Helen Fielding - Bridget Jones - The Edge of Reason

Yes, sure that will be fine. No one will notice. Might even think it part of design. As if whole dress is part of extremelv large piece of lace.

Good. Calm and poised. Inner poise. Presence or otherwise of hole in dress is not point of occasion, which is to do with other things. Fortunately. Sure it will all be serene and fine. Shaz was really far gone last night. Hope she is going to get through it today.

Later. Blimey! Arrived at church only twenty minutes late and immediately looked for Mark. Could tell he was tense just from back of head. Then the organ started up and he turned round, saw me and, unfortunately, looked as if he were going to burst out laughing. Could not blame him really as dressed not as sofa but as giant puffball.

We set off in stately procession down the aisle. God, Shaz looked rough. Had that air of intense concentration to prevent anyone noticing hangover. Walk seemed to go on for ever to the tune of:

Here comes the bride Sixty inches wide.

See how she wa-ddles from side unto side.

I mean, why oh, why?

"Bridget, Your foot," hissed Shaz.

Looked down. Shazzer's Agent Provocateur lilac bra with fur on was attached to the heel of my satin kittenheel shoe. Considered kicking it off but then bra would be left lying tellingly in aisle throughout ceremony. Instead tried unsuccessfully to flip it under my dress causing brief interlude of awkward leaping gait with little result. Was blessed relief when got to front and could pick bra up and stuff it behind bouquet during hymn. Vile Richard looked great, really confident. He was just wearing an ordinary suit which was nice - not all dressed up in some insane morning suit-style outfit as if one of the extras from the film Oliver singing 'Who Will Buy This Wonderful Morning?' and doing a high-kicking formation dance.

Unfortunately, Jude had made the - it was already beginning to seem - crucial mistake of not excluding tiny children from the wedding. Just as the actual wedding ceremony began, a baby started crying at the back of the church. It was top-level crying, of the sort when they start it off, then there's a pause while they draw breath like waiting for the thunder to come after the lightning, then a huge primal scream follows. Cannot believe middle-class modern mothers. Looked round to see this woman was jigging the baby up and down, rolling her eyes smugly at everyone as if to say 'Durrrr!'. It didn't seem to enter her head that it might be nice to take the baby out so the audience could hear Jude and Vile Richard pledge their souls together for a lifetime as one. A swish of long shiny hair at the back of the church caught my eye: Rebecca. She was wearing an immaculate soft grey suit and craning her neck in the direction of Mark. Beside her was a glum-looking Giles Benwick, holding a present with a bow on top.

"Richard Wilfred Albert Paul . . ." said the vicar in a resounding tone. Had no idea Vile Richard had so many Vile names. What were his parents thinking of?

"... Wilt thou love her, cherish her. . ."

Mmmm. Love the wedding ceremony. V. heartwarming.

"... Comfort and keep her..."

Dumph. A football crashed down the aisle into the back of Jude's dress.

", . . For better, for worse ..."

Two tiny boys, wearing, I swear, tap-dancing shoes, broke free from their pews and tore after the ball.

". . . So long as you both shall live?"

There was a muffled noise, then the two boys started having an increasingly loud whispered gibberish conversation while the baby started crying again.

Above the din could faintly hear Vile Richard say "I will', though could possibly have been "I won't" apart from the fact that he and Jude were beaming at each other gooily.

"Judith Caroline Jonquil. . ."

How come I have only got two names? Has everyone except me got great long lists of gibberish after their name?

"... Wilt thou take Richard Wilfred Albert Paul. .." Was vaguely aware of Sharon's prayer book starting to sway out of the corner of my left eye.

"... Hapag. . ."

Shazzer's prayer book was definitely swaying now.

Looked round in alarm, just in time to see Simon, in full morning dress, rush forward. Shazzer's legs started to fold under her in a slow-motion-type curtsey and she collapsed in a heap, straight into Simon's arms.

". .. Wilt thou love him, cherish him. . ."

Simon was now dragging Shazzer shiftily towards the vestry, her feet trailing along the ground out of the lilac puffball as if she were a dead body.

". . . Honour and obey ... "

Obey Vile Richard? Briefly considered following Shazzer into the vestry to see if she was OK but what would Jude think if she turned round now in her worst hour of need, to find Shazzer and I had buggered off?

". . . So long as you both shall live?"

There was a series of bumps as Simon manhandled Shazzer into the vestry.

" I Will. "

The vestry door slammed shut behind them. "I now declare you. . ."

The two little boys emerged from the font area and set off back down the aisle. God, the baby was really yelling now.

The vicar paused and cleared his throat. Turned round to see the boys kicking the football against the pews. Caught Mark's eye. Suddenly he put down his prayer book, stepped out of the pew, picked one of the boys up under each arm and marched them out of the church.

"I now declare you man and wife."

The whole church burst into applause and Jude and Richard beamed happily.

By the time we emerged from signing the register the atmosphere amongst the under-fives was positively festive. There was, effectively, a children's party going on in front of the altar and we walked back down the aisle behind a furious Magda carrying a screaming Constance out of the church going "Mummy will smack, she will smack, she will smack."

As we emerged into freezing rain and high winds, I overheard the mother of the footballing boys saying nastily to a bemused Mark, "But it's wonderful having children just being themselves at a wedding. I mean that's what a wedding is all about, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," said Mark cheerfully. "Couldn't hear a bloody thing."

Returned to Claridge's to find Jude's parents had unbridledly pushed the boat out and the ballroom was festooned with bronzed, be-leaved and be-fruited streamer things and copper-coloured pyramids of fruit and cherubs the size of donkeys.

All you could hear, when walked in, was people going: "Two hundred and fifty grand."

"Oh come on. It must have been at least 300,000."

"Are you kidding? Claridge's? Half a million."

Caught sight of Rebecca, looking frantically round the room with a fixed smile like a toy with a head on a stick. Giles was nervously following her, his hand hovering round her waist.

Jude's father, Sir Ralph Russell, a booming 'don't worry, everyone, I'm a fantastically rich and successful businessman', was shaking Sharon's hand in the line.

"Ah, Sarah," he roared. "Feeling better?"

"Sharon," corrected Jude, radiantly.

"Oh yes, thank you," said Shaz, a hand delicately fluttering to her throat. "It was -just the heat ... "

Nearly spurted out laughing considering it was so fridge-like that everyone was wearing thermal underwear. "Are you sure it wasn't the tightness of your stays

against the Chardonnav, Shaz." said Mark, at which she stuck a finger up at him, laughing.

Jude's mother smiled icily. She was stick thin in some sort of encrusted Escada nightmare with unexplained fins sticking out around the hips, presumably to make it look as if she had some. (Oh joyous deception to be in need of.)

"Giles, don't put your wallet in your trouser pocket, darling, it makes your thighs look big," snapped Rebecca.

"Now you're being co-dependent, darling," said Giles, putting his hand towards her waist.