Helen Fielding - Bridget Jones - The Edge of Reason

"Why?" I said, a lurid vision of my mother seducing a procession of eighteen-year-old drug addicts loomed up before my eyes.

He chuckled. "They said she was too normal. Let me give you back."

"Honestly, darling. It was all complete silly-daft nonsense charging these celebrity type of people loads of money to tell them things everybody knows already!"

"What kind of things?"

"Oooh, hang on. I'll just turn the chicken over."

I held the phone away from my ear, trying not to think about what kind of bizarre dish would involve an upside-down chicken.

"Oof. There we go."

"What things did they tell you?"

"Well, in the mornings we all had to sit in a circle and say all kinds of silly things."

"Like ... ?"

"Oh, durrr You know. My name's Pam and I'm a whatever!"

What? I wondered ... ever? Madly over-confident nightmare? Lump-free gravy obsessive? Girl-child torturess? "The things they were coming out with! 'Today I will

be confident in myself, I will not worry about other people's opinions of me.' On and on and on. I mean, honestly, darling. If someone isn't confident in themselves they're not going to get anywhere, are they?" she said, roaring with laughter. "Durrr! Not confident in yourself. I don't know! Why would anyone go around worrving about what anyone else is thinking about them?"

I looked worriedly from side to side. "So what did you say for your affirmations"

"Oh, I wasn't allowed to say anything. Well, at least I was, darling."

"What? What did you have to say?"

Heard my dad laughing in the background. He sounded on good form, anyway. "Tell her, Pam."

"Ufff. Well, I was supposed to say, 'I will not allow over-confidence to blind me to reality' and, 'Today I will recognize my faults as well as my assets.' I mean, it was completely ridiculous, darling. Anyway, must whizz, there's the buzzer. So I'll see you on Monday."

What?" I said.

"Don't say what, say pardon, darling. I've made an appointment for you to have your colours done in Debenhams. I told you! Four o'clock."

"But..." I mean, she didn't. When did she tell me? January?

"Got to go, darling. The Enderburys are at the door."

8st 10, sq feet of floorspace not covered by bras, shoes, food, bottles or lipstick 0.

10 a.m. Hurrah! Another day, and still not dead. Hideous night, though. Felt really tired after I'd been talking to Mum, so checked all the doors were locked, climbed under confusion of Shazzer's pants, camisoles and leopardskin throws and went to sleep. Didn't hear them come in, then woke up at midnight to find them asleep. Is really starting to stink in here. Also, trouble is if wake up in night all can do is lie staring quietly at ceiling so as not to wake them up by knocking things over.

Ooh. Telephone. Best pick it up so as not to wake them.

"Well, they've realized I'm not a homicidal ex-lover." Hurrah! Was Mark Darcy.

"How are you" he said considerately, given that, thanks to me, it turned out, he'd been at the police station for seven hours. "I'd have called but they wouldn't tell me where you were till they'd cleared me."

Tried to be cheerful but ended up telling him in a whisper that it was a bit of a squash at Shazzer's.

"Well, the offer's still open to come and stay with me," he said off-handedly. "Plenty of bedrooms."

Wished he wouldn't keep rubbing it in so much that he didn't want to sleep with me. Seems to be turning into pashmina scenario and know from Shazzer and Simon how impossible that is to get out of once you start because at the merest hint of sex everyone starts panicking about 'spoiling the friendship'.

Just then, Jude yawned and turned over, dislodging a pile of shoeboxes with her foot, which crashed to the ground spilling beads, earrings, make-up and a cup of coffee into my handbag. I took a big breath.

"Thanks," I whispered into the phone. "I'd love to come."

11.45 p.m. Mark Darcy's house. Oh dear. Is not going very well. Am just lying alone in strange white room with nothing in it except white bed, white blind and worrying white chair which is twice as high as it should be. Is scary here: great big empty palace with not even any food in house. Cannot seem to find or do anything without colossal mental effort as every light switch, toilet flush, etc. disguised as something else. Also is freezing cold in manner of fridge.

Strange, twilight day, drifting in and out of sleep. Keep finding self going along as normal then hitting Sleepy Pocket, almost like when aeroplanes plunge down fifty feet as if from nowhere. Cannot decide if it is still jet-lag or just trying to escape from everything. Mark had to go into work today, even though Sunday, because of missing whole day on Friday. Shaz and Jude came round about 4 with the Pride and Prejudice video but could not face watching lake scene after Colin Firth debacle so we just talked and read magazines. Then Jude and Shaz started looking round the house, giggling. I fell asleep and when I woke up they'd gone.

Mark came home about 9 with a takeaway for us both. Had high hopes for romantic reconciliation but was concentrating so hard on not giving the impression that I wanted to sleep with him, or in any way think staying at his house is anything other than police-type legal arrangement, that we ended up being all stiff and formal with each other in manner of doctor and patient, Blue Peter house inhabitants or similar.

Wish he would come in now. Is very frustrating being so close to him, and wanting to touch him. Maybe I should say something. But it seems too scary a can of worms to open, because if I tell him how I feel, and he doesn't want to get back together, it will just be hideously humiliating, given that we're living together. Also is middle of night.

Oh my God, though, maybe Mark did do it. Maybe he's going to come into the room and just, like, shoot me, and then there'll be blood all over the virgin white room in manner of virgin's blood except am not virgin. Just bloody celibate.

Must not think like that. Of course he didn't. At least have got panic button. Is so awful not being able to sleep and Mark downstairs, naked probably. Mmmm. Mmm. Wish could go downstairs and, like, ravish him. Have not had sex for ... v. difficult sum.

Maybe he will come up! Will hear footsteps on stairs, door will open softly and he will come and sit on the bed! naked! - and ... oh God, am so frustrated.

If only could be like Mum and just have confidence in self and not worry what anyone else is thinking, but that is very hard when you know that someone else is thinking about you. They're thinking how to kill you.

8st 11 (serious crisis now), no. of death- threateners captured by police 0 (non-v.g.), no. of seconds since had sex 15,033,600 (cataclysmic crisis).

1.30 p.m. Mark Darcy's kitchen. Have just eaten huge lump of cheese for no reason. Will check calories.

Oh fuck. 100 calories an ounce. So pack is 8 oz and had already eaten a bit - maybe 2 oz - and little bit left, so have eaten 500 calories in thirty seconds. Is unbelievable. Maybe should make self sick as mark of respect to Princess Diana. Gaah! Why did mind think such tasteless thought? Oh well, might as well eat the rest of it as if to draw a line under whole sorry episode.

Think may be forced to accept truth of doctors saying diets don't work because your body just thinks it's being starved, and the minute it so much as sees any food again it gorges like a Fergie. Awake every morning now to find fat in bizarre and horrifying new places. Would not be in least surprised to find pizza dough-likc strand of fat suspended between ear and shoulder or curving out at the side of one knee, rippling slightly in the wind like an elephant's ear.