BRIDGET
|
|
EXT. LONDON. DAY. Caption: JANUARY 1 EXT. KINGS CROSS
TUBE STATION. DAY. BRIDGET JONES comes into view, bit by bit, in
slow motion, walking up the steps, carrying an overnight bag. She looks
lovely, and lovable, though not quite beautiful, glowing and alive against
the drab and empty background - though she is in fact hungover and feeling
pretty frail. There is no one else about at all. Vision of loveliness or not,
she is a bit puffed by the time she stands at the top of the steps, and looks
towards St Pancras - thick snow lies everywhere. BRIDGET: (aloud, to herself) Just have a
little rest. She puts down her overnight bag, and fumbles
for her cigarettes. One rather bent one left in the packet. Good. BRIDGET: (continuing) Mmmmmm. She gets it lit, prepares to take a long
comforting drag, but a tickle in her throat makes her cough and drop the
cigarette where it nestles in the snow with a faint hiss. BRIDGET: (continuing; mildly) Oh fuck. She braces herself, picks up her bag, and
walks firmly down the road towards Euston Station. BRIDGET: (continuing; voice over) But
that's actually good, because I'm giving up anyway, or cutting down very
drastically, because this year I'm going to be a really
positive happening girl. Woman. She is walking past a billboard that shows a
particularly happening girl. BRIDGET shoots the girl a bit of a glare. On the
corner by the station, a YOUNG BEGGAR COUPLE, elegantly gaunt, and their
handsome dog. BRIDGET stoops and gives them two pounds and a nice smile, and
walks on. BEGGAR MAN: What a lovely caring person. BEGGAR WOMAN: Shame about the thighs. BEGGAR MAN: Yeah, she could lose a stone or
so... We are on BRIDGET'S face on hearing this, the
dog barks. DOG: Arf! BEGGAR MAN: (confirming dog's judgment)
...stone 'n a half, yeah... BRIDGET’S lower lip juts out, hearing this (it's
really her imagination of what they are saying). BRIDGET: (voice over) Well I will. This year
I shall stay under one thousand calories a day; go to the gym three times
week, not just to buy sandwiches... INT. ST PANCRAS CONCOURSE. DAY. She is crossing the concourse now. Ahead of
her the huge boards with the train times. We see "Northampton 10.40 -
Platform 9 " and as she passes the noticeboard the display changes to: Bridget Jones Annual report 1999 Alcohol Units: 3836 - Could do better (We are looking at the notices close up one
by one now, could intercut with Bridget walking up the platform and the
TITLES of the film.) Cigarettes: 5277 Mars Bars: 243 Calories consumed: 11,090,265 Vital statistics 36, 28, 39 (not bad
considering) Thighs - no comment Number of boyfriends at today's date: 0 TWO MIDDLE-AGED WOMEN from up North are
reading the announcement board. NORTHERN WOMAN: Look at that. No boyfriend! NORTHERN FRIEND: It's the thighs. STATION ANNOUNCER: (voice over) Passengers
are informed that there is nothing whatsoever the matter with Bridget Jones's
thighs. Passengers are advised that you do not have to look like a stick
insect to be attractive. By the end of his announcement we are on
Bridget again, sitting in the train now, as it moves out of the station. We
are on Bridget's face, and her view out of the window. Station staff,
trolleys, posters. BRIDGET: (voice over) Quite right. And there
are far more important things too, like world peace, and... We pass a poster featuring a model with
ridiculously long slim legs. BRIDGET: (continuing; voice over) anyway this
is the year I'm going to have (by mistake she says the next bit out loud)
Thighs to die for! A bespectacled man walking down the train
corridor looks at her in some alarm - she gives him an embarrassed grin. BRIDGET: (continuing; voice over) And this
year I will not fall for any of the following: As she lists them, we see them coming down the
train, as it were on their way to the buffet, but really in Bridget's mind's
eye: BRIDGET: (continuing) Workaholics..... WORKAHOLIC MAN very preoccupied, dictating
into machine from clipboard notes... BRIDGET: (continuing) Alcoholics.... An attractive but rather wild looking man, a
bit like Nicholas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas, lurches down the aisle. He gives
BRIDGET a rather charming, hopeless, Nicholas Cage type smile, and we see her
start to respond before she determinedly turns away and grits her teeth: BRIDGET: (continuing) Commitment phobics...
married men... misogynists... megalomaniacs… emotional fuckwits… crooks or
perverts. She leans back in the seat, and remembers: INT. OFFICE PARTY.
