BRIDGET
JONES’S
BABY

SCREENPLAY BY

HELEN FIELDING
DAN MAZER
EMMA THOMPSON

8 January 2016


© Universal Studios

EXT. LONDON. DAY.

Sweeping aerial shot of London, establishing the city in all its glory.

EXT. SOUTHWARK BRIDGE. DAY.

We swoop down the Thames to find a svelte figure on the bridge hailing a taxi.

INT. CHURCH. DAY 2

SHAZZER, early forties, and her folk singer husband FERGUS, scurry down the aisle.

The church is packed with people we might recognise. A few literary and TV celebrities amongst them. Shazzer spots JUDE, now a pillar of married respectability, her husband GILES and their tiny baby. They take the seats beside them.

INT. CHURCH. DAY.

BRIDGET JONES enters the church. She’s older than when we last saw her, forty three to be exact, slim and elegantly dressed. She takes a deep breath and collects herself. Bridget spots Jude and Shazzer and heads towards them. Shazzer greets her with a big hug.

SHAZZER: How are you feeling, you OK?

BRIDGET: Yes, but I still can’t believe he’s gone.

REVEAL - at the front a portrait of DANIEL CLEAVER.

ANOTHER REVEAL - The congregation consists mainly of ludicrously attractive, glamorous women, all weeping.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): His death seems to have hit the Eastern European teenage modelling community particularly hard.

JUDE: They found the flight recorder but still no bodies.

SHAZZER: Yep, in the Australian outback. And strangely fitting that he died going down in the bush.

A random guy, JOHN, takes his place next to Bridget. A hush descends and the service begins.

A dour looking Minister assumes the pulpit.

MINISTER: Dear friends, we are gathered here to celebrate the life of Daniel Vivian Cleaver. Daniel was a kind and wonderful son, a loving Uncle and brother, a fantastic friend...

SHAZZER (aside to Bridget): A selfish but gifted lover?

Bridget gives a little smile, but then stops in her tracks.

BRIDGET: Fuck. What the fuck is he doing here?

We see MARK DARCY enter at the back of the church. A little older, a little greyer, but still just as handsome.

As Bridget takes this surprise in, she sees an attractive woman, CAMILLA take his arm.

JUDE: You know what he’s like, wanting to do the decent thing.

SHAZZER: Is that his wife?

Bridget nods.

JUDE: She’s pretty.

BRIDGET: I mean, yes, conventionally, I suppose.

SUDDENLY DARCY LOOKS OVER.

Bridget, aware of Darcy’s gaze, grabs onto random John’s arm.

BRIDGET (CONT’D) (whispers): Sorry, I’m just very emotional.

Darcy looks over, she pretends not to see and affectionately brushes the fluff from a bewildered John’s shoulder.

Darcy faintly but discernibly registers this.

John tries to shake himself free. Bridget struggles to cling on to his arm but John uncouples himself, and Bridget is left solo. Darcy glances over.

MINISTER: I would now like to invite his loved ones up to share some of their memories of Daniel.

Shazzer gives Bridget a nudge, as if to say go on. Bridget contemplates the idea as a glamorous young woman gets up from the front pew.

BRIDGET (whispers to Jude): You know he could be very sensitive, he could make you feel like you were the only woman in the world. I remember when he took me rowing on the Serpentine and quoted Keats by heart. “Where be ye going, you Devon Maid? And what have ye there in the basket?”

Bridget drifts off in fond reverie. The glamorous young woman stands in the pulpit.

GLAMOROUS YOUNG WOMAN:  ... “Ye tight little fairy just fresh from the dairy, Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?”

In the front pew several more young women look at each other awkwardly, clearly sharing exactly the same memory.

Bridget, Shazzer and Jude all laugh, they can’t help themselves. The rest of the congregation look at them disapprovingly.

Mark and Bridget make fleeting, but definite eye contact, as he catches her mid gorgeous, life-affirming laugh.

Bridget then looks sadly at the portrait of Daniel at the front.

MINISTER: Would anybody else like to say a few words?

No one else in the congregation stands up. After a nudge from Shazzer, Bridget gets up.

BRIDGET: Daniel was a man who touched many of us, here today, including me.

There is a small, slightly awkward pause, but she continues unabated.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Right now, if Daniel were here, he would have told me to ‘Shut up, Jones’ and he would’ve been right. All I really need to say is, I miss you, dear Daniel. We all do. Thank you.

INT. CHURCH. DAY. LATER.

The congregation is leaving. At the back of the church Bridget says goodbye to her friends. As she turns, she finds herself face to face with Mark Darcy and his wife.

MARK: Bridget.

BRIDGET: Mark.

MARK: Camilla, my wife. Bridget Jones, my... an old friend.

BRIDGET: Less old... more childhood.

BRIDGET/CAMILLA: Hello. Hello.

Awkward pauses all round.

BRIDGET: Nice memorial... as memorials go. Almost makes one look forward to one’s own.

Camilla just stares at Bridget strangely.

MARK: Right. Yes. Well. Goodbye.

BRIDGET: Yes. Goodbye.

They part in opposite ways. At the last moment, Mark looks back.

CUT TO:

AMY WINEHOUSE’S ‘MY TEARS DRY ON THEIR OWN’ kicks in.

TITLE: BRIDGET JONES’S BABY

EXT. SOUTHWARK BRIDGE AND SOUTH LONDON STREETS. DAY.

Bridget walks across the familiar bridge.

BRIDGET (V.O.) Here I am Bridget Jones, one day short of 43. Of the two loves of my life: one is dead and the other is married.

She walks on...

BRIDGET (V.O.): Still, not to dwell on the negatives. Many positives to note. Am down to ideal weight! Am 685 days without a single cigarette. Am hitting government target for recommended intake of alcohol. 2-3 units per day. 

A good looking man clocks her and takes her in as she walks - she smiles to herself once he has passed.

BRIDGET (V.O.): Have top job as producer of award winning intelligent persons news programme. Bridget walks through the now fashionable Borough Market. She passes the smallest Italian restaurant in the world, and waves at GIANNI, the owner.

BRIDGET (V.O.): AND... have foot on London’s property ladder in now-fashionable Borough Market...

EXT./INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. CONTINUOUS

She trips up over a brand new, unused bicycle in the hallway. Looks at it guiltily. She enters her sitting room just as a fast train bullets past the windows, shaking the walls.

BRIDGET(V.O.): ... cleverly acquired just before the new-improved transport links. And even though I am still single, I have NOT acquired a cat. 

Then she opens a ‘funny’ birthday card featuring an old lady and a cat. She enters her make-shift office and goes to the shelf where her old diaries are. She rifles through them to find a photograph of her and Daniel, which is placed between the pages. She looks at it mournfully before her eyes settle on the diary entry on the page behind the photo... “Reasons why Mark Darcy and I could never work” followed by a list of reasons.

INT. BEDROOM. BRIDGET’S FLAT. NIGHT.

Bridget lies in her bed.

On one bedside table is a pile of serious political tomes and on the other, some self-help books. “Spinsterhood is the new Feminism”, “Jog yourself Happy”, A 5:2 diet book with an empty Kit-Kat wrapper on top, and on the floor in a pile of dirty clothes “The Life Changing Powers of Tidying” She opts for none of these, and picks up her iPad with a red cover and types.

BRIDGET (V.O.): If today has taught me anything, it’s that life is short, you’ve got to seize the day, stop making the same mistakes, stop looking back and... and not be dissuaded by the very simple fact that the future, seems to be something…

Suddenly the screen goes black. Bridget drags a charger and a stray bra tangled in the wires across the floor. Plugs it in. She then tries to get back in bed with the iPad, but realizes the lead is just too short to reach.

BRIDGET (V.O.): ... that happens to everyone else whilst I am still scrabbling around for an iPad charger.

She attempts to lean out of her bed and continue to type, but realizes it’s too awkward and uncomfortable.

BRIDGET (randomly): I mean, it’s not like we even had that much in common when it came down to it.

She gives up and switches off her light.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. EARLY NEXT MORNING.

In the near darkness. Bridget’s phone rings loudly. She bolts up out of bed.

MUM (O.S.): Hello darling, it’s Mummy. Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.

Bridget fishes around for the TV remote control and flicks on breakfast TV - a clock on the corner of the TV screen.

BRIDGET: Mum, it’s 6.00am! 

Bridget studies her phone curiously.

MUM (V.O): I’m doing The Facetime, Una taught me, it’s really marvellous.

CLOSE-UP - Bridget’s phone - there is an extreme close-up of MUM’S EAR.

BRIDGET: The point of Facetime is that you don’t have to hold it to your ear.

Mum removes it from her ear, the camera swings round to reveal Dad sitting on the loo, oblivious.

MUM (O.S.): This time forty three years ago I was having a lamb Biryani in an attempt to coax you out. Twenty-three hours of labour. I was never the same again down there, but I’ve hardly ever regretted it.

Bridget half listening. An Ad for an internet dating site called Qwantify just audible: happy cartoon couples meet and kiss, voiced by real couples who’ve found love on the net.

MUM (CONT’D): It’s a miracle, the gift of childbirth. Penny Husbands Bosworth’s son sells his sperm on the internet. You don’t even need a man, Bridget.

INT. MUM’S BEDROOM. SAME TIME.

We see there are flyers with Mum’s face on them lying on a bedroom table.

MUM (CONT’D): And some people have marvellous lives without them. I mean, look at you! You’ve got a nice flat, a great career, a nice flat...

BRIDGET (O.S): I’m putting the phone down now Mum.

DAD emerges from the bathroom.

MUM (holding up phone to Dad): Say Happy Birthday to Bridget.

Dad hurriedly covers his naked torso.

DAD: Happy Birthday to Bridget.

MUM: I love you darling. Don’t forget I’m counting on you to head up my media campaign.

BRIDGET: Mum, it’s the Parish Council election, not the U.S. Primaries.

Bridget hangs up.

BRIDGET (V.O.): At least no one at work knows it’s my birthday.

EXT/INT. HARD NEWS TV STUDIOS. DAY.

Bridget strides into the studio, ready for the day.

EVERYONE: SURPRISE!!

Bridget’s face falls as she sees her office is filled with people. A PA holds up a card which says ‘43 TODAY’ in huge letters. Someone else holds out a toy tombstone that says ‘Bridget Jones 1973-2016’.

BRIDGET: Oh God, oh God. Who told you?

MIRANDA, a gorgeous, thirty-something friend of Bridget’s and presenter of the show, steps forward and takes a selfie with her.

MIRANDA: Guilty. Thought it would cheer you up. Hashtag ‘Bridge’s bday’.

Bridget looks horrified as SUSAN the pregnant Floor Manager brings up a cake emblazoned with forty three candles for her to blow out.

SUSAN: So hot... so many candles.

They start to sing ‘Happy 43rd Birthday to you’ as the Floor Manager continues to hold the cake up.

Then mid-song the fire alarm starts to go off and then the sprinklers start.

RICHARD FINCH, Bridget’s fifty-something-but-trying-to-look-younger boss, pops his head through the studio backdrop.

RICHARD FINCH: Who the fuck set the sprinklers off?

INT. HARD NEWS. CORRIDOR. DAY. 

Bridget is striding down the corridor - a woman at the top of her game - West Wing style - with two young, deferential assistants JOSH and LAURA striding alongside, hanging on to her every word, taking notes.

BRIDGET: Josh, I want you to see what Reuters are saying about the attacks in Ramallah. I might need a live link. And Laura, tell Adam I’ll be in to check the human trafficking VT.

JOSH and LAURA peel off and MIRANDA joins her.

MIRANDA: So, how will I be changing the world today?

BRIDGET: Well our main feature will be the exclusive interview with the Foreign Secretary about NGochi.

As she says “NGochi”- she does it with the authentic African click.

MIRANDA: OMG, how do you do that? N-Gochi, N- Gochi.

She tries but fails to do the click.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): You are so good at that.

BRIDGET: I know, I’ve really been practising, “NGochi”.

They go backwards and forwards “NGochi-ing” at each other.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. HAIR & MAKE UP DEPT. DAY.

Bridget and Miranda continue to talk as Miranda is primped and preened by a hair and make-up woman, CATHY.

Cathy tries to N’Gochi too. They are all at it.

CATHY: Oooh, it’s harder than you think.

BRIDGET: It’s all in the throat.

MIRANDA: And after “NGochi”...

She gets it right and high fives with Bridget and Cathy.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): ... how do we plan to celebrate tonight?

BRIDGET: Night out with the gang.

MIRANDA: Please say that involves group sex.

CATHY: I know a smashing little club for that, just round the back of Berwick Street.

BRIDGET: Chance would be a fine thing. I’m beginning to think I’ve passed my sell-by-date. I’m like an old packet of custard creams, all mouldy and crushed.

MIRANDA: Nonsense. There are names for people like you now Bridge, you’re a cougar, a MILF.

BRIDGET: I’m not a MILF, I’m not even a Mum. I’m a spinster, I’m a SPILF.

SUSAN comes in.

SUSAN: Three minutes until we’re on air.

Cathy has jotted down details. Hands them to Bridget.

CATHY: It’s called Voyeurz, with a z. Tell them Cathy sent you. If you go on a Thursday, there’s a Chinese buffet. All you can eat... as it were.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIO GALLERY. DAY.

Bridget takes prime position at the desk in the gallery in front of all the monitors. She slips on her microphone.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIO. FLOOR. DAY.

Miranda takes her place on set, slips in her ear-piece.

FLOOR MANAGER: Twenty seconds to air.

HARD NEWS TITLES RUN.

Miranda continues to talk to Bridget through her microphone.

MIRANDA: Anyway, far too many women are wasting their lives having babies in their thirties and forties when they should be getting on with their careers.

FLOOR MANAGER: TEN, nine, EIGHT, seven, SIX, five...

Miranda suddenly changes character - into impressive Emily Matlis-type anchorwoman.

MIRANDA: Hello, and welcome to Hard News.

BONG.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): Tonight, more attacks in Ramallah, we go live as the world asks is it time for the UN to intervene?

FOOTAGE RUNS so they can go on talking.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): You didn’t by any chance freeze your eggs?

BRIDGET: God no, I imagine they’re hard boiled by now.

MIRANDA: You know what Bridge, this weekend we need to go out and engage in some serious…

BONG - BACK ON AIR.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): Binge drinking; A dangerous scourge on society. Is new legislation needed?

FOOTAGE RUNS.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIO. GALLERY. NIGHT.

RICHARD FINCH enters.

RICHARD FINCH: Bridget, Miranda, I’ve told you not to talk between the bongs.

Without looking up, they both give him the finger. Richard exits the gallery.

BONGS AGAIN.

MIRANDA: The Foreign Secretary will be live in the studio to talk about the looming crisis in Muribundi.

FOOTAGE RUNS.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): Or you could always try online dating again.

BRIDGET: Those dating sites are just full of married men wanting affairs.

MIRANDA: No, I’ve met all sorts of men. The other night I was on Tinder and half an hour later I’m in a three way with...

BONG - BACK ON AIR.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): Prince Andrew; The Royal Special Representative for Trade and Investment has written his first children’s book.

FOOTAGE RUNS.

Two young, hip and serious-looking professionals glide into the back of the studio; power-dressed ALICE PEABODY and her assistant. She watches proceedings sternly.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): But first, live in the studio I’m joined by Foreign Secretary, George Wilkins, who has just returned from war ravaged Muribundi, where the assassination of bloody dictator, Charles Ngochi...

She can’t help but look pleased with herself.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): ... has resulted in civil war. Minister, was this a military coup?

GEORGE WILKINS: The signs are that Ngochi’s own generals did take him out in a bloody way, yes...

INTERCUT TO:

INT. GALLERY. DAY.

Bridget’s mobile rings. It reads TOM. Bridget picks up.

BRIDGET (hurriedly, whispering): Hey Tom. Can’t really...

TOM: How was the service?

Bridget checks Miranda. She seems to be doing fine.

BRIDGET (to Tom): Well, It’s just sad. I can’t believe he’s gone actually.

Miranda hears Bridget in her earpiece.

MIRANDA (to Minister): Well, it’s just sad. I can’t believe he’s gone actually.

GEORGE WILKINS (somewhat bemused): I don’t think there was a great deal of sadness at his passing, even by his most loyal followers. His persecution of the Unbutu people amounted to genocide. That’s well documented.

INT. GALLERY. SAME TIME. DAY.

The minister, clearly confused, but trying to play along.

At the back of the set, Alice takes notes.

GEORGE WILKINS: Well, he was a colourful character on the world’s stage, I give you that. But I think the genocide along with his eugenics programme resulting in the deaths of over 10,000 of his own people, men, women and children, put him on the wrong side of...

INT. GALLERY. SAME TIME.

Bridget signs off to Tom and puts down the phone.

Thinking everything is going well, she now starts paying attention to the interview.

Back on course! Phew.

GEORGE WILKINS:  Now that IS an interesting question. Finally.

Bridget looks very pleased.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIO. GALLERY. LATER.

Richard and Miranda stand in the gallery.

RICHARD: Thank you Miranda and Bridget, you couldn’t just behave yourself when the new management team were here?

BRIDGET: They’re the management team? I thought they were the interns.

Richard points to the floor and Peabody.

RICHARD: No, that’s Alice Peabody. New Brand Manager. Apparently Hard News is too old fashioned, too serious, and she’s the smiling assassin sent in to sack anyone older than her.

BRIDGET: Everybody’s older than her. I’ve got cans of soup in my cupboard older than her.

RICHARD (to Bridget): You should watch your back.

MIRANDA: They won’t sack Bridget. She rescued this show, she made it relevant. She made us award winning! And as a result she has no life. Because everyone has mercilessly abused the fact that she is a lonely, single, childless SPILF who works all hours.

BRIDGET: Thank you Miranda.

RICHARD: Look at them all with their apps and their ironic beards.

MIRANDA: Maybe one of them will give Bridget some sex.

RICHARD: Does Bridget need sex?

BRIDGET: No!

MIRANDA: Yes. Which is why I’m taking her on the girls’ weekend to beat all girls’ weekends.

A rap on the glass door makes them all whirl round. It’s Alice Peabody. Richard looks at the studio floor confused.

ALICE: Bridget, isn’t it?

Alice looks her up and down, slightly witheringly.

BRIDGET: Yes. Pleased to...

ALICE: Team meeting tomorrow morning. We can do introductions then.

Alice sashays out, Bridget does a pantomime ‘scared face’ behind her back as she walks away, Alice turns on her heels and catches Bridget at it. Bridget disguises it as something else, but fails.

ALICE (CONT’D): 9 a.m. We should all start an hour earlier from now on.

EXT. OFFICE. NIGHT.

Bridget leaves with Miranda.

MIRANDA: And you’re sure you don’t want to come out with me and my crew?

BRIDGET: Thanks, but I can’t let the old gang down. They’d be disappointed.

Bridget switches her phone on after work and a flurry of texts come through. Miranda heads towards the bike racks.

She reads a text from SHAZZER: ‘Happy Birthday. Sorry Bridge, but can’t get a ‘sitter tonight.’

Bridget’s phone pings again. She reads a text from JUDE. A vomiting emoji, four BABY FACE emojis and a SAD FACE emoji.

A third ping. TOM: “Where are you? Get your freak on, bitch?”

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Thank God for the gays!

INT. GYM. STROBE CYCLE. NIGHT.

Bridget enters a strobe-lit gym, almost tripping over. A large sign reads STROBE CYCLE. Loud, gay club anthems bang out.

TOM O.S.: Okay ladies, click in.

