"Why didn't you call before?"
"Because every time I got a second to call, either on the phone or the mobile, you were bloody well engaged!" Hmmm. Detachment did not go particularly well. He
really has had an awful time. Have arranged to meet him for dinner and he says he's going to sleep this afternoon. Alone, I do so deeply and sincerely hope.
Sunday 2 February
9st 2 (excellent: am turning into Oriental Boy), cigarettes 3 (v.g.), calories 2, 100 (v. modest), boyfriends I again (hurrah!), self-help books counted out loud in dismissive incredulous manner by newly re-instated boyfriend 37 (only sensible in this day and age).
10 p.m. In flat. Everything is good again. Dinner was a bit awkward to start with but got better when decided I did believe him about story, especially as he said I should come and see the housekeeper today.
But then, when we were having our chocolate mousses, he said, "Bridge? Last night even before this happened I'd started to feel as though things weren't right."
Felt cold clunk of dread in stomach. Which was ironic really considering had been thinking things weren't right myself. But really, it is all very well you yourself thinking things aren't right in a relationship, but if the other person starts doing it is like someone else criticizing your mother. Also it starts you thinking you are about to be chucked, which, apart from pain, loss, heartbreak etc. is very humiliating.
"Bridge" Are you in a hypnotic state?"
"No. Why did you think things weren't right?" I whispered.
"Well, every time I tried to touch you, you shrank away as if I were some elderly lech."
Huge sense of relief. Explained to him about the scary pants at which he started really laughing. Ordered some dessert wine, both got a bit squiffy and ended up going back to my flat and having fantastic shag.
This morning, when we were lying around reading the papers in front of the fire, started wondering whether should bring up the Rebecca business, and why he always stays at my house. But then Jude said I shouldn't because jealousy is v. unattractive trait to opposite sex.
"Bridget," said Mark, "you seem to have gone into a trance. I was asking what was the meaning of the new shelving system. Are you meditating? Or is the shelf support system in some way Buddhist?"
"It's because of the electric wire," I said vaguely.
"What are all these books?" he said, getting up and looking at them. "How to Date Young Women: A Guide For Men Over Thirty-Five? If the Buddha Dated? Going For It by Victor Kyam?"
"They're my self-help books!" I said protectively. "What Men Want? Beyond Co-dependency With a Man Who Can't Commit? How to Love Your Separated Man Without Losing Your Mind? You do realize you're building up the largest body of theoretical knowledge about the behaviour of the opposite sex in the known universe. I'm starting to feel like a laboratory animal!"
"Um. . .,
He was grinning at me. "Are you supposed to read them in pairs?" he said, pulling a book off the shelves. "Cover yourself both ways? Happy to Be Single with How to Find Your Perfect Partner in Thirty Days? Buddhism Made Simple with Going For It by Victor Kyam?"
"No," I said indignantly. "You read them individually."
"Why on earth do you buy this stuff?"
"Well, actually I have a theory about this," I began excitedly (because actually I do have a theory about it). "If you consider other world religions such as..."
"Other world religions? Other than what?"
Grrr. Sometimes wish Mark was not so bloody legally trained.
"Other than self-help books."
"Yes, I thought you might be about to say that. Bridget, self-help books are not a religion."
"But they are! They are a new form of religion. It's almost as if human beings are like streams of water so when an obstacle is put in their way, they bubble up and surge around it to find another path."
"Bubble up and surge around, Bridge?"
"What I mean is if the organized religion collapses then people start trying to find another set of rules. And actually, as I was saying, if you look at self-help books they have a lot of ideas in common with other religions."
"Such as ... ?" he said, waving his hand in an encouraging circle.
"Well, Buddhism and..."
"No. Such as what ideas?"
"Well," I began, panicking slightly as unfortunately the theory is not all that well developed as yet, "positive thinking. It says in Emotional Intelligence that optimism, that everything will turn out all right, is the most important thing. Then, of course, there is belief in yourself, like in Emotional Confidence. And if you look at Christianity ..."
