Free Bridget Jones's Baby by Helen Fielding

plan.”
    “Admiral.” Mavis Enderbury raised her hand. “Can I just ejaculate for a moment over the luncheon.”
    “She just means she wants to sit next to the bloody Queen,” Mum hissed to Una.
    —
    As the speech ended and everyone started to disperse, Mum turned and spotted me. Her eyes went straight to my boobs and bump.
    “Bridget,” she said. “Are you
preggy
?”
    Gaaah! Was it that obvious already? But Mark, Daniel, Tom, Miranda and Shazzer all said you couldn’t tell.
    “She is, she’s preggy, Pam!” said Una.
    Everyone was staring.
    “Do you have to say ‘preggy’?” I said, queasily.
    “Oh Bridget!” said Mum, delighted. “Oh, what
perfect
timing!” She suddenly looked coy. “Is it Mark’s? He’s here, you know. We were all just saying, now that he’s got divorced from that frightful intellectual woman, maybe you two had seen sense at last. Do you remember how you used to play with him in the paddling pool? Bridget, is it Mark’s?”
    “Maybe. I mean, there’s at least a fifty per cent chance.”
    Saw Mavis Enderbury listening in with an evil look of triumph in her eye.
    “A
fifty per cent chance
?” said Mum. “Bridget! Did you have a threesome?”
    —
    Back at Mum and Dad’s house there were tears and drama.
    “I’ve waited all your adult life for you to have a little baby and now you have to do it like this, in front of the cream of Grafton Underwood and Mavis Enderbury. I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life.”
    “But, Pam,” Dad said gently, “it’s a baby. It’s our grandchild. You’ve always wanted a grandchild.”
    “Not like this,” wailed Mum. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”
    “Have you had it checked out?” blurted Una. “I mean, at your age it could come out a mongol.”
    “Una!” I said. “You cannot say ‘mongol’ in this day and age. Mum, I did not mean to embarrass you. I was led to believe by reliable sources that the bump was not visible to the untrained eye. I came to the Ethelred Stone because you’ve been going on and on about it and I wanted to support you. I was going to tell you quietly, here, just with our family. It’s a baby. It’s a life. It’s your grandson. I thought you’d be happy. If you’re going to be like this, I’m off.”
    —
    As I stomped back to where Mark’s car was waiting, I passed Admiral and Elaine Darcy’s manor house and heard raised voices behind the tall privet hedge.
    “What kind of carry-on is this, boy? We’re not docked in some Caribbean port! You’ll put the whole Royal Whatsit in jeopardy and make us look like bloody fools!”
    “My dear Admiral…” I heard Elaine Darcy remonstrate.
    “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy. What’s the matter with you?”
    “Father, I’ve explained to you the reality of the situation, and I’m afraid that is all I have to say. Goodbye.”
    There was a pause. I heard Mark’s footsteps scrunching away across the gravel, then the Admiral continued, “Why can’t he just stay married and bloody reproduce like everyone else? Do you think he’s queer?”
    “Well, you wanted to send him to Eton, dear.”
    “What? What are you bloody talking about?”
    “I’ll never forgive myself.”
    “For what? What, woman?”
    “All those nannies, boarding schools: for delegating the upbringing of my only son.”
    There was a silence.
    “Anyway,” said the Admiral, eventually. “Jolly good. Stiff Upper Lip.”
    —
    Dad came hurrying along and caught me skulking along the hedge.
    “Let’s sit down, pet.”
    We walked along a bit from the Darcys’ house and sat on the grassy bank.
    “Don’t worry about your mum. You know how she is: mad as a bucket, mad as a snake. She’ll come round when she’s got used to the idea.”
    We sat quietly for a moment. You could hear the stream, the birds, voices in the distance: the old, simple scene.
    “It’s the expectation which undoes everyone. Every time. It should be like this, it should be