Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy(97)

I didn’t recognize him at first but there, sitting in loose-fitting grey clothes on a purple mat, eyes closed, palms raised on his knees, was none other than George from Greenlight. At least, I was pretty sure it was him, but it was hard to tell. Then I saw the big glasses and iPhone next to the purple mat and I knew it was definitely George.

On the way out, I wasn’t sure whether to say hello or not, but then I thought we had been communing on some sort of level, if subliminal, for the last hour, so I said, ‘George?’

He put the glasses on and looked at me, suspiciously, as though I was going to force a spec script on him right there.

‘It’s me!’ I said. ‘Remember? The Leaves in His Hair?’

‘What? Oh, right. Hey.’

‘I didn’t know you were into meditation.’

‘Yeah. I’m done with the movie business. It’s all studio movies. No respect for art. Meaningless. Empty. Nest of vipers. I was falling apart. Just about to . . . Hang on.’ George checked his iPhone. ‘Sorry. Just about to get on a plane. I’m going to an ashram for three months in Lahore. Great to catch up.’

‘Excuse me,’ I ventured.

He turned, looking impatient.

‘Are you sure the ashram isn’t in Le Touquet?’

He laughed then, probably only just remembering who I was, and we had a rather alarming hug, and he said, ‘Namaste,’ in a deep movie-producer voice with an ironic expression, then rushed off again, still checking his iPhone. And I realized, in spite of everything, I was actually quite fond of George from Greenlight.

Tuesday 26 November 2013

135lb, number of pounds heavier than Miranda 45 (better), calories 4826, ham-and-cheese paninis 2, pizzas 1.5, tubs of H?agen-Dazs frozen yogurt 2, alcohol units 6 (very bad behaviour).

9 a.m. Just dropped off kids. Feel fat. Maybe will go and get ham-and-cheese panini.

10.30 a.m. Suddenly realized as was standing in the queue that Perfect Nicolette was there, waiting for her hot beverage. She was wearing a white faux-fur jacket and sunglasses and carrying an enormous handbag. She looked like Kate Moss arriving at a black-tie event, only it was nine in the morning. Was tempted to bolt, but had been waiting ages, so, when Nicolette eventually turned and spotted me, I said brightly, ‘Hello!’

Instead of the frosty greeting I was expecting, Nicolette just stared at me, holding a paper cup in one hand.

‘I’ve got a new bag. It’s Hermès,’ she said, holding up the handbag. Then her shoulders started to shake.

‘SkinnyVentiDecafCappkeepthechange,’ I rattled off, shoving a fiver at the barista and thinking, ‘If Nicolette’s having a breakdown now, then that’s it. It’s a cut-and-dried case. Everybody, left, right and centre, is a mess of cracked shells.’

‘Come downstairs,’ I said to Nicolette, patting her shoulder awkwardly. Fortunately there was no one else in the basement.

‘I’ve got a new bag,’ she said. ‘And this is the receipt.’

I stared blankly at the receipt. ‘My husband bought it for me, from Frankfurt airport.’

‘Well, that’s nice. It’s beautiful,’ I lied. The handbag was mad. It had no rhyme or reason, buckles and straps and loops bursting out everywhere like lunatics.

‘Look at the receipt,’ she said, pointing at it. ‘It’s for two handbags.’

I blinked at the receipt. It did seem to be for two handbags. But so?

‘It’s just a mistake,’ I said. ‘Ring them and get the money back.’

She shook her head. ‘I know who she is. I called her. It’s been going on for eight months. He bought her the identical bag.’ Her face crumpled. ‘It was a present. And he bought the same one for her.’

Got home and checked my emails:

Sender: Nicolette Martinez

Subject: The school f*cking concert

Just to let you know I don’t give a flying f*ck who brings the mince pies or mulled wine this year and you can all turn up whenever the FUCK you like because I don’t FUCKING WELL GIVE A FUCK.

Nicorette

I need it.

Think will give Nicolette a ring.

11 p.m. Just had brilliant night at our place with Nicolette, with the three boys running riot on Roblox and Mabel watching SpongeBob SquarePants while we had some wine, pizza, cheese, Diet Coke, Red Bull, Cadbury’s chocolate buttons, Rolos and H?agen-Dazs, and Nicolette looked at OkCupid, shouting, ‘Bastards! Fuckwittage!’

In the middle Tom turned up, slightly plastered, going on about a new survey: ‘It proves that the quality of someone’s relationships is the biggest indicator of their long-term emotional health – not so much the “significant other” relationship, as the measure of happiness is not your husband or boyfriend but the quality of the other relationships you have around you. Anyway, just thought I’d tell you. I’ve got to go and meet Arkis now.’

Nicolette is now asleep in my bed and four kids are all squeezed in the bunk beds.

You see? Don’t need men anyway.





A HERO WILL RISE


Friday 29 November 2013

This is what happened. Billy had a football match at another school, East Finchley, a few miles away. We’d been told to park in the street to pick them up, as cars weren’t allowed in the grounds. The school was a tall, red-brick building, with a small concrete yard in front of the gates, and to the left, a sunken sports court, four feet down, surrounded by a heavy chain-link fence.