"Yeees ... ?"
"Well, that bit they read at weddings, it's the same: "These three things remain: faith, hope and love." Then there's living in the moment - that's The Road Less Travelled and also Buddhist."
Mark was looking me as if I were mad.
". . . And forgiveness: it says in You Can Heal Your Life that holding on to resentment is bad for you and you have to forgive people."
"So what's that then? Not Muslim, I hope. I don't think you find much forgiveness in a faith that lops people's hands off for stealing bread buns."
Mark was shaking his head and staring at me. It did not seem to me that he really understood the theory. But maybe that was because Mark's spiritual soul is not very advanced, which could actually prove to be another problem in our relationship.
"'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us'!" I said indignantly. Just then the phone rang.
"That'll be dating war command," said Mark. "Or maybe the Archbishop of Canterbury'
Was my mum. "What are you doing still there? Chop, chop. I thought you and Mark were coming to lunch."
"But Mum . . ." Was sure had not said we were coming to lunch, was sure of it. Mark was rolling his eyes and turning on the football.
"Honestly, Bridget. I've made three pavlovas - though actually it's just as easy to make three pavlovas as one, and I've taken a lasagne out and . . ."
Could hear Dad going, "Leave her alone, Parn," in the background as she went on and on huffily about the dangers of refreezing meat, then he came on the phone.
"Don't worry, m'dear. I'm sure you didn't tell her you were coming. It just turned into that in her head. I'll try to calm things down. Anyway, the bad news is, she's going to Kenya."
Mum grabbed the phone. "It's all sorted out with the passport. We got a lovely photo done in that wedding shop in Kettering, you know, where Ursula Collingwood had Karen's pictures done."
"Was it air-brushed?"
"No!" she said, indignantly. "At least they may have done something with the computer but it was nothing to do with brushes. Anyway, Una and I are going next Saturday. Just for ten days. Africa! Imagined'
"What about Dad?"
"Honestly, Bridget! Life is for living! If Daddy wants to live between golf and the potting shed, that's up to him!"
Eventually managed to get away, encouraged by Mark standing over me holding a rolled newspaper in one hand and tapping his watch with the other. Went round to his house and definitely do believe him now, because the housekeeper was there cleaning the kitchen with fifteen members of her family who all seemed to want to worship Mark as a god. Then we stayed at his house and had all candles in the bedroom. Hurrah! Think it is all right. Yes. Is definitely all right. Love Mark Darcy. Sometimes he seems a bit scary but underneath he is very kind and sweet. Which is good. I think.
Particularly as is Valentine's Day in twelve days" time.
Monday 3 February
9st I (P.g.), alcohol units 3, cigarettes 12, no. of days to Valentine's Day 11, no. of minutes spent obsessing about feminist wrongness of obsessing re: Valentine's Day 162 approx. (bad).
8.30 a.m. Hope Dad is going to be OK. If Mum is going on Saturday that means she will be leaving him on his own for Valentine's Day, which is not very nice. Maybe 1 will send him a card, as if from a mystery admirer.
Wonder what M
ark will do? Sure he will send a card, at least.
I mean definitely, he will. And maybe we will go out for dinner or other treat. Mmmm. V. nice to have boyfriend on Valentine's Day for once. Ah, telephone.
8.45 a.m. Was Mark. He is going to New York tomorrow for two weeks. He sounded a bit unfriendly actually, and said he was too busy to meet up tonight because he had to get all his papers and everything together.
Managed to be nice about it and just said, "Oh that's nice," waiting till had put phone down to yell "But it's Valentine's Day a week on Friday, it's Valentine's Day. Baaaaaaahl'
Anyway. That is just immature. Thing that matters is the relationship, not cynical marketing ploys.
Tuesday 4 February
8 a.m. In cafe having cappuccino and chocolate croissant. There, you see! Have got self out of negative thoughtbog, and actually is probably very good that Mark is going away. Will give him chance to spring away like a Martian rubber band, as it says in Mars and Venus on a Date, and really feel his attraction. Also will give me chance to work on myself and catch up with own life.