NIGHT. BRIDGET in foreground, rather pissed, singing
along with two SECRETARIES to the party tape, singing at each other,
as you do: BRIDGET AND
SECRETARIES: (singing) So
take a good look at my face - you see my smile just looks out of place... In the background DANIEL CLEAVER deep in
serious conversation with MR FITZHERBERT looks across amused, right at
BRIDGET (us). He is to die for. BRIDGET: (voice over) And I will not
obsess about Daniel Cleaver, who is much too grand and important and probably
doesn't even know my name... INT. TRAIN. DAY. Close on Bridget's
rather sad face. BRIDGET: (voice
over) And I will not
sulk about having no boyfriend, even though everyone else in the world is
probably shagging themselves silly... I will read improving books... She gets out a battered copy of The Famished
Road by Ben Okri. The page is turned down at page 3. She Grits her teeth and
gets down to it. BRIDGET: (continuing) ...and maybe some
perfect man will just happen to pass by and cry: "Hey, you love Ben Okri
too!" She realises that this is absurd. Into the
bag goes Ben. Out comes HELLO. EXT. RAILWAY TRACK.
DAY. The train has stopped, miles from anywhere.
We start to hear the SENIOR CONDUCTOR before we cut to: INT. TRAIN. DAY. Bridget's carriage. We can see other
travellers as well as Bridget - many of them look the worse for wear after
last night. SENIOR CONDUCTOR: (voice over; West Indian
accent) Virgin Trains would like to apologise for the delay to this train,
which is due to a faulty locomotive. Passengers groan
and grimace in a used to it sort of way. SENIOR CONDUCTOR:
(continuing) Richard
Branson himself would like to apologise particularly to Miss Bridget Jones,
who is suffering a severe hangover and is only making this journey out of the
kindness of her heart to please her mum - Richard wants Bridget to know how
bad he feels about this delay - thank you Bridget for your continued
patience.... EXT. BRIDGET'S
PARENTS' HOUSE, GRAFTON UNDERWOOD. DAY. A detached house on
the edge of a pretty thatched village. Bridget gets out of the taxi - the
front door opens as she is halfway up the drive. MOTHER: Durr! Where the heckers have you
been? Mark Darcy's here! She's dragging Bridget in. BRIDGET: Sorry,
should I... MOTHER: You remember Mark, you
used to play in his paddling pool! (with great significance) He's
divorced now. Barrister. Very well off. BRIDGET'S face. Her mother is dragging her upstairs - we can hear the party guests and see some of them - mostly around sixty, very jolly, smaller number Bridget's age, with babies and toddlers. MOTHER: (continuing) Look! Bridget's come! At
last! GEOFFREY dances out with his Bruce Forsyth
shuffle, but falters to a halt as mother drags Bridget on up and into the
bedroom. INT. BRIDGET'S OLD BEDROOM. DAY. Little narrow bed, still decorated for a
fifteen year old. MOTHER: Now you're not wearing that. BRIDGET: Why not? MOTHER: Look! She holds up a horrible bright
garment. MOTHER: (continuing) From Geoffrey and Una!
They were going to send it, but I said I'll keep it here for her, she can
wear it at the Turkey Curry Buffet! BRIDGET: No. MOTHER: You've got to, Bridget, otherwise
they'll think you don't like it. INT. BRIDGET'S
PARENTS' HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. DAY. Bridget comes in,
smiling bravely, wearing the horrible garment. GEOFFREY ALCONBURY looms up.
