Page 119 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

'Thanks,' I said, practically eating the proffered fag.

Several cigarettes and a lot of fiddling with a credit card later we were in, to
find water flooding everywhere. We couldn't turn the taps off. Dan rushed
downstairs, returning with a wrench and a bottle of Scotch. He managed to turn
off the taps, and started helping me to mop up. Then the burglar alarm stopped

and we rushed to the window just in time to see the Saab roar off, with the
Harley-Davidson in hot pursuit.

We both started laughing - we'd had quite a lot of whisky by now. Then
suddenly - I don't quite know how - he was kissing me. This was quite an
awkward situation, etiquette-wise, because I had just flooded his flat and ruined
his evening, so I didn't want to seem ungrateful. I know that didn't give him
license to sexually harass me, but the complication was quite enjoyable, really,
after all the dramas and inner poise and everything. Then suddenly a man in

motorbike leathers appeared at the open door holding a pizza box.

'Oh shit,' said Dan. 'I forgod I ordered pizza.'

So we ate the pizza and had a bottle of wine and a few more cigarettes and
some more Scotch and then he restarted trying to kiss me and I slurred, 'No, no,
we mushn't,' at which point he went all funny and started muttering, 'Oh, Chrisd.
Oh, Chrisd.'

'What is it?' I said.

'I'm married,' he said. 'But Bridged, I think I love you.'

When he'd finally gone I slumped on the floor, shaking, with my back to the

front door, chain-smoking butt ends. 'Inner poise,' I said, halfheartedly. Then the
doorbell rang. I ignored it. It rang again. Then it rang without stopping. I picked
it up.

'Darling,' said a different drunken voice I recognized.