Plan For When Mark is Away
1. Go to gym every day.
2. Have lots of lovely evenings with Jude and Shazzer.
3. Do continuing good work sorting out flat.
4. Spend time with Dad when Mum is away.
5. Really work hard at work to improve position.
Oh. Lose half stone, also, obviously.
Noon. Office. Peaceful morning, Was given an item to do on green cars. "That's environmentally green, Bridget," said Richard Finch, " not green coloured."
Became clear early on green car item would never make it, leaving self free to fantasize re: Mark Darcy and design new headed stationery for self using different fonts and hues while thinking up new item ideas that would really bring me to the forefront of ... Gaaah!
12.15 p.m. Was bloody Richard Finch yelling: "Bridget. This isn't arseing Care in the Community. It is a television production office meeting. If you must stare out of the window, at least try to do it without sliding that pen in and out of your mouth. So can you do that?"
"Yes," I said sulkily, putting the pen down on the table. "No, not can you take the pen out of your mouth, can you find me a Middle-England, middle-class voter, fifty plus, own home, who is in favour?"
"Yes, no problem," I breathed airily, thinking I could ask Patchouli in favour of what later.
"In favour of what?" said Richard Finch.
I gave him a really quite enigmatic smile. "I think you might find you've answered your own question there," I said. "Male or female?"
"Both," said Richard sadistically, "one of each." "Straight or gay?" I exoceted back.
"I said Middle England," he snarled witheringly. "Now get on the bloody phone, and try to remember to put a skirt on in future, you're distracting my team."
Honestly, as if they would take any bloody notice as they are all obsessed with their careers and it is not that short, it had just ridden up.
Patchouli says it is in favour of the European or single currency, Which she thinks means either. Oh fuck, A fuck. Right. Ah, telephone. That'll be the Shadow Treasury press office.
12.25 p.m. oh, hello, darling." Grrr. Was my mother. "Listen, have you got a 'boob tube'?"
"Mum, I've told you not to ring me at work unless it's an emergency," I hissed.
"Oh I know, but you see the problem is we're going on Saturday and the shops are still full of their winter things," Suddenly, I had an idea. It took a while to get it through.
"Honestly, Bridget," she said after I explained. "We don't want lorries coming from Germany taking all our gold away in the night."
"But Mum, as you say, life is for living! You've got to try everything."
Silence. "It will help the currency of the African people." Not sure if this was strictly true but never mind.
"Well, that may well be, but I haven't got time for TV appearances when I'm trying to pack."
"Listen," I hissed, "do you want the boob tube or not"'
12.40 p.m. Hurrahs Have managed to get not one, not two but three Middle-England voters. Una wants to come up with Mum so they can go through my wardrobe and pop into Dickens and Jones, and Geoffrey wants to be on the television. Am top-flight researcher.
"So! Busy, are we?" Richard Finch was looking all postluncheon sweaty and swaggery. "Planning the Jones version of the really effective single currency plan, are we?"
"Well, not quite," I murmured with a cool self-deprecating smile. "But I have got you your Middle-England voters who are pro. Three of them, actually," I added casually while rifling through my "notes'.
"Oh, didn't anyone tell you?" he said, smirking evilly. "We've dropped it. We're doing bomb scares now. Can you get me a couple of Tory commuters from Middle England who can see the IRA's argument?"
8 p.m. Ugh. Spent three hours in wind-whipped Victoria trying to manipulate commuters" opinions in direction of IRA to point where began to fear immediate arrest and transfer to Maze Prison. Got back to office worrying what Mum and Una would find in my wardrobe, to guffawing conversation with Richard Finch along lines of 'You didn't really think you were going to find anyone, did you? Sucker!'
Have got to, got to find another job. Ooh goody, telephone.
Was Tom. Hurrah! He is back! "Bridget! You've lost so much weight!"
"Have I?" I said delighted, before remembering observation was being made down telephonic line.
Tom then went into great long enthuse about his trip to San Francisco.
