Page 144 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

cupboard and knocked an open bottle of extra virgin olive oil over on to my

River Café cookbook that I realized what I'd done.

Three hours after they arrived, filming had still not begun and they were still
boshing around saying, 'Can I just cheat you this way a bit, love?' By the time
we finally got going, with Mother and I sitting opposite each other in

semidarkness, it was nearly half past one.

'And tell me,' she was saying 'in a caring, understanding voice I'd never heard
before, 'when your husband left you, did you have' - she was almost whispering
now - 'suicidal thoughts?'

I stared at her incredulously.

'I know this is painful for you. If you feel you're going to break down we can
stop for a moment,' she said hopefully.

I was too livid to speak. What husband?

'I mean, it must be a terrible time, with no partner on the horizon and that
biological clock ticking away,' she said, kicking me under the table. I kicked her
back and she jumped and let out a little noise.

'Don't you want a child?' she said, handing me a tissue.

At this point there was a loud snort of laughter from the back of the room. I

had thought it would be fine to leave Daniel asleep in the bedroom because he
never wakes up tiff after lunch on Saturdays and I'd put his cigarettes on the
pillow next to him.

'If Bridget had a child she'd lose it,' he guffawed. 'Pleased to meet you, Mrs
Jones. Bridget, why can't you get all done up on Saturdays like your mum?'