Free Bridget Jones's Baby by Helen Fielding Page B

Bridget are a couple?”
    “No.”
    “So Daniel and Bridget are…”
    “None of us are a couple,” I said. “I slept with both of them and I don’t know which one is…”
    “Oh! So you both opted for actual intercourse with the surrogate! That’s unusual! Anyway, all comers welcome here!”
    “ ‘Comers’ being the operative word,” remarked Daniel.
    “Let’s carry on, shall we?” She held up the rubber gynecological model. “What’s the opening of the uterus called? Anyone tell me?”
    Daniel shot his hand up: “The vagina!”
    “Um, no…actually.”
    “The cervix,” said Mark.
    “The cervix. Exactly! And the
opening
to the cervix?”
    “The vagina!” said Daniel triumphantly.
    “Yes! Or, as we call it, the birth canal, or, for Baby, the exit into a new world.”
    “Always two ways of looking at anything,” said Daniel.
    The instructor was now holding up a plastic baby and the rubber cut-in-half-woman. Honestly, how did any normal relationship ever survive a childbirth class?
    “So! Let’s have a look at what actually happens when Baby’s finally on the way. So the birth canal needs to open up.” She pushed the baby down headfirst into the rubber half-woman. “Can I have a volunteer to play doctor? How about you, Daniel?”
    “…since opening up vaginas has been your life’s work,” murmured Mark.
    “OK! So! Doctor! You put your hand in here.”
    She guided Daniel’s hand up into the rubber lady’s “birth canal.” “And Baby pushes down from here. Can you feel Baby?”
    “Frightfully sorry,” said Daniel wriggling his hand in the rubber birth canal. “I can’t seem to reach it.”
    Mark smirked as Daniel tried to shove his hand farther up while the instructor shoved the doll farther down.
    “Ugh,” said the instructor, suddenly revealing a snappy side. “This happens every
sugaring
time. I keep asking for another one. That’s the National Health for you. Nobody’s vagina is this small.”
    “You’ve obviously never been to the Ping Pong Puck in Bangkok,” said Daniel.
    “Oh. My. God!” said the instructor, looking at Daniel disbelievingly. “Oh my God. You’re the man from that travel show! Aren’t you? I saw you on that programme from Bangkok! It was hilarious! Daniel Cleaver!”
    Everyone was now looking at Daniel excitedly.
    “Are you doing another show?”
    “Well, actually, no,” said Daniel, trying to extract his arm from the birthing canal. “I’ve just written a novel, actually. It’s called
The Poetics of…
”
    “Right, that’s it,” said Mark. “This is intolerable. I’m leaving.”
    —
    The three of us stood outside in the street with rain drizzling down and lorries and buses roaring past.
    “You’re an imbecile, you’re a child,” Mark was saying furiously to Daniel.
    “Well, she said to ask questions.”
    “I deeply resent being placed in these idiotic situations with such a ludicrous…”
    “Well, get out of it, then, Mrs. D. Everyone knows you haven’t got the soldiers anyway. Firing blanks for years.”
    “You take that back,” said Mark.
    “The dominant sperm conquers all.”
    Mark made as if to punch him.
    “Mark, stop!” I said.
    The two of them stood, squaring off like boxers.
    I literally couldn’t take it anymore. Neither of them noticed as I saw a cab approaching with its light on. “Bye!” I said as it pulled up. “Talk to you later.”
    “Wait! Bridget!” said Mark.
    “I’m just tired,” I said. “Thanks for coming, guys. Talk to you later.”
    When I looked out of the back window they seemed to have stopped fighting, but Daniel was talking intently to Mark. Then Mark suddenly turned on his heel and strode away.
    —
    10 p.m. My flat. Ooh, goody! Doorbell. Maybe Mark!
    It was not Mark, but a courier with a letter from Mark.
    Mark is literally the only person who still writes letters, in ink, on embossed paper.
Dear Bridget,
    The current situation cannot sustain. I have stated my feelings for you and