Geoffrey is 60 and fat. GEOFFREY: Here she
comes - my little Bridget! BRIDGET: Not your
little Bridget. Geoffrey puts his
arm round her, roaring with laughter as if it's the best joke in the world. GEOFFREY: That's what she always says! Got a
drink? No? Come on then, I could do with a fillup. As he leads her to the drinks table through
the chattering guests, we notice a solitary figure by the window, his back to
us, his head turned in handsome profile, his whole posture indicating haughty
disengagement. MARK DARCY. GEOFFREY: (continuing) So how's your love
life, Bridget? BRIDGET: Fine, thanks. Geoffrey turns to pour drinks. GEOFFREY: Still no boyfriend, then, I don't
know. There we are! The last referring to the drink he hands
Bridget. GEOFFREY:
(continuing) How does a pretty girl like you get to thirty-two without
snaffling some poor feller? UNA ALCONBURY comes
up, beaming, stands next to Geoffrey. UNA: Durr! You
career girls! Can't put it off for ever you know. Tick tock! Tick tock! BRIDGET: I know, I know. But that's enough
about me. How's your marriage going, Una? Still shagging, are you, you and
Geoffrey, or have you packed it in now? - sorry I didn't actually mean to say
that out loud. They are staring at her openmouthed. BRIDGET: (continuing) I must go and see Dad,
I haven't said hello to him yet. Una and Geoffrey still in shock - then Una
finds a saving formula. UNA: London - it's all that sort of thing
there. You know, cutting edge. GEOFFREY: Ah. Horrible thing she's wearing
too. UNA: We bought it her for Christmas. GEOFFREY: Did we. Did we.
Very nice, in that case. Still in shock, he
drains his glass. BRIDGET has found her Dad. Long-suffering, ironic, talking
to an elderly lady. DAD: Ah, Bridget,
this is... do you know I'm sorry, I've known you for forty years and I've
completely forgotten your name. The woman gives him
a terrible look and goes. DAD: (continuing) Oh, God. Well if you cram
your head with too many bits of useless information of course they're going
to start falling out on the other side, Hilary Saunders-Jacobs, there you
are, remembered, too late, no use, how are you darling? BRIDGET: I'm fine. It's lovely to see you. She is very fond of her father and he of her.
She kisses him. DAD: (confidentially)
Your mother's succeeded in trapping a barrister. Over there. We get another view
of Mark Darcy. Still alone, still looking very snooty, but undeniably handsome
in what appears to be a dark blue sweater. DAD: (continuing) Pretty nasty beast, no
one's tried to get in the cage with him since he nearly took Brian Enderby's
arm off. Look out. Here they come. MOTHER and UNA descend on Bridget together
and sweep her off. MOTHER: Come on. Shoulders back, nice smile. MARK is talking in low urgent tones to his
FATHER and MOTHER. MARK: ...very much if you'd stop introducing
me to your friends' hopeless desperate daughters, what? The "what" is because his parents
have been trying to signal the approach of Bridget. As she arrives and he
turns, they can move away. Bridget, of course, has heard the last bit. MOTHER: Mark! Here she is! MARK turns slowly, revealing that his plain
navy sweater has an Alan Partridge-like diamond pattern on the front in
yellow, red and green. Bridget winces. No one who wears a sweater like that
could possibly be all right, or sexy. He doesn't seem to like the look of
her, either. MOTHER:
(continuing) You
remember Bridget, she used to run round your lawn with no clothes on! You
remember that, don't you? Mark takes his time looking at her. Bridget
wishes her mum would sink into the earth. MARK: (eventually) Not as such, no. BRIDGET: I'm relieved to hear it. MARK: You don't still go in for, ah that sort
of thing I trust? He says that in a very formal, rather
forbidding sort of way, very Mr Darcyish in fact. So that it's just
embarrassing, not flirty. BRIDGET: No. Not as such. He has started thinking how nice Bridget
would look on his lawn with no clothes. A silence develops which he seems
disinclined to break. Una decides to help. UNA: Bridget works in publishing, don't you
Bridget? BRIDGET: I do indeed. MARK: I, um. Have
you been reading any good books lately? BRIDGET can't help letting out a loud puffing
