Page 273 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

'Bridget, where the fuck are you off to?' yelled Richard as I tried to sneak out.

'You found the Banger Bobbit Boy yet?'

'Got a hot tip,' I said, tapping my nose, then made a dash for it. I was waiting
for my money to come, freshly baked and piping hot, out of the cash machine,
wondering how my mother was going to manage for two weeks in Portugal on

two hundred pounds, when I spotted her scurrying towards me, wearing
sunglasses, even though it was pissing with rain, and looking shiftily from side
to side.

'Oh, there you are, darling. You are sweet. Thank you very much. Must dash,
going to miss the plane. Byee!' she said, grabbing the banknotes from my hand.

'What's going on?' I said. 'What are you doing outside here when it's not on
your way to the airport? How are you going to manage without your banker's
card? Why can't Julio lend you the money? Why? What are you up to? What?'

For a second she looked frightened, as if she was going to cry, then, her eyes
fixed on the middle distance, she adopted her wounded Princess Diana look.

'I'll be fine, darling.' She gave her special brave smile. 'Take care,' she said in

a faltering voice, hugged me quickly then was off, waving the traffic to a
standstill and tripping across the road.

7 p.m. Just got home. Right. Calm, calm. Inner poise. Soup will be absolutely
fine. Will simply cook and purée vegetables as instructed and then-to give
concentration of flavor-rinse blue jelly off chicken carcases and boil them up

with cream in the soup.

8:30 p.m. All going marvelously. Guests are all in living room. Mark Darcy is
being v. nice and brought champagne and a box of Belgian chocolates. Have not