TOM, at the front of the class, on a spinning cycle. He’s manning the record decks while simultaneously cycling and speaking into a head-mic.

TOM: Whatever fears, whatever insecurities you’re bringing in with you today, I want you to take those fears and tell them to FUCK THE FUCK OFF!

An adoring, pumped up crowd of lithe young female bodies furiously pedalling. They whoop. “Alright!”. Bridget struggles to click her shoes into the pedals.

TOM (CONT’D): THIS moment is about YOU, your body, your dreams, your POTENTIAL.

The music’s pumping up to a crescendo.

TOM (CONT’D): Are you ready for this? Are you ready for this?

The women yell orgasmically. The music swells.

TOM (CONT’D): Now. Ride, sexy bitches, ride!

And the women rise from their saddles and pedal like fuck. Tom sprays water at them. Bridget looks like she might have a seizure.

INT. GYM. NIGHT.

Tom waving off the last Strobe Cyclist. Bridget, exhausted, barely able to breathe.

BRIDGET (wheezing): It will take me three martinis to recover and you are buying.

TOM: About that. I’m so sorry Bridget. I’m going to have to blow you out too.

Bridget masks her disappointment.

TOM (CONT’D): The thing is... I didn’t want to have to tell you this today.

Eduardo and I are adopting.

BRIDGET: Adopting what... a baby?

TOM: No, a new stance on illegal immigration! Yes, a baby, or a gayby, in fact.

BRIDGET: Oh Tom, this is fantastic news!

She gives him the biggest hug.

TOM: I didn’t want to say anything because we always do our “we’re pointless-empty-husks-sticking-together” thing. And I love that. But truth is... if I’m being honest, I feel it’s important for me, in myself, to start caring for someone other than me. And well, it looks like we’ve been successful.

BRIDGET: Brilliant.

TOM: We’re going to Bogota to start the official paperwork and I’ve got to pack.

BRIDGET: It’s alright. Go! Go!

Bridget is left alone on a bicycle.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. NIGHT. DARKNESS.

Bridget, alone, lights a candle on a single cupcake. She pours herself a glass of wine and reaches for a cigarette in an old packet on top of the cupboard. Then thinks better of it. The radio plays, “All By Myself”.

BRIDGET: Oh fuck off!

She flicks it off.

INT. ST. PANCRAS STATION. DAY.

The station concourse is thronging with commuters.

BRIDGET (V.O.): Must not dwell on why the biological clock, though clearly ticking, has not compelled me yet to Colombia, or Olly Husbands Bosworth’s sperm, or even into the arms of inappropriate men met on Internet. Always thought I’d find love of my life and then baby would follow. I may be old of womb, but will remain young at heart. Will start to embrace life in manner of thirty-something friends like Miranda, who don’t seem to care about settling, or babies, or ticking clocks.

We tilt up from a pair of Hunter wellies, cut-off denim shorts, a backpack. Miranda makes her way across the concourse to meet Bridget.

We tilt up from a pair of elegant high-heels, a smart dress and a giant wheelie suitcase. Bridget spots Miranda.

BRIDGET: What the fuck!

EXT. MUSIC FESTIVAL. DAY.

Miranda and Bridget enter the festival. Bridget is wheeling her smart suitcase through the mud with little success. There are posters everywhere advertising bands or specific tents and wherever there is a sign it features a ‘SPONSORED BY QWANTIFY’ logo.

MIRANDA: I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t come. Anyway, it’s not camping, it’s ‘glamping’.

BRIDGET: Putting a ‘Gl’ before it doesn’t make it any better. Calling him Gladolf Hitler wouldn’t suddenly make you forget all the unpleasantness.

MIRANDA: Come on Bridge, it’ll be fun. What you need is a good shafting, some good old fashioned, lie-back-and-think-of-England bonking. Festivals are sexual free-for-alls, it’s like Sodom and Gomorrah, with tofu.

Bridget looks at her.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): Seriously. It’s been five years. You need to get out of this self-imposed purdah you’ve been in since you split up from “he whose name shall not be mentioned.”

BRIDGET: Rubbish, I barely think about him.

MIRANDA: Prove it. The first man you meet, you have to sleep with.

BRIDGET: The first man?!

MIRANDA: I’m not taking no for an answer. We’ve got backstage passes, we’ll be rubbing shoulders with rockstars. And we’ve got yurts. I got you this... in case of an emergency.

Miranda holds out a loo roll and 2 plastic bags, One Lidl, one Marks and Spencer’s - Bridget grabs the M&S bag.

A DREAD-LOCKED GUY approaches Bridget with a suspicious wrap.

DREAD-LOCKED GUY: Meow meow?

BRIDGET: Woof woof. (To Miranda) I’m not sleeping with him.

Behind him is a poster advertising the literary tent, with a picture of JACK QUANT - the caption reads ‘Algorithms Change The World’.

MIRANDA: (to Bridget) I’ll get the backstage passes. You find a map.

She strides off. Bridget heads in the opposite direction. As she walks her heels gets stuck in the mud and as she steps forward, she leaves it behind. She tries to go back to grab it, but the other heel gets stuck, and she is caught in what is effectively the splits, unable to extricate herself from her shoes.

After a struggle she pulls one of the heels out.

JACK O.C.: That’s exactly why I didn’t wear my heels.

Reveal JACK QUANT, an insanely handsome 45 year old American.

JACK (CONT’D): May I?

He lifts the floundering Bridget out of the mud, rescues her heel and places her safely at the top of the little hill. He places her shoe back on her foot.

JACK (CONT’D): It fits!

Bridget laughs, faintly embarrassed.

BRIDGET: Thank you... I...

Miranda appears waving wellies and shorts. She shouts.

MIRANDA: Bridget!

JACK: Is that your wicked stepmother?

BRIDGET: I should go, or she’ll have me sweeping fireplaces all afternoon. Nice to meet you...

She’s already heading off.

JACK: It’s Jack...

EXT. CAMPSITE. DAY.

Bridget and Miranda faced with a hundred identical yurts.

BRIDGET: Right. Which one’s ours?

INT. YURT. DAY.

Miranda and Bridget open the door to reveal one bed.

MIRANDA: Cosy.

BRIDGET: Intimate.

Miranda breaks out a bottle of vodka - hands it to Bridget, who tucks straight in.

EXT. FESTIVAL BAR AREA. DAY.

We track along a row of themed bars, where Bridget and Miranda are downing every cocktail, real ale and vodka shot, and as they ‘cheers’ each other, they shout

INT. EDM DANCE TENT. DAY.

Bridget and Miranda are dancing away like dervishes amongst the ridiculously young crowd to a thumping dance track, having the time of their lives. There are people in Zorb balls on the dancefloor. Bridget shouts across to Miranda.

BRIDGET (Gleeful): It’s 2.30 in the afternoon! I should be hoovering!

INT. BACKSTAGE. DAY.

A tipsy Miranda and Bridget are backstage having fun by the bar.

BRIDGET: This is incredible, we have to get a photo.

Bridget turns round to find somebody to take a photo of them. She taps the person next to them at the bar on the shoulder.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Excuse me, would you mind if we asked you to...

He turns round - REVEAL - it’s ED SHEERAN.

ED SHEERAN: Of course not, total pleasure.

Bridget hands Ed the camera and he then places himself in the middle of Bridget and Miranda - who just stare at him like he’s insane. There is a long pause.

MIRANDA: What on earth are you doing?

ED SHEERAN: I thought you wanted a picture.

MIRANDA: We did! Of us!

BRIDGET: Yes, terribly sorry, we thought it would be fun to have a picture of us backstage among all these glamorous people. I think that’s the man from ‘Cash In The Attic’, it would be great if you could get him in shot.

ED SHEERAN: Right, and you don’t want me in the picture at all?

BRIDGET: We just wanted you to take a selfie of us.

He attempts to make a joke to lighten the situation.

ED SHEERAN: Well then it wouldn’t be a selfie, would it? It would be a ‘youfie’.

Miranda just stares at him witheringly, then grabs back the phone.

MIRANDA: And an attitude to boot! Is it really so difficult?

They walk away leaving a shocked Ed Sheeran hanging.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): Honestly, they let any riff-raff backstage nowadays.

As they walk away Bridget turns around and exchanges a smile with him.

BRIDGET: I thought he was kind of cute. He looked very familiar. I think he works in the Starbucks in Balham.

INT. EDM TENT. DAY.

A tipsy Miranda and Bridget are looking lost. They spot a tent.

MIRANDA: Let’s go to the Mantra tent next, that’s where FKA Twigs is playing.

BRIDGET: Great! I love him... her... them?

INT. LITERARY TENT. DAY.

An INTERVIEWER sits on stage opposite Jack Quant. Behind them a bank of screens bearing the ‘Qwantify’ logo.

INTERVIEWER: Since floating his empire which includes the online dating site Qwantify, internet philanthropist Jack Quant, hasn’t sat still. He has just written a New York Times bestseller QWANTUM LEAP... (holds up book) And he’s also sponsoring this festival.

A round of polite applause.

INTERVIEWER (CONT’D): But it all began with the strum of Cupid’s arrow, right?

The audience laughs.

JACK: Well, it began with a broken heart. Dating seemed irrational, so I wanted to see if the mysteries of human attraction could be broken down into something mathematical.

Suddenly a rowdy Bridget and Miranda bound into the tent assuming it’s FKA Twigs.

MIRANDA: Wooo, fuck yeah!

All heads turn as Bridget and Miranda stop in their tracks.

JACK (looking directly at Bridget): I believe there is someone out there for everyone... if we just ask the right questions and apply the laws of mathematics.

The audience listen intently.

MIRANDA: Come on let’s go. Who wants to do maths at a festival? Let’s get shitfaced.

BRIDGET (whispering to Miranda): Let’s stay... he’s interesting.

Bridget forces Miranda to sit down in two empty seats. Back on stage Jack has the crowd rapt.

INTERVIEWER: And now you’ve moved from matchmaking to global business partnerships.

JACK: Yes, that same algorithm has helped bring together the world’s most needy with the world’s most wealthy.

As if to illustrate this point, behind him photos of cocoa farmers in Columbia switch around the screen to match with chocolate factories in Switzerland; Yak farmers in Tibet with coffee houses in San Francisco.

MIRANDA (shouting out to the crowd): BORING!

JACK: Okay. I get it, you don’t want to talk about algorithms at a festival. So let me show you how they can be... sexy. Take out your phones.

Murmured curiosity as the audience take out their phones. Jack reaches into his pocket and takes out his own.

JACK (CONT’D): Take a photo.

Jack takes a photo of himself, taps on the screen and uploads it. At once his ludicrously handsome photo appears with some of his answers underneath.

It reads - Jack Quant ‘interests - Environmentalism, Trekking, Lady Mary’.

JACK (CONT’D): Now quickly answer a couple of questions.

Miranda takes out her phone and hurriedly fills out the questionnaire. She takes a photo of a resistant Bridget.

MIRANDA: I’ve put down that you like French cinema - it’s sophisticated and slutty at the same time.

Miranda takes a snap of herself.

JACK: Then upload it to the Qwantify website and the results should start coming up on the screen behind me.

More and more photos upload from the audience. Suddenly a photo of Miranda appears - she looks amazing. Then one of Bridget - she is slightly out of focus, mouth open.

JACK (CONT’D): French cinema, huh? Slutty and sophisticated.

As more pictures appear he comments.

JACK (CONT’D): It’s science, you’d be foolish to resist it. (ALT) This could be the start of something special, or at least a quick fumble in a sleeping bag. (To guy with white hair & beard.) Ooo, there you go Gandalf, seems you’re not the only one looking for a ring.

The good looking couple are matched.

JACK (CONT’D): Now you guys would have good looking babies.

A pair come up who both have as one of their interests - ‘nights in on my own’.

The girl does the ‘call me’ motion.

JACK (CONT’D): He doesn’t have to call you, he’s literally here.

Various other photos appear with captions. INTERVIEWER’s picture comes up with - ‘Social Anthropology, Sunsets’.

A quiet marvelling as more and more photos upload from the audience, coming together, aligned in ‘couplings’.

The INTERVIEWER’S photo attaches to a particularly attractive woman, his eyes light up.

Miranda flushes, now matched with a rather odd looking man sitting to her left.

JACK (CONT’D): Remember what happens at the festival, stays at the festival, unless it goes on Instagram then 300 million people can see it.

Miranda grabs Bridget’s arm. A rather earnest looking man with a very old plastic bag in his hand smiles at Bridget. She looks back at the screen. They’ve been matched.

JACK (CONT’D): Never question the algorithm, see there really is someone for everyone...

Bridget and Miranda get up and edge out of the tent.

Suddenly on screen, Jack’s photo is matched with Bridget’s and the earnest man is knocked down to a photo below.

Jack’s eyes fall back to where Bridget was sitting. She’s gone.

JACK (CONT’D): Guess I scared her off.

EXT. FESTIVAL. NIGHT.

Ed Sheeran belts out the iconic and brilliant ‘Sing’. The crowd love him, so do Bridget and Miranda.

Bridget, now loving festival life, jiggles on top of Miranda’s straining shoulders.

MIRANDA: Oh my god.

BRIDGET: I know... It’s the guy from Starbucks!

LATER:

Miranda bucks Bridget off her shoulders. As she is crowd-surfed over the heads of the fans, Bridget’s image appears on a multitude of screens flanking the stage.

LATER:

Miranda is in her bra inside a giant inflated zorb ball rolling around.

INT. YURT. NIGHT. LATER.

Bridget crashes into the pitch black yurt, laughing. She rips off her dress, flops into bed, exhausted.

BRIDGET: I’ve got to admit, that was fun.

No response.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): You know what, you’re right, what I need is a good shafting, some good old fashioned, lie-back-and-think-of-England bonking.

JACK: Sign me up.

Bridget sits bolt upright, startled. Jack puts on the light, smiles gently at her.

BRIDGET: Oh my god... how? (Genuine surprise) What are you doing in my yurt...?

She looks around and sees all his things scattered.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): With all your possessions, and clothes, and luggage...

They laugh.

JACK: Yup, it’s almost as if I’ve come in and made it my own, right?

Bridget takes another look at Jack.

BRIDGET: Oh my god, you’re the algorithm guy.

JACK: And wait, it’s you, the creature from the black lagoon, who likes French cinema, right?

Bridget smiles at him. Jack scoots across the bed to make space.

JACK (CONT’D): You don’t really expect me to believe you accidentally crashed into my yurt, do you? But since you’re here and obviously looking for a mate, maybe I can help you.

Bridget laughs. Damn he’s hot.

INT. FESTIVAL TENT. NIGHT.

Ed Sheeran performs an unplugged version of ‘Thinking Out Loud’ to a rapt small audience.

As he sings a giant Zorb ball with Miranda inside, rolls gently into the tent.

INT. JACK’S YURT. NIGHT.

Bridget is lying on her front on the bed, facing Jack as he fills in the Qwantify questionnaire online. Their faces illuminated by the screen.

BRIDGET: I thought you said a few questions.

JACK: Nearly there. Do you believe in God?

BRIDGET: Only when absolutely necessary. When facing major illness and/or when stuck in a lift.

JACK: Have you ever eaten anything off the floor?

BRIDGET: Usually after applying the fivesecond rule, but not if it’s butterside down.

JACK: Have you ever done anything you’re ashamed of?

BRIDGET: Well, I pretended to be disabled to get to the front of a Duran Duran concert; I watched ‘Dirty Dancing’ eight times in one day, and had sex with Olly Husbands-Bosworth in my Dad’s old Renault.

Jack laughs.

JACK: I’m running out of space... Would you sleep with someone on the first date?

There is a long pause.

BRIDGET: Tricky... but on reflection... quite possibly... yes. (Beat) Does it count if you’ve got money on it?

JACK: Depends how much?

BRIDGET: Terms were not officially agreed but it went along the lines of my friend betting me that I had to sleep with the first man I met.

JACK: And was I? The first man?

BRIDGET: Second.

JACK: You might have just lost your bet.

He leans forwards and kisses her.

BRIDGET: Are we finished with the questions?

JACK: A couple more.

Things are heating up. Jack kisses her again.

JACK (CONT’D): I need to know what things you aren’t prepared to do, just to make absolutely sure I don’t offend.

He starts to kiss her neck.

JACK (CONT’D): Is this off the agenda?

BRIDGET: A hundred percent. I’m not that kind of girl.

JACK: Right. So I presume this is a no-no?

He reaches round to undo her bra.

BRIDGET: Without question.

JACK: Excellent. I’m really beginning to paint a picture of the kind of girl you aren’t.

BRIDGET: Do you think you may have found me a match?

JACK: I’ll have to run the numbers but I’m pretty hopeful we can find someone within your criteria. It’s looking like a 97 percent match. Although would you mind an American?

BRIDGET: An American? Sounds terrible...

They kiss.

EXT. FESTIVAL PORTALOOS. NIGHT.

Miranda is now in the giant zorb ball with Ed Sheeran. They roll down a hill and straight into the portaloos, two of which they knock over.

INT. YURT. SUNDAY MORNING. DAWN.

Bridget wakes with a start. Turns. The other side of the bed is empty. She looks around blearily, she sees her phone to check the time and there is a text from Miranda. “Where are you?” With a panic Bridget jumps out of bed and grabs her clothes.

EXT. YURT. LATER.

Nobody is awake. It’s been raining and the field is a swampy, muddy bog.

Bridget, in a flap, jumps out of Jack’s yurt, lands in a boggy patch and can’t extricate her Wellington boot. Panicked, she simply takes her foot out and runs off with one bare foot.

EXT/INT. YURT. MORNING.

Jack returns to the yurt with coffee and croissants. He sees the empty bed. Looks outside again where he sees the abandoned Wellington boot. He extricates it from the mud and looks at it wistfully.

EXT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. SOME DAYS LATER.

Bridget exits her flat hurriedly with a poorly-wrapped toy. Shazzer and her twins, RUBY and SPIKE (5) wait by Shazzer’s car. Shazzer oblivious as Bridget slips two blue fizzy Haribo bombs into their mouths. They smile at her in delight.

SHAZZER: So it lasted six hours?

BRIDGET: At least.

Ruby shouts over.

RUBY: What lasted six hours Mum?

SHAZZER: Erm, a puppet show Auntie Bridge went to...

INT. CAR. DAY.

They pile into the car.

SHAZZER: Six hour puppet shows. And were they little puppets or...

BRIDGET: Very nice sized puppets.

SHAZZER: And did he... (struggling) put the puppets in your mouth?

The children look very confused. Bridget nods.

SHAZZER (CONT’D): God I feel like my days of puppet shows are behind me. I’ve never even had 2 puppets at a time, had a mile high puppet show... And has he called? It’s been a week.

BRIDGET: That’s not how it works now. You just hook up with rugged troubadours at music festivals and there are no strings. Puppets with no strings.

INT. COUNTRY HOUSE HOTEL. BEDROOM. DAY.

A chic, expensive room. JUDE dresses her 6 year old, POPPY, whilst talking on speaker into her iPhone. They both have frightful colds. Giles is in the background getting ready.

JUDE: Where the fuck are you?

The child watches her mother carefully and expressionlessly before sneezing wetly all over her.

INT. CAR. LONDON TRAFFIC JAM. DAY.

The car in stationary traffic. Shazzer’s children’s mouths are agape at hearing the swear word.

BRIDGET: Speeding through lovely countryside.

SPIKE: No we’re not, why is Auntie Bridget lying...

INT. COUNTRY HOUSE HOTEL. BEDROOM. DAY.

