went back to the pub and rang for a taxi.

When we got home to the room, the windows were wide open, and the room was filled with the scent of blossom and the gentle
sound of the river. Unfortunately, though, the Bambi was so huge that all I could do was put on my slip and lie face downwards on the bed, feeling as though there was a massive dent beneath me in the mattress containing the Bambi. Then suddenly a dog started barking, really loudly, right outside the window. It just wouldn’t stop. Then the Bambi eased itself slightly and embarrassingly by letting out an enormous fart.

‘Jonesey!’ said Roxster. ‘Was that a fart?’

‘Maybe just a teensy-weensy little pfuff of Bambi,’ I said sheepishly.

‘Little pfuff? It was more like a plane taking off. It’s even silenced the dog!’

It had. But then the bloody dog started barking again. It was like being on a housing estate on the outskirts of Leeds.

‘I’ll give you something to take your mind off it, baby,’ said Roxster.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

10 p.m.
Back in London now. Blissful. Got home at six feeling like a new woman. Children seemed to have had a really good time and I was delighted to see them again, and was so full of
joie de vivre
and bonhomie that even a Sunday evening, with the panic of forgotten homework, passed in a golden joy of 50s-style hearth and home.
Better, Easier Parenting
? Just get laid a lot.

Ooh, text.

Roxster:

Hmm. Suspected a trick. Still wary from the whole confusion/panic attack thing.

Me: <*Farts* Not catching me out being lovey-dovey.>

Roxster: <*Sobs*>

Me: <*Evil cackle* I didn’t heart the weekend at all, honestly.>

Roxster:

Me:

Roxster:

Me:

Roxster:

Me:

Roxster:

Me:

Roxster:

Me:

Roxster:

Me:

IS IT SNOW OR IS IT BLOSSOM?

Tuesday 11 June 2013

133lb, days since any communication from Roxster 2, amount of day spent worrying about lack of communication from Roxster 95%, mass emails re Sports Day chopped vegetables 76, spam emails 104, combined minutes late for school pickups 9, number of sides on a pentagon (unknown).

2 p.m.
Very weird weather – is freezing cold and little white things swirling about. Cannot be snow, surely – is June. Maybe is blossom? But so much of it.

2.05 p.m.
Roxster has not called or texted since Sunday night.

2.10 p.m.
It is snow. But not nice snow like in the winter. Is strange snow. Presumably world about to end through global warming. Think will go to Starbucks.

Though really ought to find somewhere other than Starbucks that does ham-and-cheese paninis in protest at whole tax-avoidance thing, though maybe irrelevant as world about to end anyway.

2.30 p.m.
Mmm. Feel much jollier about everything, now am in world full of people and coffee and ham-and-cheese paninis all huddling together cosy from the cold. The weird unnatural snow has stopped and everything seems normal again. Honestly! Getting in such a stew about everything. Think will text Roxster. I mean, I haven’t texted him since Sunday night either, have I?

Roxster:

Me: <*Types* Roxster’s beefy shoulders glistened in the dappling sunlight like, like . . . beefy shoulders.>

Roxster:

Me: <*Calmly continues typing* An enormous fart emerged from his bum, which quivered in the blossom-scented air. . .>

Roxster has not replied. Ooh, text.

Was Jude.

Texted back: which wasn’t the sort of expression I usually use, but never mind.

2.55 p.m.
Still Roxster has not replied. Hate this. Am so confused. And have to pick kids up in half an hour and be all cheerful. OK, have a few minutes to deal with Sports Day emails.

Sender:
Nicolette Martinez

Subject:
Sports Day Picnic

Sent from my Sony Ericsson Xperia Mini Pro

We need picnic items for boys/parents for our class. I’ve filled in the parents who have already volunteered. Juices: Dagmar

Sliced carrots, radishes and peppers (red and yellow): ?

Sandwiches: Atsuko Fujimoto

Crisps: Devora

Water: ???

Fruits: ??

Melon balls and strawberries: ?

Cookies (no nuts please!): Valencia

Black bin liners: Scheherazade

Let us know what you plan to bring.

Thank you.

Please let’s all bring picnic blankets if we have them.

Thanks, Nicolette

Sender:
Vladlina Koutznestov

Subject:
Re: Sports Day Picnic

I’ll bring fruits – probably some berries and cut-up melons.

Sender:
Anzhelika Sans Souci

Subject:
Re: Sports Day Picnic

I’ll bring sliced carrots, and radishes. Could someone else do red and yellow peppers?

Anzhelika

PS Should someone bring paper cups?

Farzia, Bikram’s mum, just forwarded me an email she’d – in a moment of utter madness – sent to Nicolette.

Sender:
Farzia Seth

Subject:
Re: Sports Day Picnic

Do you think we all need picnic blankets – won’t a few between us be fine?

And the one she’d got back from Nicolette, with a note from Farzia saying, ‘Shoot me now!’

Sender:
Nicolette Martinez

Subject:
Re: Sports Day Picnic

Definitely not. We should all bring picnic blankets. With two boys at the school, I do have some experience of this!

Light-headed and devil-may-care now, I emailed Farzia ‘Watch this’ and sent:

Sender:
Bridget Billymum

Subject:
Re: Sports Day Picnic

I’ll bring the vodka. We drink it neat without mixers, all agreed?

Group email came instantly back.

Sender:
Nicolette Martinez

Subject:
Re: Sports Day Picnic

Vodka is NOT a good idea at Sports Day, Bridget. Or cigarettes. Could you manage the red and yellow peppers? Possibly? In strips so they’ll work with the dips? It is actually quite a difficult job organizing the Sports Day Picnic.

Oh, shit. In the middle of it all suddenly saw email from Imogen at Greenlight.

Sender:
Imogen Faraday, Greenlight Productions

Subject:
Ambergris’s Notes