Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy

The ceremony was performed in the chapel. The school choir sang, and Scott’s sons Matt and Fred – who are no longer in boarding school but at the Senior School – played ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’ on clarinet and piano. I cried most of the time. Greenlight Productions sent a bunch of flowers the size of a sheep; Rebecca had her hair done in an Afro with a lit-up sign saying ‘Motel’ and an arrow pointing down at her head; Daniel got drunk at the party and tried to get off with Talitha, leading to Sergei throwing a giant tantrum and storming off in a rage; and Jude – who had, obviously, got bored with Wildlifephotographerman’s devotion – got off with Mr Pitlochry-Howard and then had a terrible time getting out of it afterwards. Tom and Arkis sulked because we hadn’t invited Gwyneth Paltrow – even though Jake had once played with Chris Martin – and both flirted outrageously with the senior boys in the big band. Mum was still slightly annoyed that I hadn’t worn something more brightly coloured, but got over it because her coat-dress set was clearly nicer than Una’s, and Mr Wallaker is quite happy to indulge her by flirting outrageously and telling her off when she gets out of line, in a way which just makes her titter. Roxster – who had previously sent me a very nice text saying his heart was broken at the loss of his vomiting cougar, but there clearly was a Dating God as his new girlfriend had morning sickness – texted me on the day to say she wasn’t pregnant, it was just that he’d forced her to eat too much food, and she was really annoying. Which was nice.

And somewhere up above it all, I knew in my heart that Mark would be glad. That he really, really would not have wanted us to be alone and in a confused state. And that if it had to be someone, he would be glad it was Mr Wallaker.

And now I have not two children but four. And Billy has big boys to play Xbox with and comes off perfectly happily and without any discussion about getting to the next level if Mr Wallaker so much as looks at him. We hang out with Jake and Rebecca and the kids at weekends and everyone has someone to play with. And Mabel, for the first time since she was too tiny a baby to know, has a daddy who is in this world and not the next, and treats her like such a princess that I constantly have to Caution her. And I feel safe and not lonely, and cared for. And we go to Capthorpe House sometimes at weekends, and re-enact the scene in the bushes when the kids are in bed, with a better ending.

And we all live together now, in a big old messy house near Hampstead Heath. And as we can all walk to school from there, we’ve decided we can manage with just the one car – which makes it SO much easier with the parking permits, though we’re still late every morning. Oh, and watch out for The Leaves in His Hair, retitled Thy Neighbour’s Yacht, coming soon as a straight-to-DVD release near you! The children finally went to the dentist and don’t have anything wrong with their teeth. And by the way, currently all six of us have head lice.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Initially it seemed the acknowledgements should be arranged in hierarchical order: there are some people without whom I would never have started the book, or who have given a huge amount of material, or just one line, or edited the whole thing. But it was a minefield of possible gaffes, like organizing a seating plan for a wedding in a family with multiple remarriages.

I tried a complex star-rating system, but that seemed somehow . . . strange.

Then I thought it was like award ceremonies when everyone else is bored by the thanking and the only people who care are the thankees. So, finally, I decided just to put it in alphabetical order and hope that’s OK.

But you know who you are and where you actually should be in the hierarchical order (first). And I really am appreciative of the help and generous sharing of amusing experiences, and experience, and moral support. And I really . . . I really . . . (bursts into tears) . . . thank you.