JUDE O.S.: You’d better be.

Jude lifts up Poppy’s dress and looks at her severely.

JUDE (CONT’D): You are not going to a christening without wearing knickers.

INT. CAR. DAY.

BRIDGET: We are wearing knickers.

SHAZZER: Speak for yourself.

JUDE: Bridge, I thought you should know, after Tom dropped out, Giles asked Mark to be the godfather, the prick.

BRIDGET (Horrified): He did what?

JUDE O.S.: I know he really is a useless cock, did it without asking me.

Bridget tenses.

INT. COUNTRY CHURCH. DAY.

The service is already underway. Bridget, Shazzer and the kids come in at the back of the church.

BRIDGET V.O.: Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.

A roiling sea of smug-marrieds and their offspring fill the pews. Shazzer and the kids duck into a pew, leaving Bridget to run the gauntlet, tottering down the aisle to the font where the christening party is waiting for her. The baby is crying.

BRIDGET (CONT’D) (Muttering left and right): Sorry, sorry, sorry!

POPPY stands beside a cross-looking Jude as Bridget approaches.

POPPY (repeating her mother’s words): Where the FUCK were you?

Bridget gets a frosty reception from Jude, Giles and the VICAR. She acknowledges Mark Darcy. He gives what looks like a disapproving nod in return.

Irritably, Jude hands Bridget the baby. It immediately stops crying. The baby loves her.

EXT. COUNTRY CHURCH. DAY.

Bridget and Darcy still haven’t had a chance to speak. Jude, Giles, Bridget and Darcy are lining up for photos.

Bridget is still holding the baby who is sleeping peacefully. MAGDA and JEREMY, friends of Bridget’s, are there with three ill-behaved boys in tow.

MAGDA: Look at Bridget - she’s a natural.

JEREMY: Need to get a move on though. Mind you, that woman in Italy had a baby at 65.

Magda nudges him, smiles apologetically at Bridget.

BRIDGET: Number one on my to-do list!

JEREMY: Want a hand?

Magda hits him. Mark looks awkwardly at the floor.

PHOTOGRAPHER: OK, can I just have the godparents now?

The rest of the congregation peel away, leaving just Mark, Bridget and the baby. In an alternate universe...

MARK (stiffly): So, how are you?

BRIDGET: Very well, thank you? And you?

MARK: Well. Yes. Thanks.

Mark is incredibly uncomfortable and awkward around the baby.

BRIDGET: Are you here with your wife? I’m sorry I can’t remember her name.

MARK: Camilla. No. She er... no. Couldn’t make it. Are you with anyo...?

BRIDGET: No. Not... today... No.

She trails off, busies herself with the baby.

PHOTOGRAPHER: Come on it’s not a funeral. What about a couple of smiles from you two? Maybe give her a little kiss on the forehead?

Darcy leans over to give Bridget the most awkward of pecks on the forehead.

PHOTOGRAPHER (CONT’D): That’s lovely, but I was talking about the baby.

BRIDGET (tries to break the ice): We should probably just acknowledge that this is unbelievably awkward, no?

MARK: Sorry?

BRIDGET: This? You and me holding a baby, you know, since well... you know.

MARK: Right, yes, put like that...

He doesn’t get a chance to elaborate because Jude interrupts.

JUDE: Bridget, they want to get a photo with you and me and the baby.

BRIDGET: Yes. Good.

MARK: Well. I’ll see you later I shouldn’t wonder.

BRIDGET: Yes... unless I try and make a break for it with this thing. Healthy babies can fetch a fortune on the black market and I desperately need a new boiler. (Talking to the baby) Shall we sell you? Shall we?

The baby chortles back at her. The photographer looks horrified, Mark smiles.

INT. DRAWING ROOM. HOTEL. DAY.

The party is well underway. Darcy stands with a group of fathers including Giles & Fergus. Bridget is wandering around followed by a crocodile-line of kids. Darcy and Bridget pretend not to notice each other.

On a band of mothers, all talking to a HEAVILY-PREGNANT WOMAN, GINNY. Bridget tries to sneak past.

WONEY: Here she is. Everyone’s favourite godmother. How many godchildren now, Bridget?

BRIDGET: Running into six figures, Woney.

WONEY: Better hurry up, though!

Bridget grabs a fork from a passing tray and stabs it into Woney’s arm. Woney screams.

BRIDGET: Do you think it hasn’t crossed my mind?

BACK TO REALITY.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Good advice. Thanks.

GINNY: You know there was a woman in Italy who had a baby when she was 65.

BRIDGET: Wow, I did not know that.

GINNY: Ooh! There she goes! She’s kicking me!

BRIDGET: And who can blame her?

The women stare at her.

BRIDGET: With all this noise and excitement.

GINNY: Do you want to feel?

BRIDGET: No, I’m okay

GINNY: I really don’t mind. Feel. The. Bump.

BRIDGET: Oh. Right. Okay. (does so reluctantly) Ahh. Lovely. Wow.

Bridget, all smiles.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Excuse me, must go and get er... impregnated.

As she leaves all the women watch her and ‘Aaah’ in patronising sympathy.

CUT TO:

INT. OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM. DAY.

Bridget and Mark arrive at the bar simultaneously. Mark gives her a polite smile as two efficient bar-people reach them.

MARK: Hello again.

BRIDGET: Hello.

MARK: How are you?

BRIDGET: I’m very well thank you. How are you?

MARK: I am fine.

BRIDGET: So am I. Well good bye then.

MARK: Good bye.

They turn away to a separate barman.

BRIDGET:  Give me a glass of wine. Big, big glass.

MARK (To his barman): And a whisky. Double.

They go off in opposite directions. Drinking fast.

INT. TV ROOM / CORRIDOR. HOTEL. DAY.

Mark spots Bridget who is heroically trying to stop Magda and Jeremy’s three ill-behaved boys and Shazzer’s twins from killing each other in order to get a turn on the iPad.

BRIDGET: Zak, your Mum said thirty minutes. Off! Now!

BOY ONE: Wait! I’m about to shoot the pimp!

Bridget looks at the screen horrified as the boys kick and thump each other. The youngest winds Bridget’s hair around a Thomas the Tank Engine. Suddenly the child is hoisted away as if by magic. Bridget sags with relief.

MARK: That’s no way to treat a lady, boys. Here, look.

Mark picks up the iPad and sits on the floor. The boys cluster around it.

MARK (CONT’D): Right, vigilantism is no solution, let the police deal with the pimp, he’ll face a minimum of eight years in custody, assuming no previous, and how about you all sit round and watch this thing with cows in space...

Bridget rises to her feet, watching. The boys, absorbed in this new film, have forgotten she exists. Mark speaks without looking up.

MARK (CONT’D): I’d go while the going’s good.

BRIDGET: Thanks.

Bridget walks away. She stops behind a flower display and looks back at Mark patiently watching a film with five irritating children.

MARK: See that’s the first issue right there, cows with opposable thumbs, ludicrous...

INT. HOTEL. NIGHT.

We find Jude fast asleep in her hotel room, with the baby next to her.

INT. DANCE FLOOR. HOTEL. NIGHT.

Dancing has started - a kind of kid/adult disco affair as children run around drunk adults. Giles & Fergus are DJing badly.

The music playing is GANGNAM STYLE.

Bridget - by now quite merry and wearing Poppy’s fairy wings - still has the toy train wound into her hair. She’s dancing with all the children, and doing all the horsey-ridey moves. Despite the silliness of the dance Bridget is in her element, she knows the dance really well and is mesmerizing, a strange combination of graceful, sexy and fun.

Mark Darcy stands aloof, a bit tortured, observing, inadvertently rapt by her. Bridget, mid dance, spots him looking alone and after a moment’s pause ‘Gangnam Styles’ over.

BRIDGET: I’d ask you to join me, but I’m pretty sure you’re not a real Gangnam Style kind of guy.

MARK: I was only there very briefly.

BRIDGET: Where?

MARK: Gangnam.

Bridget looks puzzled.

MARK (CONT’D): What are we talking about?

BRIDGET: Gangnam? Dancing.

MARK: Ah, I see. Not the suburb of Seoul.

BRIDGET: No.

MARK: Right.

BRIDGET: I’m not familiar with Gangnam the suburb.

MARK: It literally means ‘south of the Han river’. It was inhabited as early as the Paleolithic period.

Bridget stops dancing.

BRIDGET: Right, it suddenly seems so much less catchy.

Fergus, on ‘the decks’ spots them together and immediately changes the tune. Something lovely starts to play.

FERGUS O.C.: Now a little something for all you lovers out there. We’re entering the ‘erection section’.

A shout rings out over the crowd.

SHAZZER O.C.: Don’t say fucking ‘erection’ at a christening.

MARK (to Bridget): Shall we get some air?

They walk outside.

EXT. TERRACE. HOTEL. NIGHT.

Mark leads Bridget to the terrace overlooking the moonlit lake.

MARK: I don’t suppose you have a cigarette?

BRIDGET (Shocked): No. I gave up. 691 days ago.

MARK: Not that you’re counting...

BRIDGET: Since when did you smoke?

MARK: I don’t. It’s been a tense time. And maybe I’m nervous.

BRIDGET: Why?

They stop and stare at each other.

MARK: You have a train in your hair.

BRIDGET: I am aware of that.

MARK: Seems to be stuck. And is this... cake?

BRIDGET: Profiterole.

MARK: Technically more of a dessert than a cake, I suppose.

Mark starts getting the train out.

Suddenly he pulls her to him. They kiss. She pulls away.

BRIDGET: What are you doing? You’re married.

MARK: No I’m not. Well I am. We’re getting a divorce. That’s why she’s not here.

BRIDGET: But you were there together at Daniel’s memorial?

MARK: No, she was just there to be supportive. She’s gone back to The Hague. Where she’s now living and I’m not.

BRIDGET: Mark. I’m so sorry.

MARK: Right at this precise moment, I’m not sorry at all.And he pulls her to him and kisses her again.

INT. PARTY ROOM & HOTEL RECEPTION. HOTEL. SAME TIME. NIGHT.

The dance floor is crowded with Mums, Dads and children miming the actions to YMCA. Bridget and Darcy leave the party, their eyes locked on each other.

INT. MARK’S BEDROOM. NIGHT.

Mark tries to undo the many tiny buttons on her dress, it takes a ridiculously long time. They both start to laugh.

MARK: How the fuck am I meant to get in here?

INT. MARK’S BEDROOM. LATER.

The familiar trail of clothes and undies leads to the bed. Mark and Bridget are having sex.

BRIDGET: Mark Darcy. Wow.

INT. MARK’S BEDROOM. LATER.

Mark and Bridget happy, content, post-coital.

MARK: Bridget?

BRIDGET: Yes.

MARK: Were you faking not having an orgasm?

BRIDGET (Sheepish): Uh huh.

MARK: Why do you do that?

BRIDGET: So you won’t stop.

MARK: God. I’ve missed you.

Mark’s iPhone alarm goes off. He reaches for it.

BRIDGET: Are we on schedule?

Mark laughs.

MARK: Sorry. It’s gone off early. I’ve got a flight to Damascus tomorrow.

He turns over and goes back to sleep. Bridget looks at him.

FLASHBACK  MONTAGE.

INT. AIRPORT. DAY.

Bridget waits for Mark at arrivals. The arrivals board reads ‘DAMASCUS’. He doesn’t appear. Bridget anxious.

INT. RESTAURANT. GIANNI'S ITALIAN. NIGHT.

Bridget is at a candlelit table ordering. Mark is outside the window on the phone.

BRIDGET (to herself) Happy anniv...

Mark waves an absent minded finger at her, talking into his phone. She points to something on the menu and he gives her a thumbs up, still on the phone.

INT. AIRPORT. DAY.

Bridget waits for Mark at arrivals. The arrivals board reads ‘BASRA’. He doesn’t appear. Bridget anxious.

INT. MARK’S HOUSE. NIGHT.

It is Mark’s birthday. Bridget has prepared a spectacular birthday meal, with balloons, candles, flowers. She’s dressed in an apron. She hears someone at the door. She opens it to Mark. Simultaneously the camera pulls back to reveal a wide shot of: Bridget from behind, ENTIRELY NAKED. Mark’s four work colleagues appear in the door behind him.

INT. AUDITORIUM. DAY - FLASHBACK - LATER.

On a podium, looking gorgeous but professional in a posh frock, Bridget accepts the award for ‘Daytime Television News Producer of the Year 2010’ from a well known presenter. She heads off the stage and back to her seat with her impressive-looking award.

EXT. TATE BRITAIN. DAY - FLASHBACK.

Large banners outside the building announce the ‘BRITISH DAYTIME TELEVISION AWARDS’.

Bridget stands alone on the steps of the imposing building. She is holding her award. She is looking up and down the road, as if waiting for someone to arrive. The last of the event’s attendees trickle down the steps, one or two of them congratulating her as they pass.

Finally, she walks down the steps, alone and sad, and stands waiting on the pavement.

At the sound of a car, she looks up and smiles with relief and delight, as if seeing someone she knows.

END MONTAGE.

INT. MARK’S HOTEL ROOM. CONT.

At that moment Mark’s mobile lights up. We see a text flash up from Camilla (complete with photograph): ‘Call me. X’.

Bridget reflects. She gives him a tender kiss on the cheek before gathering her clothes and leaving.

INT. COUNTRY HOUSE HOTEL. DARCY’S BEDROOM. DAY.

Morning light flutters across DARCY’S lids.

MARK: Bridget?

This is met with ominous silence. He looks around and deflates as he spies a note on the bedside table.

BRIDGET V.O.: I’m so sorry, Mark. Had to leave. This probably sounds pathetic but I got scared. We’ve been here once before... and I’m not sure either of us are ready to go through it again. We always loved the fantasy of us. But the reality, as we both know, is quite different. BRIDGET.

CLOSE on MARK’S face.

EXT. ALBERT BRIDGE. MORNING. TIME PASSING SEQUENCE.

On four different days over the eight following weeks, Bridget wobbles to work on the new, unused-before bicycle. She can’t filter into the traffic. She dings her bell.

BRIDGET V.O. (CONT’D): Must keep trying something new and frightening each day, like finally plucking up courage to ride bicycle through scary urban streets which we now call village. And will - as always - throw myself into my work.

Bridget happily cycling along the busy road. Smiling at her achievement. Pull out to reveal a LONG LINE of honking cars and trucks stuck behind her.

EIGHT WEEKS LATER.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. BOARDROOM. DAY.

Alice Peabody is addressing the assembled staff of Hard News.

Richard Finch sidles in looking every inch the hipster with full beard and moustache. He smiles smugly at Alice’s hipster assistants.

ALICE: It’s called ‘news’ because it should feel new, otherwise it would be called ‘olds’. Last night our top three stories were twenty-three dead in the Middle East, boring, Earthquake in Asia, seen it before, car crash on the M5, blah blah blah. We are making ‘olds’. We need to flip the switch, mix it up. I want to nutri bullet the shit out of the news.

Richard leans across to Bridget and Miranda.

RICHARD: She’s on the warpath. Susan the Floor Manager has gone. She was 37 for God’s sake.

BRIDGET: She was 6 months pregnant!

Alice Peabody confers with an assistant about the powerpoint presentation.

ALICE: We need to grab the attention, get eyes on screen, we need stories like, is your sofa bed giving you cancer? Is your freezer giving you Alzheimer’s?

BRIDGET: And are they?

Alice is annoyed at this challenge.

ALICE: Literally no evidence, but you’re missing the point. You’re intrigued aren’t you? I want to launch Hard News’s rebranding with a clear new, objective. We have a presentation in twelve weeks at the London Media Show and I need someone dynamic, innovative and focused to lead the charge. Any volunteers?

In a fit of enthusiasm Bridget thrusts up her hand, she is the only person to do so. Everybody looks stunned, including Alice, who chooses not to acknowledge her.

ALICE (CONT’D): Anybody at all? ...

Still, only Bridget’s hand remains aloft. Miranda leans over to her and whispers.

MIRANDA: You do realise this is extra work for no money.

ALICE: Do you need the loo Bridget?

BRIDGET: No, I want to volunteer. (Then unconvincingly) Hashtag letsdothis!

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. EVENING.

The TV is on in the bedroom. Mark Darcy is on the news. He is outside the Supreme Court in his Barrister’s garb, standing with four female punks. Bridget stops what she’s doing and looks at the screen somewhat sadly.

TV NEWS V.O.: The all female punk band, Poonani, who have already served a prison sentence in their native country for criticizing their President, are now being accused of fraud and face extradition from the UK.

Mark addresses the assembled press.

MARK: This case isn’t about fraud. It’s about freedom of speech. We shall use the full force of the British judicial system to ensure that P... (He can’t bring himself to say the name) these artists are entitled to exercise that freedom in the twenty first century...

Bridget is putting on her jeans. She can’t fasten them.

BRIDGET V.O.: Hashtag letsjustwaitasecond and launch into presentation as soon as I corral increasingly worrying middle-aged spread.

CUT TO:

Bridget is skype-ing Shazzer on her laptop in her sitting room as she googles p.e.r.i.m.e.n.o.p.a.u.s.e. A frenzy of websites: Hotflush.com, Bioidenticals.co.uk etc.

SHAZZER: So you’re what?

BRIDGET: Peri Menopausal. The symptoms are ‘Memory lapses, mood swings, weight gain. For some women this can begin as early as thirty five.’ We’re a biologically oppressed race!

SHAZZER O.S.: Before you become too oppressed, let’s rule out some other options. You’re not pregnant, are you?

BRIDGET: Of course not! I always carry condoms in my handbag and I made them use mine!

She pulls out the condom-box from her bag and examines it. It’s crumpled and decrepit.

SHAZZER: Oh god, you didn’t use those weird Vegan thingies?

BRIDGET: Bio-degradable and dolphin-friendly. If I’m going to be slutty it’s nice to think at least it’s helping the environment.

SHAZZER: Christ Bridget, I remember when you bought those things, that was decades ago.

She looks at them closely - the sell by date says USE BY September 2010.

BRIDGET: Sell by dates don’t mean anything, do they?

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. MIRANDA’S OFFICE. NEXT MORNING.

CLOSE UP on a draw full of pregnancy tests.

Miranda hands one to Bridget.

MIRANDA: They were a gift. Don’t ask...

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. LADIES TOILET. DAY.

Miranda stands outside a toilet cubicle talking to Bridget inside.

MIRANDA: Tumbling rapids, frothing waterfalls, a babbling brook... She turns on the taps as we cut to a pensive Bridget sitting on the loo.

BRIDGET V.O.: So here I was, weeing on another stick, thinking back over all the times I feared it was positive, or negative, wondering what I wanted this time.

CUT TO:

Bridget and Miranda look at the pregnancy test stick.

CLOSE UP. A blue line appears.

MIRANDA: I think that’s a positive result.

For a moment, both of them are in stunned silence.

Miranda shakes the stick.

BRIDGET: Don’t shake it, you’ll hurt the baby.

MIRANDA: The baby’s not in the sodding stick, Bridget. Well the good news is you’re not having the menopause.

BRIDGET: Right.

Bridget looks at Miranda - she can’t believe it.

MIRANDA: This is when you are meant to leap for joy.

BRIDGET: I am?

MIRANDA: You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant! You’re going to have a BABY!!

BRIDGET: Yes. (With a genuine smile) A baby.

Alice Peabody marches in, and in a panic Miranda sweeps the test from the sink tops into a rubbish bin to hide them. Alice heads into a cubicle and a panicked Bridget fishes the test out of the bin.