sigh, before, rather grandly: BRIDGET: The Famished Road, by Ben Okri? MARK: Really. BRIDGET: It's not that bad. During that exchange Bridget's Mum and Una
are very conspicuously tactfully extricating themselves and leaving the "two young people" together. MARK: No - what I meant was that as you work
in publishing I'd have expected you to be reading something a bit more, um,
of the moment. This is so snooty and put-downish there is no
answer to it. But Bridget has one last try. BRIDGET: (desperately) So! Is this your
first time at a Turkey Curry Buffet? MARK: Yes, and I sincerely hope the last. He becomes aware that he's staring at Bridget
again. He turns his head and gazes disparagingly at the furniture. Bridget
suddenly finds herself saying: BRIDGET: You don't believe in making much of
an effort, do you? MARK: I'm sorry? BRIDGET: Well you might have
been dragged kicking and screaming to this party, I imagine we're both here
to please our parents, but now you're here, I mean, look, are you always like
this, hasn't it ever occurred to you it's a bit silly to be called Mr Darcy
and then stand about on your own looking too grand to be bothered? I mean, I
mean it's a bit like, like being called Heathcliff and spending the whole
evening in the garden shouting "Cathy" and banging your head
against a tree, don't you think? A pause, she has
rather shocked herself coming out with all that. MARK: I hadn't realised
that was the impression I gave. Like the original
Darcy, he has a cool tone he can resort to when under pressure - he is
actually a bit upset that this wild but really rather fanciable girl has
taken against him so. BRIDGET: Well it is. And
anyway, if you're supposed to be so clever why are you wearing such a
wankerish jumper? MARK: (coldly) It
was a Christmas present. Excuse me. He stalks off
towards the buffet. GEOFFREY looms up. GEOFFREY: What do you do to them, Bridget,
scare them off? BRIDGET: Spose I do, yes. I am rather scary. GEOFFREY: Not to me. (He lowers his voice)
Have you ever thought about the possibility of an affair with an older man? BRIDGET: I don't think you'd be up to the
sex, Geoffrey. GEOFFREY: (ruefully) No, possibly not. (As
Bridget goes, again rather glumly) I wouldn't mind a crack at it though. INT. PARTY. LATER. Bridget is on a sofa talking to her Dad. Mark
is still standing on his own, by the buffet this time, looking over at her. A
middle-aged woman comes up and speaks to him, he responds politely, but he
keeps looking over at Bridget. BRIDGET: You're not desperate for me
to get married, are you? DAD: Good God, no. Not if you don't want to.
In any case I'd hardly be inclined to recommend it to anyone. BRIDGET: You wouldn't have had me if you
hadn't married Mum. DAD: No - there is that. Your presence in the
world almost makes the whole sorry business seem worth while. BRIDGET: That man over there is a complete
and utter tosser. I don't know what he thinks he's staring at. MOTHER and UNA bustle up. MOTHER: Bridget, look, we've found it! A photo of a thin eight year old boy in
swimming trunks - his erection clearly visible - and a plump five year old
girl with nothing on at all. MOTHER: (continuing) Don't you both look
sweet! Mark! BRIDGET: No! They drag her towards Mark, who is
contemplating a curried drumstick with some distaste. MOTHER: There you are you see! Hard
evidence! Mother is unaware of the double-entendre, and
indeed the erection, or doesn't think it matters. She's as happy as Larry
about the whole caboodle. Somehow Mark and Bridget survive this exquisitely
excruciating moment. MOTHER: (continuing) Now, we were just saying
Mark - you could give Bridget a lift back to London when you go, couldn't
you? MARK: Actually I'm going North for a couple
of days but my car's going back tonight. It could take you, if you like. BRIDGET: What, all on its own? MOTHER: Durr! Mark has a car with a driver,
silly. BRIDGET: Oh. Well, thanks very much, but I
shall be (grandly) taking one of my trains in the morning. INT. BRIDGET'S
BEDROOM. PARENTS HOUSE. NIGHT. Bridget wearing night things is smoking and
shivering with her bedroom window wide open. A knock on the door - she panics
and her Dad puts his head round to see her in the act of throwing her fag