"The boy on customs was completely divine. He said, "Anything to declare?" I said, "Only this outrageous tan!" Anyway, he gave me his number and I shagged him in a bathhouse!"
Felt familiar flash of envy at ease of gay sex, where people seem to shag each other immediately just because they both feel like it and nobody worries about having three dates first or how long to leave it before phoning afterwards.
After forty-five minutes outlining increasingly outrageous escapades he went, "Anyway, you know how I hate talking about me. How are you? How's that Mark guy, with his firm little buttocks?"
Told him Mark was in New York but decided to leave Rabbitboy till later for fear of over-arousing him. Chose instead to bore on about work.
"I've got to find another job, it's really undermining my sense of personal dignity and self-esteem. I need something that will allow me to make serious use of my talents and abilities."
"Hmmm. I see what you mean. Have you thought about going on the game?"
"Oh very funny."
"Why don't you do some journalism on the side? Do some interviews in your spare time?"
Was really brilliant idea. Tom said he was going to talk to his friend Adam on the Independent about giving me an interview or a review to do or something!
Am going to be top-flight journalist and gradually build up more and more work and extra money so can give up job and merely sit on sofa with laptop on knee. Hurrah!
Wednesday 5 February
Just called Dad to see how he was and if he would like to do something nice on Valentine's Day.
"Oh you are good, m'dear. But your mother said I need to expand my consciousness."
"So?"
"I'm going up to Scarborough to play golf with Geoffrey." Goody. Glad he's feeling OK.
Thursday 13 February
9st 3, alcohol units 4, cigarettes 19, gym visits 0, early Valentines 0, mentions of Valentine's Day by boyfriend 0, point of Valentine's Day if boyfriend does not even mention it 0.
V. fed up. Is Valentine's Day tomorrow and Mark has not even mentioned it. Do not understand why he has to stay in New York all weekend anyway. Surely the legal offices are closed. Goals achieved in Mark's absence: No. of gym visits 0.
Evenings spent with Jude and Shazzer 6 (and another one tomorrow night, looks like). Minutes spent with Dad 0. Minutes spent talking to Dad about his feelings 0. Minutes spent talking to Dad about golf with Geoffrey bellowing in the background 287. Journalis
tic articles written 0. Pounds lost 0. Pounds gained 2.
Have sent Mark Valentine anyway. Chocolate heart. Sent it to hotel before he went saying "not to open till Feb 14th". Think he will know it is from me.
Friday 14 February
9st 4, gym visits 0, Valentines 0, flowers, trinkets, Valentine's gifts 0, point of Valentine's Day 0, difference between Valentines Day and any other day 0, point of living: uncertain, possibility of overreaction to disaster of Non-Valentine's Day: slight
8 a.m. Really beyond caring about things like Valentine's Day. Is just so not important in general scheme of things.
8.20 a.m. Will just go downstairs and see if post has come.
8.22 a.m. Post has not come.
8.27 a.m. Post has still not come.
8.30 a.m. Post has come! Hurrahs
8.35 a.m. Was bank statement. Nothing from Mark, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. Nothing.
8.40 a.m. Cannot believe am spending Valentine's Day alone again. Worst was two years ago when went to Gambia with Jude and Shaz and had to go one day early because of flights. When went down to dinner was all hearts in trees. Every single table contained couple holding hands and had to sit there on own reading Learning to Love Yourself.
Feel v. sad. He can't have not known. He just doesn't care. It must mean I am a Just For Now Girl because, as it says in Mars and Venus on a Date, I think if a man is seriously interested in you he always buys you presents like lingerie and jewels and not books or vacuums. Maybe is his way of saying it is all over and is going to tell me when he gets back.
8.43 a.m. Maybe Jude and Shaz were right and should have just got out when warning signs came. You see with Daniel last year if first time he stood me up on our first date with a pathetic excuse I had got out and detached, instead of going into Denial, would never have ended up finding a naked woman on a sun lounger on his roof terrace. Actually come to think of it, Daniel is anagram of Denial!