BRIDGET (CONT’D) (Whispers to Miranda) That is no place for a child of mine.

INT. GALLERY. HARD NEWS STUDIO. DAY.

Miranda and Bridget in whispered discussion, aware that Alice and her team are hovering in the background.

MIRANDA: You don’t have to keep it...

BRIDGET: Don’t I? Maybe that’s a good thing? Is it?

MIRANDA: Bridget, do you want a baby?

BRIDGET: I don’t know, but I’m 43 and it might be the only chance I’m going to get.

MIRANDA: One broken out-of-date condom... I might have believed it was an accident but two? You wanted it.

BRIDGET V.O.: Maybe I did?

INT. ANTE-NATAL CLINIC. WAITING ROOM. DAY. 2 MONTHS.

Bridget sits in a full waiting-room. She flicks through a Hello magazine, stopping at a double page wedding feature.

BRIDGET V.O.: This is not how I thought this moment would be. I thought I would be with the square-jawed love of my life, I imagined him returning home from work in a suit to the joyous news. Breathe. Stay calm, whole world about to change.

INT. ANTE-NATAL CLINIC. DAY.

Bridget is sitting with DR. RAWLINGS who is holding up a chart. Bridget consults her iPad.

BRIDGET: So which of the times with me and my wonderful man do you think we might have got pregnant on?

DR. RAWLINGS: Does it matter?

BRIDGET: Well, yes! It’s such a special moment! We want to know which one it is so we can treasure it.

DR. RAWLINGS: Can’t you treasure both of them?

BRIDGET: We will and do, of course, but surely one of those dates is more likely than the other?

DR. RAWLINGS: Actually Day 10, his birthday, is a bit early and Day 16, which was…

BRIDGET: … after our anniversary dinner.

DR. RAWLINGS: … yes. Is a bit late. Are you sure there wasn’t another treasurable occasion in between?

BRIDGET: Quite sure because - he was away for a few days - he’s such a busy bee! Always on business trips. So which of the two would you go for?

DR. RAWLINGS: No idea. Both equally likely. Could’ve been after the events because as you know, sperm can live for several days after ejaculation.

Bridget’s eyes bulge.

BRIDGET: Couldn’t you just have a guess for me?

DR. RAWLINGS: No.

BRIDGET: Just pretend you’re putting money on a horse?

DR. RAWLINGS: Certainly not.

BRIDGET: What about the first scan then? Will that show when conception took place?

DR. RAWLINGS: No. Call this number to fix a date for it. And do bring the father. If you can work out which one he is...

Bridget is caught.

BRIDGET: Right. Just out of interest...

DR. RAWLINGS: Yes?

BRIDGET: If someone did have an element of confusion about who the father was…

DR. RAWLINGS: … you can get DNA from the baby at the amniocentesis. And I do recommend that you have the amniocentesis. There are always more risks with a geriatric mother.

BRIDGET: Geriatric? That’s outrageous.

DR. RAWLINGS: Indeed.

BRIDGET: Unless it means they can sign on for their pension and child support at the same time.

Dr. Rawlings laughs.

INT. BRIDGET’S BEDROOM. DAY.

Bridget sorts through her underwear drawer.

BRIDGET V.O.: Where ARE they?

She produces a pair of the almost full body spanx, they extend from knee to just under the breast.

BRIDGET V.O.: Here they are! The constrictors! Must prove to world, Bridget Jones can do this. Independent career woman, single mother. Must prove myself as key millenial attractor.

Bridget now with full body spanx on.

BRIDGET V.O.: Hashtagletsdothis!

INT. HARD NEWS OFFICE. DAY.

Bridget is at her desk as Alice marches up. Bridget spots her and puts on her best ‘concentrating face’, focusing on her computer.

ALICE: Hi, so I just wanted to connect, check how the presentation was shaping up.

BRIDGET: Uh, huh, yup. Totally on top of it, nutri bulleting the shit out of it.

Alice screws her face up.

ALICE: What?... I’m relying on you Bridget. I need you to get this right. Understand?

BRIDGET: One hundred percent. You can count on me.

As Alice sashays off, Bridget lifts up her bin and vomits into it, then puts it down as if nothing has happened.

EXT. ST.PANCRAS FOUNTAINS. DAY.

Shazzer and Tom are happily drinking al fresco as Bridget nurses an orange juice. Bridget furtively sniffs Shazzer’s wine as Tom shows them pictures of his Colombian baby on his phone. In the background an outdoor experimental puppet show is taking place. Shazzer’s children are watching the show.

TOM: Eduardo’s still out there, he’s so excited about being a Dad.

Bridget and Shazzer ‘ooh and aah’ at photo.

SHAZZER: Speaking of which have you told your ‘fathers’ yet?

BRIDGET: Yes, of course. Do I? What if I’m too much of a coward? No, you’re right.

TOM: Or at least one of them. Get their DNA and you can eliminate one of them from your enquiries.

BRIDGET: This isn’t CSI St. Pancras... Which one do I tell? What would I even say to Mark? ‘Hello Mark, I was just passing by, I know I left you asleep etc etc. But I don’t suppose you’ve got any blood, sperm or old fingernails lying around?’. And Jack’s a bloody billionaire. It’s not like I can just ring him up or give him a friend request on Facebook.

Shazzer is busy googling him on her phone.

TOM:  I can’t believe you slept with a gorgeous billionaire. If you need his DNA, I’m totally prepared to extract it for you.

BRIDGET: Why couldn’t I have just shagged a bloody plumber? He’ll just think I’m another awful gold digger, he’ll never answer my calls. I have no clue how I’ll ever even see him again.

Bridget takes another desperate sniff of the wine.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Can you order a scotch, I need a sniff of something stronger.

The puppet show ends, the children come running over.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Did you enjoy the show, kids?

SPIKE: Yes, Auntie Bridge. (Aside to Ruby) She thinks we don’t know what puppet shows really mean.

INT. HARD NEWS GALLERY. NIGHT.

The gallery is buzzing as it’s show time. A skittish Bridget is at the desk, in Miranda’s ear.

BRIDGET: OK, nice job Miranda, you have 3 minutes of VT before the interview.

Alice enters.

ALICE: I have to say Bridget, I’m actually excited about this next guest. Relevant, relatable and extremely fuckable. Good work.

INT. HARD NEWS. STUDIO FLOOR. NIGHT.

REVEAL: Down on the studio floor Jack is getting mic’ed up. He can’t see Bridget who is up in the gallery.

The Make Up person, Cathy, approaches. Brush, powder etc at the ready.

CATHY: I’m thinking some simple magenta eyeshadow to really make you pop and a hint of rouge...

Jack smiles. The surrounding crew laugh as Cathy subtly looks up to Bridget in the gallery who gives her a nod.

CATHY (CONT’D): Ooh, you’ve got a little grey patch here, shall I...

Before he has a chance to reply she whips out a pair of scissors and snips off a lock of hair. She secretly puts it in a plastic zip-loc bag.

CATHY (CONT’D): And this silver fox’s nails could do with a little bit of a trim too. Ooh, these hands have not seen a days manual labour. They’re silky soft.

Bridget gives a thumbs up. Jack looks perplexed.

JACK: Wow, real attention to detail. I could get used to this.

Cathy laughs.

CATHY: Now tell me, Jack, do you by any chance like Chinese food?

INT. GALLERY. NIGHT.

A nervous Bridget talks into Miranda’s earpiece.

BRIDGET: OK, coming out of the VT in 5, 4, and remember - gear shift.

INT. STUDIO FLOOR. NIGHT.

Miranda puts on a concerned face as the Floor Manager counts her down.

MIRANDA: And we have a number for a helpline on our website. (Perking up) But now though, I’m joined by Jack Quant. Raised by a single mother in Baltimore, he won a scholarship to Harvard at 17, created the website that made him a billionaire and he’s here today to tell us all about his number one bestseller, QWANTUM LEAP. It’s absolutely wonderful to have you on the sofa.

Miranda is in full flirt mode.

JACK: It’s great to be here.

INT.GALLERY. NIGHT.

Bridget talks into her earpiece.

BRIDGET: Can you please try not to shag him on air.

Alice comes over and leans in.

ALICE: This is dynamite, tell her to flirt more.

INT. STUDIO FLOOR. NIGHT.

MIRANDA: Now we’re going to be talking about your new book of course, but first let’s talk about romance. We found this picture of you from your college days.

Up pops a Maths faculty photo showing seven of the geekiest looking boys imaginable - all glasses, braces and awkwardness.

JACK (Smiling): Wow - you’ve done your research. I’m the good-looking one at the front right!

MIRANDA: You’ve changed a lot since then and Qwantify has brought true love to millions... Has it worked for you?

JACK (Easy charm): If I answer that, can we move on and talk about my book?

Miranda nods.

JACK (CONT’D): Ok then, some people had Farrah Fawcett as their first crush, but my first love was an algorithm.

INT. GALLERY. NIGHT.

Alice’s face goes black.

ALICE: And we’ve lost them... if he carries on talking about ‘algorithms’ I’m cutting to that VT of cats who look like Hitler.

Bridget steels herself, speaks into the earpiece.

BRIDGET: He’s avoiding the question. Get him off maths. Ask him if he’s with anyone now...

INT. HARD NEWS, STUDIO FLOOR. NIGHT.

MIRANDA: So, for someone so good at matchmaking is there someone special in your life?

JACK: Ha! Apart from Downton’s Lady Mary? I thought we were moving on now...

INT. GALLERY. NIGHT.

ALICE: Cue Hitler Cats!

A picture comes on the monitor of a cat that looks exactly like Hitler - all ready to roll.

Bridget now has the bit between her teeth...

RICHARD FINCH: Brilliant, zoom in on 4.

ALICE: Love it!

INT. HARD NEWS. STUDIO FLOOR. NIGHT.

Jack is a little bit rattled.

JACK: Look, I love kids, but I always found the idea of being a father myself kind of petrifying. That’s why I’m drawn to algorithms. They’re rational, predictable. Everything a child isn’t.

CUT TO Bridget - her face drops.

Miranda flinches as she hears the next question come down the earpiece. She steels herself and becomes all Paxmanesque.

Jack looks shocked and the crew look confused.

JACK (CONT’D): Well... I believe so, the barracks are in pretty regular use.

INT. GALLERY. SAME TIME.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. NIGHT.

JACK: Well I suppose in order to find something you have to actively look for it, and I guess I work so hard these days, I haven’t got time.

INT. GALLERY. NIGHT.

Alice now looks confused, as does everybody in the gallery at this random non-sequitur.

INT. HARD NEWS. STUDIO FLOOR. NIGHT.

Jack now looks totally perplexed.

JACK: I’m sorry, I’m not sure where we are going with all of this, but in all honesty, I have to be wary. I can attract the wrong type of women.

He looks around and recognizes Bridget in the gallery.

JACK (CONT'D): You wouldn’t believe some of the weirdos who cross my path.

Seeing him see her, she takes evasive action and ducks behind her desk. Unfortunately, her headphone lead doesn’t extend far enough and she ends up jolting her head back and having to lean at forty-five degrees to the floor.

INT. GALLERY. NIGHT.

Bridget, still at forty-five degrees to the floor, everyone in the gallery staring at her like a lunatic.

BRIDGET (Floundering): Fuck! Ask him something about algorithms.

INT. RECEPTION. HARD NEWS. NIGHT.

A furtive Bridget tries to sneak out of the building when she finds...

JACK: Well how about seeing you here.

BRIDGET: Oh, hi! Great to see you, I’m sorry, I wanted to come and find you, say hello, but you know what live TV is like, so chaotic...

JACK: You know, there are easier ways to get in touch with me than inviting me on national TV to ask me about my sperm.

BRIDGET: What? No... I...

JACK: Because I would have liked to have heard from you. I was disappointed when I came back that morning and you’d gone.

BRIDGET: You were?

JACK: We had an amazing night. I thought you were great, at least I did, before I became a clip on ‘The fifty most embarrassing chat show moments of all time’.

BRIDGET: I’m sorry... I don’t know how to explain it... (deep breath) ... The thing is... I’m pregnant.

JACK: Wow! Congratulations, that’s so much better than you being mental.

BRIDGET: Around twelve weeks.

JACK: Oh... Wait... You mean... The Festival?

Bridget nods. Jack looks dumbstruck.

BRIDGET: Yes, it’s quite a surprise. But I’m fine. I just want you to know I’m not looking for anything from you...

JACK (Laughing nervously) Except for a complete DNA check and review of my medical records.

Bridget embarrassed. Awkward.

BRIDGET: I’m sorry about - in there. I suppose I wanted to find out more about you, in case you..., in case we... Look, the thing is, I didn’t really mean for you to find out about this.

Bridget points to her tummy.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): And of course, obviously, you’ll want your lawyers or whoever you have checking for the ‘weirdos who cross your path’, make sure I’m not one of those...

JACK: Right, I didn’t have you down as one of those. Forgive me, I’m a little in shock, this wasn’t what I was expecting.

BRIDGET: And I'm feeling very foolish right now, so if it’s ok with you, I will just retreat gracefully. Thank you. Good-bye.

She goes. Leaving JACK feeling a great wash of mixed emotions.

Jack sees Miranda scuttling past.

JACK:  Hold it, Katie Couric! I need to talk to you.

INT. ANTE-NATAL CLINIC. DAY. 3 MONTHS.

JACK’s hair and fingernails are in the zip-loc bag on a medical trolley.

BRIDGET: So, the baby’s okay?

DR. RAWLINGS: Sound as a bell.

A great, beatific smile breaks out on Bridget’s face. Pure joy...

The baby’s image comes up on the screen, Dr. Rawlings melts into the background as Bridget becomes mesmerized by what’s on the monitor.

BRIDGET: Oh my god, is that it?

Bridget starts to laugh and then to cry.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Is it alright?

DR. RAWLINGS: Perfect. You’re approximately 12 weeks along. Listen.

Dr Rawlings turns up the sound and there it is - the heartbeat. Bridget looks smitten.

Dr. Rawlings goes out to organise the amniocentesis needle.

DR. RAWLINGS (CONT’D): I’m glad you’ve decided on the amniocentesis.

Bridget doesn’t hear this. She is staring at the image. Suddenly a tiny hand is raised, this little bean of life. Bridget smiles, tears pricking her eyes. Tiny feet are just visible.

BRIDGET: Hello you. Wow. Is that your foot or your ear? You have big feet. Ooh, look at you waving already. Hi! You’re obviously very advanced. Quite the genius. This is it, this is - you’re the best thing I’ve ever seen. This wasn’t quite how I planned to bring you into the world but I’ll certainly try my best. So you just keep snug and safe in there while I try and sort the mess out here and hopefully...

A pause.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): What the FUCK is that?

Dr. Rawlings has come back in and is bearing down on her with the amnio needle. It’s ENORMOUS.

DR. RAWLINGS: The amniocentesis needle. We pop it in and get a tiny bit of fluid which we can use to check for any abnormalities and, of course, for the DNA sample you need.

Bridget’s eyes widen.

DR. RAWLINGS (CONT’D): Now there is a very slight risk of miscarriage so you’ll have to keep extremely still to make sure the needle doesn’t come into contact with the…

BRIDGET: … oh, no, no. That’s INSANE!

She gets up, clutching her midriff and backing away.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): What kind of a maniac would stick a needle in a baby? Put it away, you monster, put it away - Come on little one. I’m taking you home.

She exits the cubicle, leaving the bewildered Dr. Rawlings holding the needle.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. SITTING ROOM. DAY.

Bridget comes into the flat, she flops on the sofa and unwraps a baby outfit.

BRIDGET: I know they say it’s bad luck to buy things for a baby before it’s born, but I beg to differ. I think it’s good planning. After all, who doesn’t want to plan the outfit for their big entrance? And you are going to make such an entrance!

Bridget gets a piece of paper and a pen. She starts to draw.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): You know what, we’re going to be fine. I’m sure of it. In Africa they say it takes a whole village to raise a child… Look, I’ll show you our village... Look, there’s you and me.

She draws a big smiley face in the middle of the paper with a body and another, much smaller smiley face inside it. She draws ‘spokes’ out from the faces.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): There’s Miranda, Tom and Shaz, in reality they all have hands, but hands are very tricky to draw.

She draws a cartoon of the friends, they all have stumpy hands. She draws a cartoon of Jude at the end of the second spoke. She’s surrounded with lots of babies.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): There’s Jude and she’s got four babies already and you’re all going to be great friends!

She draws two more smiley faces at the end of the third.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): There’s Mum and Dad. They’ll spoil you rotten, once I actually tell them you exist.

Then, at the end of the fourth spoke, she draws Jack.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): There’s Jack, who we probably need to - get to know a little bit better before we decide about him, but according to Google he does have his own helicopter.

She adds a helicopter.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): I know that looks like a cat, but it is in fact a helicopter.

And finally, at the end of the fifth spoke, she draws Mark.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): … and there’s Mark who will find this a bit messy and modern, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

She looks at her drawing - it seems to comfort her, the smiley faces surrounded by lots of other little smiley figures. She pats her tummy.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): What?

There is a small pause. Bridget listens.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): What’s that? I ought to tell Mark too? That’s very mature of you. No, you’re right. Absolutely. I absolutely must. I’ve been avoiding it. You’re right. Would you like a Aero or crisps? ... What’s that? Both, you say?

INT. THE SUPREME COURT. DAY.

Bridget walks into the imposing lobby, looking apprehensive.

BRIDGET V.O.: Mark, I have some exciting news. Mark, I have the funniest story to tell you. Mark, I’m up the duff.

She takes a deep breath and heads towards the courtrooms.

INT. MAIN COURTROOM. DAY.

Bridget enters the public gallery. She can see Mark Darcy, in wig and gown, getting to his feet. Nine supreme court judges are seated, smart in their suits. Mark is dashing, authoritative and incredibly impressive.

MARK: My Lords, there is only one fraud that has been committed here and it is this. To use the laws of one country to try to destroy the freedom of speech of another. A Trojan Horse to take away the right of these brave young women to speak the truth about the reality of their beloved country.

In the dock are four ‘Poonani’ singers, wearing anti government T-shirts.

MARK (CONT’D): You may not like their music and for that I cannot blame you. They may not have mastered the fundamentals of melody, or even the most basic tenets of musicianship, however, this is the land of Shakespeare, Orwell, Lawrence. A land built on the defence of free speech. This is your opportunity, my Lords, to send a very clear message back to any country, any ruler, any despot, that here in the United Kingdom we will always defend and protect women such as P... P... Women such as these, who have courageously and selflessly chosen to risk their liberty and quite possibly their lives to tell the truth. Accordingly we respectfully ask that the request for extradition be denied and quashed forthwith.

He is masterful, compelling. He takes his seat. The court erupts.

JUDGE: Thank you, Mr. Darcy. The Court will now adjourn and judgement will be given in due course.

The Judge rises and everyone gets ready to leave. Poonani explode in the dock.

POONANI MEMBER: Poonani! Power to the Poonani!

In unison they form their hands into a triangle and point them towards their crotches. Mark turns to his assistant, PIERCE.

MARK: Oh Christ, I’m looking forward to going back to some good, old fashioned genocide.

As Mark collects his things to leave, he spots Bridget in the public gallery.

EXT. ALLEY. NEAR TEMPLE. DAY.

Mark walks Bridget towards his office.

MARK: I wasn’t expecting to see you again, after the ‘events’ at the Christening.

BRIDGET: No, right... I understand. You were very impressive in there today.

MARK: Thank you, although dealing with them for the last month has made me feel a certain amount of sympathy for the totalitarian dictator who wants to silence them. There’s only so many times I can listen to the resolutely un-catchy ‘Menstruation, Castration, Liberation’.

BRIDGET: Makes you pine for a bit of Ed Sheeran.

MARK: Who?

INT. MARK’S OFFICE. DAY.

Mark shows Bridget into his immaculate office.

MARK: So...?

BRIDGET: So... Mark...

MARK: Yes...

Long pause.

BRIDGET: The gardens look lovely. Autumnal.

MARK: Yes?

BRIDGET: Is that a conker tree?

MARK: Err... Yes.

BRIDGET: And what about that one...?

MARK: Bridget?

BRIDGET (Blurting): I’m pregnant.

MARK: Right... Congratulations.

Bridget nods.

MARK (CONT’D): And how can I help?

BRIDGET: I’m three months pregnant.

Absorbing that this is something to do with HIM.

MARK: Oh! The Christening? You mean...

Bridget nods, she looks anxious as it sinks in.

MARK (CONT’D): Well. This is... Right. If you’ll excuse me for just one moment.

He leaves the room. She stands there, not knowing how this will play out.

INT. CORRIDOR. MARK’S OFFICE. DAY.

Mark heads out into the deserted corridor where he tries to compose himself.

INT. MARK’S OFFICE. DAY.

He returns and looks at her, breathes, braces himself.

MARK: So. I think... this is possibly the single, most wonderful piece of information I have ever been given in my entire life.

BRIDGET: Is it? OK. Obviously I have no expectations of how all this will turn out. But I just thought you should know.

MARK: Of course. And I mean, how do you feel? Are you... happy?

BRIDGET: Yes, I think so, but my being pregnant doesn’t mean the last ten years haven’t happened. So much has changed, you’ve been married, I’ve... been on a number of long haul holidays... Sri Lanka was a real highlight. A baby isn’t some sort of panacea.

MARK: I know that, but, right now, I just can’t feel gloomy about it.

On Bridget’s face.

BRIDGET V.O.: GAAAAAAH! How can I tell him now?

INT. JUDE’S KITCHEN. DAY.

Bridget visiting Jude. The place is mayhem. JUDE, still in a dressing gown with a huge cold-sore, is holding the new baby. GILES is in a business suit, on the phone and trying to leave for work. He is cleaning sick off himself and feeding the toddler. Everyone is thick with colds. A Polish builder wanders through, on the phone having a loud argument in Polish. Through the kitchen window, another child is bouncing on the trampoline in the garden.

BRIDGET: Thing is, they are both so happy that it just feels cruel to tell them the truth about the other and frankly, I’m terrified.

Giles makes his way out of the room.

GILES (On the phone): Sorry Margaret, I am covered in porridge. What time is my flight?

JUDE: That’s the least of your problems... POPPY! NO!... You’ve no idea.

She just turns and shouts maniacally at Poppy mid sentence without missing a beat. Bridget looks horrified.

BRIDGET: What do you mean?

Jude waits for Giles to leave the room. The Polish builder shouts again.

JUDE: I know I’ve gone on and on about how wonderful motherhood is in public, Bridge, but I’ve been lying.

BRIDGET: What? Why?

JUDE: Because everyone does. No-one tells the truth. Babies are GHASTLY. They ruin your life. Ruin it... PUT IT DOWN!... (She shouts at an unseen child)... You’re always ill, you can’t go out, you’re covered in a constant layer of sick, wee, old food and poo, there’s no time to wash, and anyway there’s no point because you don’t see anybody and you will never have sex again - Giles tried the other night and apart from the fact that when he pulled off the duvet I looked like I still had it on, I couldn’t feel anything - not a thing because it’s a wind-tunnel down there, he said it was like the Hadron fucking Collider and as for my nipples…

Jude whips out a boob. We only see Bridget’s horrified reaction. Jude spoons the boob back in.

JUDE (CONT’D): Don’t do it, Bridge, or have it, sell it, and buy a nice new car... one of those lovely new Minis. Get out, escape while you can.

BRIDGET: Thanks Jude. You’ve been - a great help.

JUDE: No, thank you. That was good to get off my chest.

She gets up to leave and as she turns the corner she sees MILO, her nine year old boy, throwing darts at Poppy. Bridget looks horrified, and gives both of them a Haribo.

JUDE (CONT’D): Let them get on with it, natural selection.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. LATER.

The door slams behind a panicked Bridget.

She passes her drawing pinned to the fridge door. She takes a pen and crosses out Jude’s little cartoon figure.

BRIDGET V.O.: Best avoided...

EXT. PARK BENCH. DAY.

Dad and Bridget sit on a bench eating a sandwich.

DAD: Your Mum is going to be over the moon.

BRIDGET: You promise not to tell her? I can’t handle that right now.

DAD: I promise. It’s probably for the best in any event. She’s pretty wrapped up about whether to hold a referendum over making the A418 a dual carriageway. She thinks it will bring in a flood of undesirables from Kettering.

BRIDGET: Dad, I’m sorry. Not to know about the father.

DAD: Don’t be daft, love. I know dozens of people who could have been anybody’s.

BRIDGET: So you’re not - disappointed? You don’t think I belong on Jeremy Kyle?

DAD: Not a bit of it. I’m thrilled.

He hugs her.

DAD (CONT’D): Actually, still not sure if you’re mine or that nice Lieutenant Colonel’s who ran the bowling club.

BRIDGET: Dad!

DAD: Only joking, you’ve got my feet. I’ve always had very dainty feet. Just tell the truth, Bridget. You can never go too far wrong telling the truth.

INT. GIANNI'S CAFE. NIGHT.

Bridget and Mark staring at each other. GIANNI and his brother, SERGIO, smile from the bar area, uncomfortably close to their table.

BRIDGET V.O.: So there I was. In the split of an eco-condom I had gone from carefreegirl-slash-slightly-too-old-singlewoman-about-town to Mum-to-be with two rather fantastic men in my life, and with no clue about how I was going to tell them the truth.

MARK: You sounded pre-occupied on the phone, not your usual self. Is everything OK...

Before Bridget can answer an enthusiastic Gianni comes to the table and interrupts.

GIANNI: Mister Mark. Miss Bridget. I so glad to see you back together. Mister Mark she was so miserable when you two parted.

Bridget trying to brush him off.

GIANNI (CONT’D): I mean soooooo miserable. She eat so much pasta.

BRIDGET: Yes. Yes. Thanks Gianni.

GIANNI: And Pizza, and Chianti, but look Miss Bridget now is so good you are fat in a good way, fat with a bambino, not with gnocchi and Tiramisu and calamari. Now you are eating for two.

Bridget smiles.

BRIDGET: Ah, can’t let young Balthazar go hungry, or Bartholomew.

MARK: Very, Notting Hill school gates. I was actually thinking Jack, after my grandfather. Jack’s a good strong name, you can rely on a Jack.

Bridget blanches.

BRIDGET: Yes, it’s one for the list certainly.

MARK: Our little Jack.

Gianni raises a glass.

GIANNI: Here’s to Jack! Is wonderful news Mr. Mark, wonderful.

Mark smiles proudly. Takes her hand.

MARK: It is, Gianni. It truly is.

Bridget smiles, conflicted.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. NIGHT.

Bridget is sitting preparing her presentation on her Laptop.

BRIDGET V.O.: Hard to concentrate on impending big presentation when all I can think of is how to tell at least one father the truth. Mark was trickier than expected, he just seemed so happy...

The buzzer goes. A voice comes slightly distorted through the intercom, Bridget gets up to answer.

JACK O.S.: Hi surprise! It’s the father of your child...

BRIDGET: Jack?

JACK: Ha! Who else?

He is buzzed up. Bridget opens the door. Jack enters, excited, carrying two huge bags and the Wellington boot she left at the festival.

BRIDGET: You kept it?

JACK: Should we make sure it fits?

Bridget smiles.

BRIDGET: I wasn’t expecting to see you.

JACK: I wasn’t expecting to come. I’m not used to being rejected... twice. But I’ve been doing some thinking.

BRIDGET: I hope you have cake in that bag.

An excited Jack composes himself.

JACK: Bridget, this baby situation threw me initially. We squashed an entire relationship into one night and skipped straight to the starting a family phase. We never even had a real second date, but just so you know I would have taken you to Ottolenghi’s, an amazing place in Notting Hill. You would have had the grilled salmon and pine nut salsa. It’s unbelievable AND healthy.

He produces takeaway boxes from inside his bag.

JACK (CONT’D): We would have come back here, had incredible sex and spent the next couple of days sending each other filthy texts.

He gets out his phone and presses send. Bridget’s phone beeps, she picks it up and reads it - clearly a filthy text.

BRIDGET: I would not have let you do that to me on a second date!

JACK: Why not? You let me do it on our first... We would then have gone on a dirty weekend away to the seaside, I would have been manly and won you a cuddly toy on the pier.

He produces a cuddly toy.

BRIDGET: But I really wanted the giant Scooby Doo.

JACK: Nobody ever wins those, the coconuts are glued on.

Bridget’s phone beeps again - another filthy text.

BRIDGET (Flirtatiously): OK... as long as you clean up afterwards.

Unprovoked Jack starts shouting.

JACK: You are wilfully misunderstanding me, I don’t even know her!

He storms out and slams the door. Bridget looks confused. After a beat he returns with some amazing flowers that he has hidden in the hallway.

BRIDGET: What are these for?

JACK: To say ‘sorry’. We had our first fight, I wasn’t flirting with that waitress, she means nothing to me.

Bridget smiles. He goes out to the hallway again and produces a flat pack Ikea cabinet.

JACK (CONT’D): And I’ve brought us some Swedish furniture to make, because if we can get through that, we can get through anything.

Bridget is being swept off her feet.

JACK (CONT’D): I’d find it adorable how your neck goes blotchy when you’re nervous, and I’d know you’d be the greatest possible mother to my child. Why does your neck go all blotchy by the way?

Jack takes her in his arms, it feels incredibly safe and reassuring.

BRIDGET V.O.: I could have told him then, of course, but suddenly the possibility of a life of spontaneous takeaway and flat pack furniture seemed sort of inviting... Bit of a pity to ruin it and we wouldn’t want my neck going all blotchy again... I’m going to tell them both tomorrow. Definitely. Without a shadow of a doubt.

INT. ANTE-NATAL CLINIC. DAY. 4 MONTHS.

Bridget is lying in a darkened room on the examination bed, her belly exposed as Dr. Rawlings rubs on the conductive gel.

DR RAWLINGS: So this is Dad, I presume. Pleased to meet you, I’m glad you could be here, this is a unique and wonderful moment.

Mark smiles proudly.

DR RAWLINGS (CONT’D): Back from your many business trips then?

Darcy looks confused. Bridget panicky.

DR. RAWLINGS: Before we start, would you like to know the sex?

BRIDGET: I don’t know, I can’t decide.

MARK: Maybe we should be prepare...

Then ‘Thump. Thump’. The sound of a heartbeat fills the room.

Mark is transfixed by the image on the screen. It’s a moment. The tiny miracle of life stretching and squirming.

DR RAWLINGS: So would you like to know, Bridget?

BRIDGET: Yes, please.

DR RAWLINGS: It’s a boy.

BRIDGET: A boy.

MARK: A boy.

Bridget and Mark stare at the grainy image lovingly.

MARK (CONT’D): Our boy.

Bridget is overcome with happiness and then instantaneously riven with guilt.

BRIDGET: Mark, I wonder whether you might give us a second.

MARK: Oh, right... Of course.

Mark exits.

BRIDGET: Dr Rawlings, I wonder whether you could do me a little favour?

INT. ANTE-NATAL CLINIC. NEXT DAY.

Bridget is lying in a darkened room on the examination bed, her belly exposed as Dr. Rawlings rubs on the conductive gel.

DR. RAWLINGS: So this is Dad. Pleased to meet you, I’m glad you could be here, this is a unique and wonderful moment.

REVEAL - Jack smiles proudly.

DR. RAWLINGS (CONT’D): So, would you like to know the sex?

BRIDGET (Bad acting): Oooh, I’m not sure, such a big decision. Should we? Shouldn’t we?

Dr. Rawlings does an eye roll.

JACK: I’m not sure we should...

Bridget swiftly interrupts, saying brightly.

BRIDGET: Actually yes, let’s find out.

Dr Rawlings goes through the motions as Jack remains awestruck by the process, transfixed by the monitor.

DR. RAWLINGS: It’s a boy.

JACK: A boy. My boy.

He’s overwhelmed with happiness.

BRIDGET V.O.: Both men deliriously happy, despite my best intentions, I had no idea how I could tell them the truth...

INT. HARD NEWS OFFICE. DAY.

Bridget enters the office and walks towards her desk.

ANGLE ON: 2 bunches of flowers.

One card reads, “Thinking of you, best of luck with the presentation. Mark x”.

The other, next to a much bigger bunch, reads, “To My Incredible Bridget, thinking of you both, good luck tomorrow, knock ‘em dead, Jack, xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx”.

BRIDGET V.O.: Two bunches of flowers, one big dilemma. I would tell them once I had my presentation out of the way, I would definitely tell them then. Definitely. Hundred percent.

Alice walks over to Bridget’s desk.

ALICE: Ah, lovely, pregnant Bridget, how are you feeling...

BRIDGET: Well, thank you it’s very exciting, I...

ALICE (Totally cutting her off): Ahhh, that sounds amazing. How’s the presentation looking for tomorrow?

BRIDGET: Excellent, ship shape. I’ve actually been getting help from someone rather brilliant, he’s...

Alice, clearly not listening, marches off.

INT. SMALLER CONFERENCE HALL. DAY. 5 MONTHS. 

A crowd waiting for the presentation to start. A banner with the words: Exposure - Crowd-Sourcing the News. Amongst them, a concerned looking Alice and an amused looking Finch.

A nervous Bridget stands, hands-free microphone on.

BRIDGET: From Tokyo to Teddington, Hollywood to Cricklewood, in a digital age where every cellphone is a camera, we are all broadcasters.

Bridget waves her hands in the air, as we’ve previously seen Jack do, and suddenly the checkerboard of screens behind her light up. The images animate with young people on the streets of South London, Africa and India.

BRIDGET (CONT'D): Ready to interview, interrogate and investigate the global and local news stories that affect us 24 hours a day.

Alice is impressed. The room is impressed. At the back of the room, Jack watches, willing her on.

And now she’s waving her hands again and the cornucopia of images are swapping.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): From Designer Jeans...

Images of celebrities in jeans all selling their product.

BRIDGET (CONT’D) ...to Designer Genes.

Images of IVF twins all talking at once.

In the back of the audience, Bridget sees Jack, he gives her a re-assuring smile, gesturing for her to slow down.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): We are partnering with London Media Show to rebrand Hard News for the digital generation, so that YOU, our viewers, will be able to use your smart phones to become your own news broadcasting channels. You simply download the new Hard News App and broadcast directly to our studio, where Miranda is waiting for this evening’s live simulcast.

Behind Bridget, we see Miranda, live in the studio, waiting to go on air.

We see the Hard News countdown clock on the screens and then the Hard News Opening Titles...

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Go into the app, hold up your phones and say “Good Evening Miranda”.

Bridget holds up her phone and says “Good Evening Miranda”. The audience hold up their phones, chorusing : “Good Evening Miranda”.

ON SCREENS BEHIND BRIDGET:

We see Miranda, live on air at the Hard News Studios, surrounded by an abundance of screens and faces, including Bridget’s, chanting “Good Evening Miranda”.

MIRANDA: Good Evening everyone live at the London Media Show.

Miranda continues to introduce the show on air, while Bridget turns back to the conference centre audience.

BRIDGET: As of now, we’re live and our audience is broadcasting. Starting close to home, 16 year old Daryl Baines is live at Wembley Arena where he’s about to tell us what he thought of the Jessie J concert.

She presses a button. Behind Bridget, A TEENAGER’S BARE BOTTOM APPEARS ON A HUNDRED SCREENS.

LIVE ON NATIONAL TV, the bare bottom appears behind Miranda’s desk. Bridget dives for the exit button.

TEENAGER: Hard News sucks balls!

BRIDGET: Jesus! Well there’s always one isn’t there.

MIRANDA (Laughing, covering): OK... Let’s go to the Grampians where Adam Wollaston is leading a group of Venture Rangers to the top of Ben Nevis.

CUT TO - A group of Venture Rangers all showing their bare arses to camera.

VENTURE RANGERS: Hard News sucks balls.

ADAM WOLLASTON: Who’s the pregnant granny?

BRIDGET: Ha! Well there’s always two. Some technical glitches there, our apologies. Let’s go to Anthony Mathis, a company director who has been attending the GBI conference in Brighton.

CUT TO - A suited middle aged man, ANTHONY MATHIS, addresses a phone camera being held by a friend.

ANTHONY: It has been a monumental day here at the conference...

Suddenly, without warning, he spins round, takes down his trousers and reveals his bare ass to camera.

ANTHONY (CONT’D): Hard News sucks balls!

While Miranda covers for the screw up, a flustered Bridget soldiers on, trying to ignore a fuming Alice Peabody.

A new face appears on the screen behind her. She looks up at it.

BRIDGET: And if you think I’m falling for that, you can think again, sir. Nobody has any desire to see your bottom.

A caption appears on the screen.

DAVID CARTWRIGHT - CEO - London Media Show.

We see his face register fury, before a reeling Bridget gets rid of him, hurriedly switching screens.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Of course emailing or tweeting the show could not be easier, simply type in hardnews.co.uk...

At once Jack reaches for his cellphone.

A tweet pops up JACKQ1971 - “Excellent new site, Hard News as ever at the cutting edge”.

Bridget looks to Jack who gives her an elaborate and morale boosting thumbs up.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Ah, there we go, a bit more representative.

Another tweet pops up, MARKDARCE ‘Can’t wait to interact with the number one news show on TV’.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): …or search ‘Hard News’ or simply H.

Bridget types ‘H’ into the browser, but gets distracted when she sees MARK DARCY, THERE at the back of the audience. Oh shit... she wobbles...

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Because at Hard News we believe... We believe... Hard News is... ready and on the front line.

Bridget collects herself, but she’s left the H on the screen and all her previous searches starting with ‘H’ displayed on the massive screen behind her.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Asking the questions that the world wants answers to.

ON THE SCREEN:

HOW CAN I MAKE MY THIGHS LOOK THINNER?

HARRY STYLES NAKED.

HOW CAN I MAKE MY BOSS LIKE ME?

HOW CAN I GET MY BOSS FIRED?

HOW CAN I FIND OUT WHO IS THE FATHER OF MY CHILD?

The crowd are mesmerized by the searches. Bridget blissfully unaware. She then looks behind, sees the searches. Is horrified.

INT. SAME. FIVE MINUTES LATER.

Mark makes his way over to her. Her happiness at seeing him is significantly tempered by the fact that she can see Jack approaching behind.

MARK: I hope it’s okay me turning up, surprising you. I mean, well done. It was very... technically adroit?

As he says this Bridget sees Jack approaching and panics.

BRIDGET V.O.: GAAAAAH!

She grabs the nearest person to her.

BRIDGET: Mark Darcy I’d really love you to meet...

She squints at this stranger’s name badge...

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Ariyaratna Sithamparanathan, Ariyaratna is Area manager for DTC technological solutions aren’t you Ariyaratna?

Both men look perplexed as Bridget rushes to cut off Jack.

She is intercepted by Alice Peabody...

ALICE: What the hell was that? What were you thinking? I have 4 voicemails from David Cartwright on my phone that I dare not listen to.

BRIDGET: Well they say there’s only one thing worse than being talked about...

Bridget is trying to extricate herself, but Alice is steadfastly blocking her way.

ALICE: Is it that presentation?

BRIDGET: Alice, I’m so sorry.

ALICE: Sorry doesn’t cut it, I seriously have to question whether there is a place for you at Hard News...

To her horror, she now sees Ariyaratna intercepting his hero, Jack Quant and introducing him to Mark Darcy.

BRIDGET: So sorry I really have to...

And she leaves a furious Alice hanging, mid sentence.

MARK: Bridget! This is Jack Quant. He’s really rather brilliant. I read this tremendous profile of him in the New Yorker…

BRIDGET: Right, yes. We actually know each other.

Jack puts his arm round Bridget.

JACK: We sure do!

Mark slightly balks, looking confused. Ariyaratna Sithamparanathan is still there.

JACK (CONT’D): Why didn’t you introduce me to this guy earlier? He’s great, you know he’s representing that punk protest band who are being extradicted?

BRIDGET: Yes. Yes, I knew that too.

ARIYARATNA: Hi, we met fleetingly before, I’m in charge of the data management for most of Daventry.

A shell shocked Bridget ignores Ariyaratna.

BRIDGET: Well, I have to say it’s fantastic that you are getting on so well... because you actually have a lot in common. I feel we should go and discuss somewhere a bit quieter...

JACK: Fantastic.

MARK: Why not? I booked GIANNI'S.

ARIYARATNA: Great idea.

BRIDGET: I think you might have to sit this one out, Ariyaratna.

INT. GIANNI'S RESTAURANT. NIGHT.

Mark, Jack and a shell-shocked, silent Bridget are sitting at a table. Mark and Jack are getting on like a house on fire. GIANNI, laying the table, is enjoying the conversation too.

MARK: ... so you really believe that mathematics can help us - how did you put it in your book - ‘analyze human behavior previously invisible to science.’

JACK: Well, it’s a theory.

GIANNI (Butting in): Is incredible idea.

MARK: Really? In my experience emotions have a lot to do with it.

A pause. Bridget looks uncomfortable.

JACK: My dating algorithm is to help people find love, not necessarily replace it. Have you ever tried it out?

Bridget laughs nervously.

JACK (CONT’D): You’re single right?

MARK: Well.

Mark looks to Bridget - she smiles, even more uncomfortable. GIANNI, frankly, confused.

MARK (CONT’D): I suppose in a way... Yes... So, how do you two know each other?

Bridget takes a deep breath.

BRIDGET: Well... it’s sort of a funny story, sort of. You see, the thing is, a few months ago on June 4th I met Jack at a music festival.

MARK: Right.

BRIDGET (Interrupting): We got on very well and sort of had... relations.

GIANNI backs off, pretends not to be listening.

GIANNI: Dio Mio!

MARK: Oh... Right.. I see... that’s...

All of a sudden it’s a bit awkward.

BRIDGET: … and then the following week, that is to say... on the 11th June at Jude’s baby christening to be precise, and following the consumption of quite a lot of alcohol, Mark and I… um… well… we had similar ‘relations’.

It’s now very awkward.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): And this is the ‘funny’ part, I suppose, and why in many ways it’s good that we all met and are getting on so well. The thing is that owing to these ‘relations’ the resulting - um - life-form currently residing in my - um - tummy - could in fact be either of yours. I know I should have told you both before, but I just didn’t... you both seemed so happy.

JACK: Correct me if I’m wrong but did you just say that the baby could be either of ours?

Bridget nods.

MARK: So you have no idea which of us is actually the father?

GIANNI, wishing he was invisible.

BRIDGET: I know this is all very confusing. I’ve made a mess of it and I’m sorry, but one thing I’m certain of, is, however we choose to do this, the most important thing now is this.

She points to her bump.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): OK?

A long pause.

JACK: Bridget, I’m not going to pretend this isn’t a shock, but I just want you to know whatever the circumstances, you’re right, the most important thing is the baby, and I’m here to support you both. Who knows this could be a great adventure?

He puts his arm around her.

MARK (Less convincingly): I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me, I have a meeting.

He gets up and leaves.

INT. VILLAGE HALL. GRAFTON UNDERWOOD. DAY.

Bridget tentatively inches her way into the back of the hall where Mum’s campaign launch is in full swing.

All of Grafton Underwood is present and the room is bedecked with campaign slogans. There is a photographer in the background. Mum sees Bridget and rushes over to greet her.

MUM: I say we bring back National Service.

DAD: I don’t disagree in principle Pam, it’s just I’m not sure Grafton Underwood Parish Council has the power to conscript.

MUM: Don’t be sarcastic Colin. Add it to the minutes.

Dad rushes off to talk to speak to an official. Mum sees Bridget at the back and rushes over to greet her.

MUM (CONT’D): ... Honestly, we started half an hour ago where have you...

BRIDGET: What’s the emergency?

MUM: The Argus wants a family portrait. What are you wearing?

Then she notices Bridget’s bump and stops dead.

MUM (CONT’D): Oh my god, Bridget, are you...

Bridget nods, half nervous, half excited. Mum’s face lights up.

MUM (CONT’D): Why didn’t you say anything?

BRIDGET: I was worried you might be angry...

MUM: Why would I be? ... (The penny drops) Oh no Bridget. Who’s the father? Is it Mark’s Bridget, do say it is?

BRIDGET: Well, yes in a manner of speaking, sort of. What I mean is, there is at least a fifty per cent chance.

MUM: A fifty percent chance?

BRIDGET: Mark and Jack Quant, he’s an American.

MUM: Oh no Bridget... An American? Did you have a three way?

Mum’s face drops. She sees the photographer heading over and her face fills with fear. She sees the coat rack, grabs a few coats and thrusts them at Bridget.

MUM (CONT’D): Oh no. Here, carry these, act as if everything’s fine.

BRIDGET: What? Everything is fine.

As they walk the photographer spots her and wants a picture.

PHOTOGRAPHER: Mrs. Jones can we...

Before Bridget can answer, Mum barks.

MUM: Here, this is a lovely place for you to stand.

She places Bridget behind a counter where her bump is hidden. Mum frantically starts to arrange sandwiches and cakes in front of the bump to obscure it.

BRIDGET: What are you doing? Are you ashamed of me? Are you hiding your first born grandchild behind a pile of mini quiches?

Somebody comes over to take a mini quiche - Mum slaps their hand away.

MUM: Look, darling it’s just the circumstances, I’m running for high office and I’m presenting myself as a paragon of family values, see?

She points to a poster that reads ‘PAMELA JONES, IF YOU LOVE FAMILY AND YOU LOVE VALUE VOTE PAMELA JONES FOR FAMILY VALUES’.

BRIDGET: Wait... Still reading... It’s so long... (She finishes reading) ... Look, you might not be proud of the circumstances, but at least you can be proud of me. This isn’t the 1950’s. It’s not all nuclear families and 2.4 children any more. Look around you; Mavis Enderbury’s daughter is raising 2 kids on her own, Una’s son’s a single father, two lesbians have adopted at Number 32. If you don’t change the way you look at the world you’re not only going to lose your daughter, you’re going to lose your precious election as well.

She storms off, pauses, turns back, grabs a handful of mini quiches and storms off again. As she marches out she passes Una who spots her bump.

UNA: Bridget, so lovely to see you... are you...?

BRIDGET (Defiant): Pregnant? Yes. Yes I am.

UNA: How wonderful! We thought you’d just got all fat again.

EXT. COMMUNITY CENTRE. DAY.

Lots of pregnant women with loving partners go in and out of the entrance. Bridget waits alone and consults her watch nervously.

BRIDGET V.O.: Am suddenly freak in weird social experiment. But why couldn’t this work? We were all mature, sophisticated adults who wanted the best for the baby. People might look back and see this as the dawn of a new vanguard of parenting. Perhaps I was a visionary, ahead of my time.

Jack swoops in on his Vintage Triumph motorbike and dashingly removes his helmet. Bridget looks relieved to see him.

JACK: Our first ante-natal class. Exciting stuff, huh?

TIME CUT TO:

EXT. COMMUNITY CENTRE. MOMENTS LATER.

Bridget and Jack are about to go in when Bridget sees Mark running up the street towards her and she can’t help but let out a big smile, he decided to come!

Mark hands her a small paper bag.

MARK: I brought you a nice tea.

BRIDGET: Thank you. I’m glad you came.

JACK: Me too, awesome to see you buddy.

He grabs the tea.

JACK (CONT’D): There’s a heck of a lot of caffeine hidden in that tea.

Jack takes out a smoothie from his bag and swaps it out for the tea. Bridget looks slightly horrified by Jack’s hideous looking concoction.

BRIDGET: Thank you... both. Shall we go in.

JACK: Here, let me carry that for you.

He takes Bridget’s big handbag from her, she’s genuinely appreciative of the gesture. Mark looks put out.

MARK: Right, do you want me to carry your phone for you?

She is also carrying a tiny mobile phone. She hands it to him.

BRIDGET: Thank you.

INT. HALL. COMMUNITY CENTRE. LATER.

All the couples sit together in a semi-circle around DAISY, a very pretty young woman, who listens with earth-shattering brightness to one particularly lovely couple who are addressing the group. Bridget, Mark and Jack are the oldest people in the class, and obviously stand out as the only trio in the room. Bridget looks anxious and self conscious as the couples all introduce themselves.

DAISY: And who do we have here then?

BRIDGET: I’m Bridget. This is Mark and this is Jack.

DAISY (Reading her list): Oh lovely! You’re our second same sex couple tonight.

Everyone claps. A lesbian couple look over and wave.

MARK: No, actually...

JACK (Looks at Mark mischieviously): Absolutely, and we just need the gift of a baby to make us complete.

DAISY (Looking at Bridget): And you must be... the surrogate?

Bridget plays along, looking at Mark and Jack.

BRIDGET: Exactly, just trying to make this wonderful couple’s dream come true.

DAISY: Well the plan is to take you through some of the basic things to expect during the birth. To start off, perhaps someone can tell me what signs to look out for that might indicate labour is starting?

Jack’s hand shoots up. Daisy points to Jack who leaps in.

JACK: Early labour will be characterized by mild to moderate contractions, up to thirty to forty-five minutes apart, and often, but not always, a rupture of the amniotic membrane.

Jack looks pleased with himself. Daisy looks surprised. Mark speaks quietly.

MARK: Right yes, absolutely. Of course. I mean, isn’t this something one would normally leave to the midwife?

JACK: Mark gets nervous about all of this, it’s very new to you isn’t it, lamb chop?

Mark could not look more uncomfortable.

BRIDGET V.O.: Like all visionaries I would encounter bumps along the road, but still had faith in my grand plan.

INT. SWIMMING POOL. NIGHT.

Jack with a row of dads watching the new mums-to-be including Bridget in the water, mid aqua-ante-natal class. Jack is referring to a pregnancy book. Suddenly Mark joins them, late and hassled, still in his court clothes.

JACK (Book in hand): How would you like to give birth to your placenta?

BRIDGET (Laughing): Quickly?

Water sloshes over Bridget.

Suddenly she begins to choke, then sink.

At once, Jack strips off his clothes, revealing a rippling six pack, and leaps in to save her.

On Mark, catching his reflection in the window. He looks old, tired and grey.

INT. MARK’S OFFICE. CHAMBERS. NIGHT.

Mark sits in his office, late at night, reading studiously with a glass of wine and takeaway on his desk. His assistant Pierce pops his head in.

MARK: You should leave, I’m just going over some of the details on the Al Bashir case.

PIERCE: Absolutely. I think knowledge of ‘problems of breech delivery’ may be crucial in proving the Sudanese are using aid money to fund the SPLM insurgents.

REVEAL: Mark is not looking at his briefs but instead is studying ‘The Expectant Dad’s Handbook’ and has other Pregnancy/baby books strewn on his desk. He has been busted.

MARK: When you had Charlie did it all come naturally? Did you know you were going to be a good Dad?

Mark, troubled.

PIERCE: All the books in the world won’t prepare you for what’s about to happen, but for what it’s worth, I think you’ll make an amazing father.

Pierce leaves.

INT. COMMUNITY CENTRE. DAY.

Back at the ante-natal class, all the same people, new week. Today the partners are standing behind their wives as Daisy demonstrates massage techniques. Every woman has one man behind her apart from Bridget, who has Mark and Jack, vying for pole position.

DAISY: And of course massage can have many benefits throughout pregnancy, can we name some of them?

Jack’s hand shoots up.

JACK: It can lower stress and promotes feel-good hormones.

Mark shoots his hand up.

MARK: And to be safe, it should also be avoided in instances of high-risk pregnancy for example where there is a geriatric mother.

Bridget looks slightly put out. Everybody laughs, Mark looks embarrassed.

DAISY: Right, excellent, someone’s been reading up. Let’s put some theory into practice.

A super enthusiastic Jack grabs Bridget, manoeuvres her into position and takes control.

DAISY (CONT’D): Take an unclenched fist and begin at the nape of your partner’s neck.

Jack sets about this and Bridget can’t help but swoon with pleasure, he’s great at it.

Mark stands awkwardly, pathetically, by the side - the only person in the place not either massaging or being massaged.

Daisy spots him.

DAISY (CONT’D): Oh, erm... do you want a go...?

MARK: It’s Mark, I think I’ll probably leave it to Jack, he seems to have it covered.

JACK (Mischievously): You’re so sweet, that’s why I love you, pumpkin.

A huge, lumbering, tattooed Neanderthal man looks over to them and turns to his wife.

NEANDERTHAL GUY: Lovely couple, it’s great that they get to enjoy the miracle of childbirth.

INT. MARK’S BEDROOM. DAY.

Mark is on his computer, he appears to be deep in work, but...

REVEAL: His computer screen shows the QWANTIFY website, he has put his details in and there are pictures of him and Bridget and a Graphic that reads ‘COMPATABILITY 3%’.

A page comes up of suggested matches - photos of slightly stern masculine women who look just like Mark.

INT. HARD NEWS OFFICES. DAY.

Bridget is working intently at her desk. She gets a pain and reaches for her stomach. She looks around for help, all the hipsters are busy working away at their stations wearing oversized headphones, oblivious to her.

INT. COURT. DAY.

Mark is addressing the court.

MARK: My lady, may I please make an application for leave to appeal in the case of HM Government and Saddiq Al Bashir. As your Ladyship is no doubt aware, Mr Al Bashir lost his case in the court of appeal and he now seeks this courts leave to appeal on a point of law of public importance, namely, the question of whether permission for the electronic intercepts of his phone was lawfully granted by the Foreign Secretary. As it stands, the law on intercept warrants lacks clarity and on our proposed appeal we shall be inviting your Ladyship’s court to give greater definition to the Home Secretary’s powers and duties.

C/U: Mark’s mobile phone vibrates silently by his papers, out of his sight.

There are six missed calls from Bridget and a group text to Mark and Jack.

“ON MY WAY TO HOSPITAL. STOMACH PAINS. WORRIED”.

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM. DAY.

Bridget sits on an examination couch in a blue robe. Jack sits next to her.

DR RAWLINGS: Gherkins, anchovies, banana juice, Pringles? Its the combination that’s done it. Any baby would need a nap after that.

BRIDGET: So essentially...

DR RAWLINGS: Wind.

DR. RAWLINGS leaves. Jack smiles reassuringly, putting his arms round her.

INT. HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM. DAY.

Dr. Rawlings enters the waiting room and sees Mark Darcy at reception. Mark approaches Dr. Rawlings.

MARK: How’s Bridget? Is everything alright?

Dr. Rawlings subtly moves to block the window and then makes Mark face the other way round so that he can’t see Jack.

DR RAWLINGS: She’s fine. She’s currently in there with Dr... Pringle...

As she says this, through the window, they see Jack and Bridget laughing.

DR RAWLINGS (CONT’D): He has a very unique bedside manner, its new technique we’re trialling out of Oslo.

MARK: It’s fine, I know about Jack, but thank you, Doctor.

DR RAWLINGS: Oh, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you tell me before. She’s fine, he’s done very well and calmed her down completely.

Mark pauses a moment, looking through the window.

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM. DAY.

Bridget and Jack are mid conversation as Mark enters the room. Her face lights up.

BRIDGET: Hi.

MARK: I’m sorry. I just got your messages. I was in court.

BRIDGET: That’s alright. Can’t be helped. Freedom of speech needs to be defended.

Mark’s phone rings.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): You should take it. It might be work.

JACK: It’s totally fine. I have it covered.

MARK: Yes. I can see that.

JACK: C’mon buddy, you need to take a chill pill. We’ve got to do this together. In Peru, the UM BAT DO consider paternity a task to be shared among many tribesman.

MARK: Well, unfortunately we UM BAT DON’T live in Peru, I live in Ealing.

Bridget looks from Mark to Jack.

BRIDGET: Stop it. We’re not in the 18th century and this isn’t pistols at dawn to prove who’s the better man.

JACK: Look, the vibes are bad for the baby. Let’s go talk it out.

BRIDGET: Yes, that would be better. Thank you. Won’t be a minute...

Jack follows Mark out into the waiting room.

JACK: Why are you so angry...

INT. HOSPITAL MAIN RECEPTION. DAY.

JACK: Hey buddy why are you so angry?

MARK: You know what? I’m really not your buddy, I don’t know about vibes or negative energy or prenatal wind and even less about algorithms and automated reasoning, so I’ll admit that I struggle to understand the laws of attraction especially when I apply them to myself. Bridget just defies comprehension generally. But despite, or perhaps owing to, the bewildering litany of catastrophes I’ve witnessed over the last forty years, I feel I know her rather well and have spent every one of those years caring for her very deeply. In doing so I may be going expressly against my own better judgment but there’s nothing I can do about it.

JACK: Do about it? You could try being around a little instead of saving the world by cell phone. I make her feel happy, Mark.

MARK: And I suppose your algorithm tells you that you and Bridget are destined to be together, does it?

JACK: Actually it does, and the fact that you have been trying and failing to make it work with each other for the last ten years should tell you that maybe you are not.

This hits Mark hard. Jack relents.

JACK (CONT’D): I don’t want to fight with you, Mark. We need to think about Bridget and the baby, and for better or worse, fate has brought us together.

MARK: It wasn’t fate. It was condoms.

A beat.

JACK: What do you mean?

MARK: You know those disastrous dolphin friendly things from the bottom of Bridget’s bag.

JACK: Sorry, I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. When Bridget and I... How do I put this…? I did not dress for the occasion...

A silence while this revelation sinks in.

JACK (CONT’D): Why don’t we calm down and grab a beer?

INT. HOSPITAL MAIN RECEPTION. STAIRCASE. DAY.

Bridget comes down the stairs. She sees Mark and Jack still arguing.

BRIDGET V.O.: This is going to be so much harder than I thought. If they can’t get along now, before the baby’s even here, how are they going to deal with the really big things, like who gets up for the night feed, or whether he can have an iPad for his first birthday, or which granny to spend Christmas with? So much for the social experiment.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. DAY.

Bridget returns home to find a letter from Mark. She reads...

MARK V.O.: Dear Bridget, I’m sorry about today. I think you were right when you said the fantasy of us was always better than the reality. What you want me to be and what I am just don’t add up.

LETTER MONTAGE.

INT. MARK’S OFFICE. DAY.

Mark writing the letter.

