“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 the baby, but it has now become clear that I have no place in this ludicrous and unbridled scenario. My concern for your well-being is tempered by the knowledge that, had you been honest and clear to me much earlier in this situation, a great deal of distress and confusion could have been avoided.
The priority now is for you not to become embroiled in further antics, but simply to rest and take care of the unborn child. If I can in any way offer financial assistance or support, you need only let me know and I will honour that commitment.
Yours ever,
Mark
NINE
CHAOS AND DISORDER
MONDAY 13 NOVEMBER
10.15 a.m. Sit Up Britain office. Just got into work. I can’t do this. I absolutely cannot do a day’s work with the following things inside me: