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8.45 a.m. Wish he would wake up now, though.

9 a.m. Will not actually wake him up, but maybe he will wake up himself just through thought vibes.

10 a.m. Suddenly Mark sat bolt upright and looked at me. Thought he was going to tell me off or start screaming again. But he smiled sleepily, sank back down and

pulled me roughly to him.

"Sorry" I said afterwards.

"Yes, you should be, you dirty little bitch," he murmured homily. "What for?"

"Waking you up by staring."

"You know what?" he said. "I kind of missed it."

Ended up staying in bed quite a long time after that, which was fine because Mark didn't have any appointments that couldn't wait and I didn't have any appointments ever again for the rest of life. Just at a crucial moment, though, the phone rang.

"Leave it," gasped Mark, carrying on. The answerphone boomed out.

"Bridget, Richard Finch here. We're doing an item on the New Celibacy. We were trying to find a personable young woman who hadn't had sex for six months. Didn't have any joy. So I thought we'd settle just for any old woman who can't get laid and try you. Bridget? Pick up the phone. I know you're there, your loopy mate Shazzer told me. Bridget. Bridguuuuuuuurt. BRIDGURRRRRRRRRRRT"

Mark paused in his activities, raised one eyebrow in manner of Roger Moore, picked up the phone, murmured, "She's just coming, sir," and dropped it into a glass of water.

Friday 12 September

Minutes since had sex 0 (hurrah!).

Dreamy day, highlight of which was going to Tesco Metro with Mark Darcy. There was no stopping him putting things into the trolley: raspberries, tubs of Pralines and Cream Hdagen-Daaz, and a chicken with a label on saying 'extra fat thighs'.

When we got to the checkout it was ?98.70.

"That's incredible," he said, taking out his credit card shaking his head in disbelief.

"I know," I said ruefully, "do you want me to chip in?"

"God, no. This is amazing. How long will this food last for?"

I looked at it doubtfully. "About a week?"

"But that's incredible. That's extraordinary."

"What?"

"Well, it cost less than a hundred quid. That's less than dinner at Le Pont de la Tour!"

Cooked the chicken with Mark and he was really quite carried away, pacing around the room expansively, in between chopping.

"I mean it's been such a great week. This must be what people do all the time! They go to work, and then they come home and the other person's there, and then they just chat and watch the television and they cook food. it's amazing."

"Yes," I said, looking from side to side wondering if actually he might be mad.

"I mean, I haven't rushed to the answerphone once to see if anyone's aware of my existence in the world!" he said. "I don't have to go sit in some restaurant with a book, and think I could end up dying alone and. . ."

". . . Being found three weeks later half eaten by an Alsatian?" I finished for him.

"Exactly, exactly!" he said, looking at me as if we had just discovered electricity simultaneously.

"Will you excuse me a minute?" I said. "Of course. Er, why?"


Tags: Helen Fielding Bridget Jones Romance