MARK: I do realise how difficult I make it for you to love me and it was never my intention to leave you so alone. Because in truth there must be something that I’ve never been able to give you. Why else did you go back to...

EXT. TATE BRITAIN. DAY – FLASHBACK.

Bridget stands alone on the pavement, clutching her award. At the sound of a car, she looks up and smiles with delight, as if seeing someone she knows.

MARK V.O.: Daniel Cleaver.

CUT TO:

Mark Darcy, hurrying across the pavement. He stops on seeing Daniel Cleaver’s convertible driving off with Bridget clearly in the passenger seat.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. DAY.

Bridget still reading at her flat. Tears roll down her face.

MARK V.O.: It’s alright Bridget.

INT. PREGNANCY YOGA CLASS. NIGHT.

Bridget struggling in a pregnancy yoga class. She’s surrounded by young, nubile pregnant women.

MARK V.O.: I’ve always made myself believe that our history should lead us to be together.

INT. MARK’S BEDROOM. DAY.

CLOSE-UP on Mark closing up a suitcase.

MARK V.O. (CONT’D): But maybe deep down, despite everything we’ve shared, we’re not compatible.

EXT. GREENWICH PARK. DAY.

Jack and Bridget walk hand in hand. Bridget looks distracted.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. NIGHT.

Bridget and Jack are together on the sofa watching television.

INT. AIRPORT. DAY.

Mark, distracted, at the boarding gate for KHARTOUM. He makes his way towards the plane.

MARK V.O.: And now information has come to light that has led me to believe that my further involvement in this situation is impossible. Be assured of my concern for your well-being and some sense of my responsibility in the situation...

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. DAY.

Bridget back reading the letter. She looks at an enclosed cheque, indignant.

MARK V.O.: A financial contribution would seem to me appropriate. Should you have any practical needs, you need only alert my office. I wish you every happiness for the future. Mark.

The cheque falls to the floor.

She walks up to the African chart, zones in on Darcy’s name, with tears rolling down her cheeks. She strokes her bump.

END MONTAGE.

INT. COMMUNITY CENTRE. NIGHT.

Ante-natal class. Just Bridget and Jack - Mark is conspicuous by his absence.

DAISY: OK, take your partners and let’s practice breathing... No Mark today?

Bridget shakes her head sadly. The Neanderthal guy turns to his partner and mutters.

NEANDERTHAL GUY: Ahhh, shame. They seemed so happy... I was really rooting for them.

EXT. GREENWICH PARK. DAY.

Shazzer sits with Bridget on a bench. In the background Jack is holding Shazzer’s children’s attention with his animated retelling of a fairy-tale.

SHAZZER: How do you orchestrate such cliffhangers in your life?

BRIDGET: Well thanks for that. I hadn’t thought of it like that.

SHAZZER: I can’t believe Mark ducked out again.

BRIDGET: Well the last time wasn’t really his fault.

SHAZZER (Looking at Jack): I suppose we better just hope it’s Jack’s, right? ... Let’s face it, things could be worse, he is pretty fucking amazing.

Jack holds out an apple, overacting as a Wicked Queen. The children and Tom are enthralled. Shazzer’s nose slightly turns up.

BRIDGET: He definitely seems to be, I don’t really know anything about him.

SHAZZER: How much do you need to know? He’s gorgeous, he’s richer than god and has a very nice sized puppet.

BRIDGET: He does, and we match up very well on paper. In some countries they just make you marry a boy in the next village because his Dad has a nice horse, and those marriages seem to work.

SHAZZER: Exactly... And he’s certainly enthusiastic.

Shazzer says this like it’s a negative. Jack is now juggling the apples, the children are rapt.

BRIDGET (Pensive): Right. I suppose he is.

SHAZZER: I mean, it’s difficult, but you just have to ask ‘can I see myself growing old with him’? Sending the kids off to school, teaching them how to swim, how to drive their first yacht?

Bridget laughs.

BRIDGET: How do I know? I don’t know anything about him, he may wear socks with sandals when he goes on holiday. What happens then?

SHAZZER: For that? Divorce. But you have to have faith. Nobody knows what life has in store. You know, look at me and Fergus. When we met he had a record deal and exciting plans, I had the great career in journalism. Now me and the kids are off next week accompanying him on a tour of pub back rooms in the Shetland Islands, living in a fucking camper van. I’m just saying when it comes down to it, when you are stuck holding the baby and it’s pissing with rain, is that the man you want to be in a camper van with?

BRIDGET: I suppose he is a billionaire, so it will be a fucking nice camper van.

Jack rushes over and takes a cupcake out of Bridget’s hand and replaces it with the apple.

JACK: Watch that blood pressure Bridge. Let’s go with nature’s candy. Right little fella?

He talks into Bridget’s belly. Shazzer slightly raises her eyebrows. She turns to Bridget.

SHAZZER: I’m sorry I’m not going to be here, Bridge.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. KITCHEN. DAY.

Bridget crosses Shazzer off the African family chart.

EXT. STREET. DAY.

A pensive Bridget, looking a bit breezier is walking along a street, shopping for the baby.

BRIDGET V.O.: Shazzer was right, I had landed on my feet, with an amazing man who was happy to be with me. He ticked every box. The only thing that was going to get in the way of this was me...

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. SPARE ROOM. DAY.

Jack’s been decorating Bridget’s spare room for the nursery - a half-finished, black and white pattern on one wall. Bridget, shopping bags in hand, enters the room to find Jack painting.

She stops for a while, silently watching him.

JACK: Oh, hey! For the first few months they can only see black and white. This will stimulate his spatial awareness.

BRIDGET: Right. It’s actually making me feel a bit sick.

JACK: So much better than the floating pizzas.

REVEAL - Bridget has been painting on the other wall.

BRIDGET: They were teddy bears. But thank you.

JACK: Well my Mom put Captain Caveman wallpaper on my wall when I was a baby. You can imagine how much that traumatized me.

He starts to do the voice... He stops, no recognition. There is a moment of silence.

BRIDGET: I bought him one of those bouncy chairs, I’m not even sure where we’re going to put it.

JACK: Yeah, about that. It’s kind of cramped in here, don’t you think?

BRIDGET: Cosy.

Jack pauses, readies himself for something big.

JACK: I was thinking, maybe it might be nice if we moved in together?

This hits Bridget hard.

BRIDGET: Do you think we’re ready for that?

JACK: Of course. I’m tired of living in hotel rooms, and airport lounges. We could be a family, you, me, him. What do you say?

There is a long beat - Bridget trying to makes sense of things.

BRIDGET: What if it isn’t yours?

JACK: What?

BRIDGET: What if the baby turns out to be Mark’s? What will you do then?

He pauses a moment too long.

JACK: I mean, obviously that would change things...

BRIDGET: I see.

There is a very long beat.

JACK: And is that what you want? For it to be Mark’s?

This time Bridget pauses a moment too long.

BRIDGET: I don’t know what I want.

Jack takes a deep breath.

JACK: Are you in love with him?

BRIDGET: I have been.

JACK: And me?

BRIDGET: I don’t know... I could be, one day.

JACK: Bridget, I’ve not been entirely honest.

Bridget looks at him.

JACK (CONT’D): Mark thinks the baby isn’t his. I let him believe it was mine... that’s why he disappeared.

BRIDGET: Why would he think that?

JACK: Because I let him. You blind-sided me Bridget, with the chance to have a family. I didn’t want to lose you. We can be good for each other. Ninety seven per cent, remember.

She drops her bags.

BRIDGET: Yes, on paper, and we might even be having a baby together, but falling in love doesn’t happen on paper. Sometimes it doesn’t make any sense at all. Sometimes you love a person for all the ways they are not like you. Sometimes you just love a person because they feel like home.

She looks at him, in shock and confusion. She picks up her phone.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): I need to find Mark. (Into phone) Pierce? It’s Bridget. I’m trying to get hold of Mark.

She listens, then looks hopeful.

EXT. BOROUGH MARKET. DAY.

A heavily pregnant Bridget ‘runs’ through the market.

EXT. SOUTHWARK BRIDGE. DAY.

Bridget crosses Southwark Bridge.

EXT. MARK’S HOUSE. DAY.

Bridget, breathless, turns the corner to see a taxi pull up. Mark gets out with his suitcases.

Bridget, about to call out, when she sees his front door open and Camilla waiting to greet him. She watches as they hug.

EXT. LONDON STREETS. DAY.

CHASING PAVEMENTS by Adele plays.

Bridget marches back towards her house, still reeling from what she’s seen. She steps off the curb, not looking when a car screeches to a halt. BEEEEEEEEEEP. Bridget steps back and looks down to her bump. It’s a wake up moment.

BRIDGET V.O.: And that was the moment I decided to stop. Stop trying... to force everything to be like everyone thought it should be. Like I thought it should be.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. LATER.

Bridget comes in exhausted. She slumps down on a chair.

BRIDGET V.O.: It was backs to the wall, me and my sweet little lovely baby, and I was bloody well going to make it work.

Bridget walks over to the African Village drawing, and crosses out Jack, then Darcy.

BRIDGET: Fucking Africans. What do they know?

EXT. STREET. EVENING. 7 MONTHS.

It’s Christmas. Bridget, now 7 months pregnant, sadly drags a Christmas tree on her own to her apartment.

EXT. MUM AND DAD’S HOUSE. DAY.

A bedraggled and miserable Bridget arrives in front of the house.

Taking the place of Christmas decorations is a ‘Pamela Jones for Councillor’ campaign banner, that Dad is in the process of hanging. He spots Bridget.

DAD: Ah, you’re here. Are you OK?

He gives her a huge hug - just what she needed.

INT. MUM AND DAD’S HOUSE. DAY.

She enters - takes stock of the party, is clearly surprised.

DAD: Mum’s throwing a combined Christmas party stroke political rally. It’s like the G8 summit in there, but with pigs in blankets.

Mum spots Bridget and rushes across eyes wide with excitement.

BRIDGET: I’m sorry, I didn’t realise everybody would be here, I don’t want to derail your campaign, I can just sneak upstairs.

MUM: Nonsense. Look Una had all the leaflets and posters re-printed, you’ve inspired me.

The slogans on the wall now read...

‘TOLERANCE is not a four letter word, but PREJUDICE is a four letter word.’

‘Pamela Jones - Supports Single Mothers, minorities, the majority of homosexuals, Italians.’

BRIDGET: Wait, still reading, still so long.

MUM: You were right, darling, as it turns out, this place is teeming with single mothers, single fathers, bisexuals, surrogates and they are all lovely and so normal.

Bridget smiles.

MUM (CONT’D): Family values aren’t just about two married parents anymore, Bridget. I’ve even got two homosexuals on the team.

Jeffrey and Graham wave.

MUM (CONT’D): Who knew?

UNA: Everybody.

MUM: I am very proud of you darling, you know that? What you’re doing is not easy, but if anyone can make it work it’s you. That child is the luckiest boy on earth to have you as his Mum. He’ll have all the support, protection and love of a million fathers as long as you are by his side.

Bridget melts. Just what she needed. Dad looks across and smiles warmly at her.

MUM (CONT’D): Now come on, we’ve got some campaigning to do.

Mum grabs Bridget and starts escorting her through the crowd.

MUM (CONT’D): Make way! Make Way! Pregnant single mother coming through.

INT. ANTE NATAL ROOM. DAY.

Bridget, minus the two men, at a scan. Dr Rawlings gives her an understanding smile.

DR RAWLINGS: Eight weeks to go.

Bridget musters a half hearted smile. Dr Rawlings detects the sadness.

DR RAWLINGS (CONT’D): You don’t need them, you know. All they’re really useful for is fitting car seats and blaming things on. They just get in the way. You can do this on your own, you know. I did. Next time I see you, we will be in the delivery room.

Bridget smiles. The baby’s image appears on screen. Bridget, spellbound, by the fully-formed little being.

She looks to her belly. The camera follows her gaze and continues INSIDE as the baby moves around, growing. A life forming all on its own.

CUT TO:

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. LONDON. 7 WEEKS LATER. (36 WEEKS).

Bridget, her bump now bigger, struggles to load the laundry. She pours Alpen muesli into the washing machine. She starts scooping out the Alpen; a phenomenal mess.

INT. BABY’S ROOM. NIGHT.

Bridget defiantly paints over Jack’s graphic mural.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. NIGHT.

Back in the kitchen Bridget pours milk into the washing machine compartment and starts eating the Alpen.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. CORRIDORS. DAY.

In another West Wing scenario, a heavily pregnant Bridget is now waddling down the corridor with her researchers not so much in tow as walking incredibly slowly to match the ponderous Bridget.

BRIDGET: We need to give six minutes to Lu Tong, it’s a huge scoop.

LAURA: Alice wants to pull the interview, she has a feature on ‘Is the world really ending on Tuesday?’

BRIDGET: Lu Tong is pulled over my dead body. This is a news show... Wait a second.

She has to stop her West Wing walking for a little rest - she is totally out of breath.

CUT TO:

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. RECEPTION. NIGHT.

A harried and breathless Bridget bustles in to the chaotic reception area. She looks around and spots a Burmese man wearing a uniform.

BRIDGET: Sorry, it’s chaos here today, but thank you for coming on. We’re on live in two minutes, Miranda will probably want to start with what’s happening in Naypyidaw...

The Studio Guest tries to speak but Bridget hurries him along.

INT. GALLERY. HARD NEWS STUDIO. NIGHT.

Bridget sits in the gallery. The new-look, crowd-sourced news show is in play. Up on screen appears a Poonani member at a press conference on the street.

POONANI MEMBER: This is a great victory for free speech. We must thank one person who was prepared to fight for us when no one else would, and we say to that person with all our hearts...

ON SCREEN: The Poonani girls lifting up their t-shirts in unison revealing WE LOVE YOU MARK DARCY, QC scrawled across their bare breasts. The crowd roars.

The camera swings to Mark Darcy smiling awkwardly.

The screen, now bearing Mark Darcy’s image, freezes.

Bridget distracted. Her assistant nudges her.

BRIDGET (Barking into microphone): Miranda, you’re back on General Lu Tong. Keep pressing him. This could make the front pages, Peabody!

RICHARD FINCH: He’s on the rack, tight on three, get those beads of sweat.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. NIGHT.

Miranda is interviewing the guest.

MIRANDA: I’ll ask you again, General Lu Tong will you take responsibility for the human rights abuses perpetrated by your government?

GUEST: I’m sorry I can’t answer that.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. GALLERY. NIGHT.

Bridget is triumphant. She shouts into the earpiece.

BRIDGET: Ha! Can’t or won’t, Lu Tong?

REVEAL - Alice Peabody has sneaked in behind with an angry looking, very dignified and smartly dressed man.

ALICE: On balance I would suggest ‘can’t’ considering I just found General Lu Tong in the lobby, and his chauffeur is currently live on air answering questions about Burmese human rights violations. Good job!

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. BOARDROOM. NEXT DAY.

Alice sits at her desk opposite Richard and Bridget. The front pages of the newspaper reads “So long Lu Tong!”.

RICHARD: It’s actually illegal to fire somebody for being pregnant.

ALICE: I’m not firing her for being pregnant. I’m firing her for gross incompetency.

RICHARD FINCH: Bridget’s the beating heart of this show, why would you fire her?

ALICE: How about for interviewing a chauffeur instead of a General, publicly insulting the CEO of the London Media Show, using a TV interview to determine if a guest might be the father of her child and being responsible for broadcast of 36 bare arses.

BRIDGET: It’s okay Richard. I was going to quit anyway. (To Alice) Believe it or not, I was it like you when I started here, a bit chunkier maybe, and with less make up. I was going to make my mark too. But I can’t be part of your “re-branding”. I haven’t got the right haircut, and I don’t drink my cocktails out of jam jars or put photos of my lunch on instagram. It might be old fashioned to want to make something worthwhile but I’d rather be old fashioned and unemployed than be part of a show that celebrates the inane.

Alice and her acolytes look at each other, shocked.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Maybe when my son is old enough to understand, integrity will be fashionable again. Good luck and goodbye.

At the door, one of Alice’s hipster assistant hands her a box containing her belongings. She walks out.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. DAY.

Bridget arrives home, exhausted.

BRIDGET: Oh, dear. What have I done?

She opens the fridge. Nothing.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): It’s all very well fighting for your principles when there’s no food in the fridge.

Wearily, she heads back out.

INT. MARK’S HOUSE. BEDROOM. DAY.

Mark is searching in a drawer and finds the old reindeer jumper.

INT. MORRISON’S SUPERMARKET. EVENING.

Bridget struggling with her shopping, queues for the checkout.

SHOPPER: Is it a boy or a girl?

BRIDGET: It’s a boy.

SHOPPER: When’s it due?

BRIDGET: Two weeks, more or less, I think!

Just as she gets to the checkout the cashier goes on her break. Bridget’s long queue shuffles over to the next till.

CASHIER: Is it a boy or a girl?

BRIDGET: Boy.

CASHIER: When’s it due?

BRIDGET: Um, two weeks, we think.

As the cashier rings up Bridget’s purchases, another shopper comes up and stares at Bridget’s bump.

SHOPPER 2: Is it…

BRIDGET: Boy. Two weeks.

CASHIER (Talking to the next cashier): Did you read about the woman in Italy who had a baby when she was sixty-five? (Turns to Bridget) That will be £40.67 please. Enter your pin.

Bridget puts her card in machine, she goes blank.

BRIDGET: I’ve forgotten it. Oh, God.

The other customers in the queue are getting restive.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): I’ll pay with cash.

She fumbles in her purse, and manages to rustle up £29.60.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): I’ll put something back.

She starts to hand back some of the items, one by one, reluctantly. The unhealthy ones first. The cashier de-scans them until the total is down to £27.60.

At the last minute Bridget defiantly takes back a carton of Ben and Jerry’s bringing the total up to £23.10. Bridget marches out triumphantly passing a lady who is entering the shop.

EXT. MARK’S HOUSE. DAY.

Mark is loading suitcases into a cab. Camilla exits the house. They BOTH get into the car and drive off.

INT. HIGH STREET BANK. DAY.

Bridget is at an ATM in one of those bank lobbies, she’s still trying to remember her PIN as she attempts to get cash.

BRIDGET (Mumbling): Birthday?

INCORRECT PIN flashes.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Battle of Hastings? ... First shag? ...

INCORRECT PIN flashes and the machine swallows the card.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Oh fuck it!

Bridget shuffles out.

BRIDGET (CONT’D) (To her tummy): Oh, my darling, I’ve gone all crap all of a sudden.

EXT/INT. HEATHROW AIRPORT. SAME TIME. DAY.

Mark and his wife enter the airport with the suitcases. They pause at the departures board.

EXT. HIGH STREET BANK. DAY.

It starts to rain very hard. Bridget suddenly realizes, as the glass doors close, that she has left all of her shopping inside the bank.

BRIDGET: Oh! Oh - come on, let’s just get home.

INT. AIRPORT. SAME TIME. DAY.

Mark is helping Camilla at the check-in desk. He turns around, just in time to see:

Tom and Eduardo, emerging into arrivals carrying their little boy. Tom strokes his head. Eduardo fusses with the buggy. Mark watches this scene. He smiles. He thinks. Unbeknownst, Camilla's observing him.

EXT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. DAY.

The rain is easing off. Bridget feels in her bag for her keys. She becomes increasingly agitated.

BRIDGET: Oh, no! Please no.

No keys. No phone.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Oh, no! I’ve left them inside! Oh, fuckity fuckity fuckity fuck fuck. (To her tummy) Sorry.

She presses all the other buzzers. No answer... she slumps, utterly defeated. She looks just like a crumpled old street-dweller.

BRIDGET V.O.: I’m so sorry, little bean. Everything that I need to call someone for help is in my bag, and I’m just too exhausted to go back and get it. I bet someone’s already tucking into my Ben and Jerry’s right now. I suppose I could call Jude or Shazzer, but I can’t remember their numbers these days, and it’s probably bath time, bed time, or story time, or some other inconvenient time. And Tom’s got my spares, but he’s on his way back from Ecuador, so that’s no use to us. Hmm, I wonder if Gianni’s is open? I’ll just sit here for a little rest while I come up with a plan.

She closes her eyes, starts to drift off.

EXT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. TRANSITION TO NIGHT.

She comes to, looks up and thinks she’s imagining... MARK DARCY coming round the corner.

She watches him as he approaches. He gets near to her and then… dips his hand in his pocket and gives her a tenner. He then rings Bridget’s door bell.

BRIDGET: Hey!

MARK: Bridget? My god. What are you doing there? You’re all wet. You’re outside!

He kneels down, helps her up.

BRIDGET: I locked myself out. I lost my phone… and my keys… and my credit cards. Like a bloody idiot.

He puts his coat round her.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): What are you doing here?

MARK: It seems I can never, ever leave this street.

BRIDGET: But I thought you were back with Candida.

MARK: You know very well she’s called Camilla...

BRIDGET: Camilla. I came round to find you and she was there.

MARK: She was coming to collect her things. She’s gone back to The Hague.

Without a beat he wraps his scarf around his hand and punches the glass of the front door, before letting himself in.

INT. BRIDGET’S FLAT. NIGHT.

They are both now inside the flat, Bridget still reeling. Mark takes Bridget in his arms.

MARK: Look you know I find emotional declarations… difficult, but the truth is… (A beat) Bridget?

BRIDGET: Mmm?

MARK: Why are my trousers all warm?

BRIDGET: Oh!! Oh!! Fuck! My waters must have broken!

MARK: Jesus Christ!

BRIDGET: I am so sorry. I’ll get a cloth!

MARK: No, no. It doesn’t matter. But you’re not due for another two or three weeks at least.

A contraction. She winces.

BRIDGET: Ooh! And that’s a contraction.

MARK: And we are ruling out “Braxton Hicks” which tend to be longer and non - rhythmic in nature…

BRIDGET: Yes we bloody are. I think we should go to the hospital, quickly.

Suddenly the mood is all urgent action whilst trying to maintain calm.

MARK: Absolutely!

BRIDGET: We’ll go in your car.

MARK: I came in a cab.

BRIDGET (Contraction): Oh, for fuck’s sake!

MARK: Well how was I supposed to know!?

BRIDGET: Not you - the contractions!

MARK: We’ll take your car.

BRIDGET: Can’t, the keys are in my bag along with everything else.

She lets out a scream.

MARK: Right. Ok. You just pant and breathe and relax and count. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?

Darcy’s phone starts to ring. Will he answer?

BRIDGET: 41, 42, 43, 44... Should you get that? It might be work.

Mark marches over to the window and in a dramatic gesture, goes to throw the phone out.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Don’t!

But he throws it out triumphantly. He’s proved himself.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Great! But we need to get a cab.

MARK: Oh shit... Can I borrow a phone?

She throws him the house phone. He starts to dial.

MARK (CONT’D): Where’s your overnight bag?

BRIDGET: ... 48 ... 49 ... over there.

MARK: Hi there. A cab from 7A Stonier Street.

A great suite of immense luggage.

MARK (CONT’D): Good God, Bridget, it’s an overnight bag, do you really need…

BRIDGET: Don’t shout at me! I’ve lost count now. 48 … 49 … (Another contraction) Ohhhhhhhhh!

MARK: Jesus!

BRIDGET: I’m sorry but it’s painful.

MARK: No, not you. 45 minutes for a cab, apparently it’s gridlock.

BRIDGET: What do we do?

Mark looks out of the window and sees Gianni’s pizza van.

MARK: We’ll work something out. I’ll carry the bags. And we should call Jack.

INT. GIANNI’S PIZZA DELIVERY VAN. NIGHT.

Bridget and Mark are in Gianni’s pizza delivery van. Bridget is in some pain now.

GIANNI: Don’t worry, Miss Bridget, we get you there… no traffic this time of night.

The van stops. Mark looks confused.

GIANNI (CONT’D): A Quattro Stagioni and Margherita with onion and pineapple for number 17.

Gianni hands 3 pizzas to Mark, he realizes it’s futile to argue and rushes out. Gianni turns to a panting Bridget.

GIANNI (CONT’D): Who has pineapple and onion - some people they a-crazy.

Mark returns from his delivery and the van moves off again.

GIANNI (CONT’D): Dio Mio! It’s like rush hour, Mr Mark.

The van stops again.

CUT TO:

INT/EXT GIANNI’S PIZZA DELIVERY VAN. NIGHT.

All three in Gianni’s van. He is trying to avoid the traffic. He does a 3-point turn and then goes uphill.

CUT TO:

EXT. LONDON STREETS. NIGHT.

The roads are indeed gridlocked and Bridget is in real pain.

BRIDGET: This is really happening, I’m going to be a mother, Mark. Have I left it too late...?

Before Mark can answer Gianni pipes up.

GIANNI: Do not worry about the age, there was a woman in my country, she was 65 when she…

BRIDGET: YES! I KNOW!

They hit traffic again and come to a stand still.

GIANNI: Is unbelievable, is a bloody women’s rights march. You know I’m a big fan of women’s rights… And their lefts. Yes Mr Mark? You get it, their lefts? I talk about their boobies.

MARK: Oh Christ, it’s those infernal women.

CUT TO:

Hundreds of incensed chanting women on bicycles with placards block the streets.

BACK IN THE CAB:

BRIDGET: 22, 23, 24, 25 - they’re coming quicker - oh my god we need to get there.

Gianni honks repeatedly on the horn.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Right. We’re getting out. You ready?

And they step out into the street.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): I don’t think I can walk.

MARK: There’s no need. I’ll carry you.

GIANNI: I come behind with bag Mr Mark.

And there’s a great rush of romantic music as, in true Officer and Gentleman-style, Mark lifts her into his arms.

BRIDGET: I must be very heavy.

MARK: Nonsense, I don’t feel a thing!

JUMP CUT to ten yards later. Gasping, red-faced, doubled over, Mark can’t go one step further.

MARK (CONT’D): Good God, Bridget, you’re immense!

BRIDGET: I can’t help it!

MARK: I think my lung’s collapsed, but this is not about me.

BRIDGET: Contraction’s starting again! I’m going to have the baby in the street!

MARK: Okay, we’ll walk for ten, rest for ten.

And he hauls Bridget on towards the hospital.

EXT. STREETS NEAR HOSPITAL. NIGHT.

Mark is still carrying her. Almost on his knees... when Jack, on his motorcycle, screeches to a halt.

He gets off.

JACK: I’ll take it from here!

Darcy hands Bridget over to Jack. He tries to carry her.

JACK (CONT’D): Holy shit - I think this is a two man job.

EXT/INT. HOSPITAL. LABOUR UNIT. NIGHT.

Mark and Jack carry Bridget in through the doors. A MIDWIFE runs up with a wheelchair.

MIDWIFE: Which of you is the father?

Mark and Jack step forward.

MARK/JACK (In unison): I am.

The mid-wife looks confused, but ushers them into the delivery room.

INT. HOSPITAL. BIRTHING ROOM. NIGHT.

Bridget is on her hands and knees on the birthing bed. Mark and Jack simultaneously rub her back.

Two midwives busy themselves preparing the equipment.

DR RAWLINGS enters the room and looks from JACK to MARK, and smiles knowingly.

DR RAWLINGS: Ah, I was wondering how many fathers we might get today - full house! Bingo! (Calm) OK Bridget, how are we going to do this? Epidural?

JACK: You can do this, a positive mental attitude is stronger than any drug, think away the pain.

BRIDGET: Bollocks to that. I want everything - gas, air, injections, morphine.

JACK: Bridget... Remember your yoga.

BRIDGET: Fuck yoga!

DR RAWLINGS: Couldn’t agree more. It’s supposed to be relaxing but I spend my entire time worried that I’m going to let out a fart. Now, let me have a look at that cervix of yours.

She lifts up Bridget’s gown and Jack can’t help but get a look at the ‘action area’. He looks queasy. A blood curdling scream comes from the woman giving birth in the room next door.

DR RAWLINGS (CONT’D): Oh, good!

CLOSE on Bridget’s relief.

DR RAWLINGS (CONT’D): You’re already at six centimetres so you can’t have any drugs at all.

BRIDGET: WHAT?

DR RAWLINGS: You’re too far on. Oooh another contraction.

Bridget winces in excruciating pain. Jack and Mark wince as Bridget winces.

DR RAWLINGS (CONT’D): (To Jack and Mark) I’m not sure there is much to gain from you being at the coal face, if I’m honest. My ex-husband said it was like watching his favourite pub burn down.

Another huge scream.

MIDWIFE: Maybe dad should go and fetch mum a cool flannel.

Mark and Jack look confused, unsure which of them should go, there is a bit of awkwardness then Mark goes to get it.

Mark returns with a cool flannel in his hand, Jack grabs it from him and places it on Bridget’s forehead, leaving Mark floundering and annoyed.

MARK: Bu...

JACK: You can do this, just think the pain away.

As Jack gets closer, gently imploring her to manage the pain, she lifts her fist and punches him hard in the face, knocking him down.

JACK (CONT’D): Motherfuckers!

MARK: Just think the pain away...

Jack nurses his bleeding nose.

BRIDGET: GET OUT! BOTH OF YOU!

Unwilling to infuriate her more, the men share a look and both go to leave.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Make it stop, make the pain stop. (To the departing men) WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

Both men are at the door, look at each other and turn round, sheepishly making their way back towards the bed.

BRIDGET: It’s too painful! I can’t do this I just can’t.

CUT TO LATER.

Bridget lets out a blood curdling scream, she is clearly in huge pain. Both men simultaneously put out their hands for support, but as she screams, just as the pain appears that it might be too much and faced with the choice of the two men in her life, impulsively, instinctively, she reaches for… MARK.

Jack sees this and realizes that Bridget has made her choice. As Bridget clings to Mark, the two men share a look. Jack gives a conciliatory and defeated nod then quietly, graciously, withdraws from the room.

Oblivious to this, Bridget continues to squeeze Mark’s hand with superhuman might. He swallows his anguish and puts his face in front of Bridget so she can see him.

MARK: You can! You can do it, Bridget! And we can do it together.

BRIDGET: Really?

Mark nods.

MARK: Look at what life’s thrown at you already.

As he talks, Bridget grabs his arm and starts to bite into it - it’s clearly extraordinarily painful, but Mark just grits his teeth and talks through the agony, barely letting it register.

MARK (CONT’D): Christmas jumpers, massive pants, cheating boyfriends and repressed men who don’t deserve you. You’ve turned disasters into triumphs with your sheer joyful, infectious, indefatigable lust for life, time after time in succession. You’ve managed your pregnancy almost entirely alone whilst having to deal with two juvenile men, a lunatic mother and... P... P... Poonani!

He finally said it! She bites down harder. Mark conceals the pain.

MARK (CONT’D): This is just the last few moments and at the end of them, you’ll see your beautiful baby!

BRIDGET: And what if the baby isn’t yours? What if he’s Jack’s?

MARK (No hesitation): Then I will love him anyway. Just like I love you, just the way you were; the way you are; and - no doubt - the way you always will be...

Bridget looks at Mark through the red haze. He’s making sense. Then the next pain is upon her and she bows her head to it.

She takes her teeth out of his now bloody arm, teethmarks apparent. He turns his back to her and lets out a massive silent scream.

DR RAWLINGS: You should probably go and get those seen to. I’ll handle it from here.

She ushers him out.

DR RAWLINGS (CONT’D): Honestly... ‘think the pain away’ ... absolute nonsense, you’re squeezing out another human, I’d love to see them ‘think it away’. You’re doing brilliantly, Bridget and you’re nearly there.

BRIDGET: I can’t…

DR RAWLINGS (Firm): Yes, you can actually, and I think you know it.

INT. GRAFTON UNDERWOOD VILLAGE HALL. NIGHT.

It’s the night of the election, and the recount has gone on late into the night. Mum is on stage, next to all the other candidates, awaiting the results. Una stands next to her.

UNA: The results are in.

A formal looking official clutching a piece of paper approaches the microphone. Mum - tenses then braces herself.

OFFICIAL: With three hundred and sixty-six of the votes, Mavis Rita Enderbury...

DAD: Pamela…

Dad fights his way to the stage, phone in hand.

OFFICIAL: With three hundred and sixty-seven of the votes...

MUM: What?

DAD: Darling, it’s Bridget.

OFFICIAL: Pamela Margaret Jones.

MUM: Not now, Colin.

DAD: It’s about the baby.

OFFICIAL: Ladies and Gentleman, I hereby declare that the said Pamela Margaret Jones is duly elect...

Mum leans over to whisper in his ear. The mic picks it up.

MUM: I’m so sorry, you will have to excuse me. We’re about to become a grandmother!

There are cheers from her supporters and she scurries off the stage, pushing Una forward as she goes.

MUM (CONT’D): I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my deputy, Una.

Mum and Dad rush out of the hall, leaving the official and other candidates totally confused.

INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. NIGHT.

Miranda is finishing up presenting the programme.

MIRANDA: And that’s all for this late night special edition of Hard News...

She looks up at the control room and Richard Finch is fist pumping the air. He shouts into his headset.

MIRANDA (CONT’D): Except to say, Bridget Jones is in labour.

Alice Peabody lets out a small, but discernible, smile.

INT. HOSPITAL. LABOUR UNIT. EARLY MORNING.

The injured men sit next to each other, heads between hands, slumped, exhausted, both bandaged from their Bridget-induced wounds.

JACK: She’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?

MARK: Formidable, always has been.

JACK: Listen, I owe you an apology. I know I haven’t behaved very well in all this.

MARK: It’s okay.

CUT TO LATER.

It’s early morning after what has clearly been a long night. Jack and Mark are fast asleep in the waiting room chairs. Jack’s head resting on Mark’s shoulder. Suddenly there is a huge cry like a great lion’s roar. They wake up with a start, and whirl round to look at the door. Seconds later, the mewl of a new-born babe.

INT. HOSPITAL. BIRTHING ROOM. EARLY MORNING.

Bridget is on the bed. The midwife is standing beside her and Dr Rawlings watches on, happy.

The sudden cessation of pain has flooded her body with endorphins and she is in a blissful state. In her arms, a naked baby, still attached to the umbilical cord, yells lustily. Bridget looks up at the haggard faces before her.

BRIDGET: We did it! Say hello to our beautiful boy!

Jack embraces Mark and kisses him. Mark almost kisses him back, then stops himself.

Mark rushes to Bridget’s side and for a moment they both look down at the mite in her arms, the perfect, everyday miracle.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Let’s tell everyone.

MARK: Why don’t you tell them yourself, they’re all here.

He opens the door and Jude, Shazzer and Tom pop their heads in blowing kisses and congratulating her. Bridget smiles at them, so happy.

INT. HOSPITAL. LABOUR UNIT. BRIDGET’S ROOM. DAY.

Bridget cradles the baby, who is now washed and swaddled and quite simply the most beautiful thing ever. One by one, the friends rush in.

CLOSE on Jude.

JUDE: So sorry, I’m late Bridge, some Lesbians are having a stupid all night march.

MARK: Actually they’re marching in aid of freedom of speech, it’s a rather important...

Shazzer rushes in.

SHAZZER: Bridge - I can’t believe I wasn’t here - there’s some unbelievably annoying march...

BRIDGET: Don’t worry. I would only’ve punched you as well.

MARK: Actually, the march is rather...

Tom rushes in.

TOM: Can I be Godfather?

BRIDGET: I’m depending on you.

They all clasp hands tightly. The vignette is interrupted by a loud speech.

MUM O.S.: Bridget Jones! My daughter! She’s my daughter! Where is she?

The thundering of blue heels as Mum approaches. She is ushered in. Everyone else draws back.

MUM (CONT’D): So sorry we didn’t get here on time, there is some march for women’s rights. Honestly, do we really need any more rights?

Mum, tearful and overjoyed all at once, kisses Bridget wherever she can get at her.

BRIDGET: Meet your grandson, Mum.

MUM: Grandson! My grandson! Say hello to new Parish Councillor Jones.

Bridget beams at them both.

MUM (CONT’D): Oh - the darling! He looks so like - oh. Not that it matters, but do we know who Daddy is yet?

Everyone turns to look at the men - Mark with a bloodboltered bandage on his forearm and Jack, not looking rich at all with a wodge of loo-paper up his nostril. Dr. Rawlings bends a finger at the two of them.

DR. RAWLINGS: Come along, you two. Time for a little test, so exciting, it’s like the final of X Factor. Phone in adding an 01 for Mark or an 02 if you want it to be Jack.

Mark and Jack look at each other. They shake hands.

MARK: Good luck.

JACK (Gravely): And to you, my friend.

CLOSE on Bridget - still high on her endorphins, regarding Mark with love and Jack with affection.

Back on the men as they turn to her - FREEZE on their faces.

Over this, the sound of a baby’s laugh. The best sound in the world, in fact. It laughs and laughs.

A caption comes up: ONE YEAR LATER.

INT. CHURCH. DAY.

Bridget Jones, finally a bride, enters at the back of the church on dad’s arm, smiling, nervous.

She walks down the aisle passing Miranda, Richard, the friends, Una, Mum, Dad and other friends and relatives.

Bridget arrives at the altar. Jack steps forward.

JACK (To Bridget): You look beautiful.

She smiles. Jack steps aside - to REVEAL - Mark Darcy.

MARK: We’re really doing this.

On the congregation smiling, happy.

BRIDGET: There’s no going back now.

MINISTER: We are gathered here to celebrate the union of Bridget Rose Jones and Mark Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Bridget and Mark stand together, holding hands.

CUT TO:

MINISTER (CONT’D): I now pronounce you husband and wife.

Bridget and Mark kiss.

EXT. WEDDING RECEPTION. DAY.

A laughing William is thrown high into the brightest, bluest sky. Laughing, giggling, hysterical, idyllic.

Y: What’s that, higher?

And he throws the laughing boy even higher.

X O.S.: Y, what are you doing with my son?

X and Bridget approach hand in hand.

Y: Don’t leave me alone with him again. I’ve no idea what I’m doing.

BRIDGET: Come on. We’ll be late for lunch.

The two men lift the baby up and join Bridget. She takes the baby and gives him a big smacker.

BRIDGET (CONT’D): Alright then, William X X. Hashtagletsdothis!

Bridget takes a moment to survey the scene. It is a motley crew and no mistake.

She watches as X walks ahead, chatting animatedly with Y.

BRIDGET V.O.: Dear Diary, and so I Bridget Jones am a singleton no more... married? Yes. Finally. Smug? Maybe just a little.

Bridget swipes a glass of champagne, knocks it back.

On a nearby park bench, a newspaper flaps in the breeze. The newspaper headline reads: “AIRPLANE FOUND IN BUSH ONE YEAR LATER. PUBLISHING PLAYBOY MIRACULOUSLY ALIVE”. A photograph shows a bearded Daniel Cleaver standing surrounded by several gorgeous Aboriginal women.

THE END