away. DAD: Don't do that
- I was just going to ask if I could borrow one. BRIDGET: But you
don't smoke. INT. BRIDGET'S
BEDROOM. PARENTS HOUSE. NIGHT. LATER. They are both
smoking out of the window now. DAD: It's since she went to Albufeira
with Una. I hadn't grasped it wasn't an ordinary holiday, it was one of those
alternative ones. BRIDGET: You mean like an adventure
holiday? DAD: Sort of. She's had her consciousness
raised apparently. She says she's found the new her. I don't like it. BRIDGET: But what about the old her? Actually
I didn't notice any difference. DAD: She says she wants to be paid for doing
housework now. She says she's wasted her life being our slave. She says that
as far as I know or care, the, er, clitoris could be something from Nigel
Coles's lepidoptery collection. BRIDGET: Bloody hell. DAD: Quite. BRIDGET: Well, um... keep me posted. DAD: I will. EXT. LONDON ROOFTOPS AND CHIMNEYS. DAY. Moving in towards: INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. DAY. Start in the empty living room, the remnants
of Christmas - present wrappings, tatty little tree... through to Bridget staring
at herself in the bathroom mirror. Here she is, all on her own... what's to
become of her? Hold that moment... then see a look of determination dawn on
her face. EXT. BLOOMSBURY STREET. DAY. Bridget emerges from the Underground among
many other people, quite a few of them rather like her, healthy young women
with degrees in English and poorly paid jobs in publishing and the like,
dressed in black and searching for happiness. As we hear her voice we see
statistics chatter across screen. BRIDGET: January 3rd. Nine stone four. Bad,
bad, bad, bad, got to do better, and I will do better, new happening new year
Bridget, iron will and buns of steel! She goes in a coffee shop. She might say "buns of steel" aloud just as she enters the coffee shop, embarrassing
herself and alarming a man on his way out. INT COFFEE SHOP. DAY. She smiles brightly at the coffee man to
cover embarrassment. The coffee man has served Bridget before. COFFEE MAN: Large Cappuccino, chocolate
croissant? BRIDGET: (rather grandly) Not today thank
you, just a large espresso. There is a TV set on in the coffee shop. An
ad shows a tall leggy hardbodied girl doing her boxercise, really hammering
the heavy bag. (Bridget identifies, tough expression, boxer face, throws
minimal punches...) TV cuts to same girl striding into boardroom taking place
at head of table... voice over says TV VOICEOVER: You know who you are. And
you choose what's right for you. And as the ad closes in on the bottles of San
Pellegrino or whatever on the table... BRIDGET: Actually I will have a cappuccino,
(after a brief struggle) And a croissant. COFFEE MAN:
Chocolate? BRIDGET: Oh, go on
then. Bridget eyes the croissant lustfully, then
looks at her watch. Erk, late again. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE.
DAY. Bridget slips as unobtrusively as she can to
see MR FITZHERBERT the Editorial Director, speaking to the half dozen
denizens of the office: plump and bossy Perpetua, and other females,
secretarial and editorial - and by FITZHERBERT's side is DANIEL - gorgeous,
energetic, wicked, but keeping the wickedness under control for the moment. FITZHERBERT: … Daniel Cleaver, who'll be taking
over the Iguana imprint as of today… DANIEL: Thanks - umm... I aim to ease myself
in very gently - I wouldn't want anyone to feel threatened, least of all the
Iguana. (Bridget laughs) Ok? Yes, he seems OK with everyone, especially
Bridget. INT. BRIDGET'S
OFFICE. DAY. LATER. Bridget is typing. Perpetua is talking on the
phone. PERPETUA: Yars, yars... well it is north
facing, but they've done something frightfully clever with the light.
Bridget. I need that Kafka's Motorbike release by eleven. BRIDGET: On the case, boss. But she is suddenly attacked by hunger and
weariness and takes a bite of croissant just as Daniel prowls by. Oh, shit. DANIEL: (grinning) Don't let me interrupt the
Stakhanovite flow. Perpetua I've met already. You must be Bridget Jones.
Publicity, yes? Bridget has by now managed to swallow the bit
of croissant. BRIDGET: Yes. But I would like to do more
editing. DANIEL: (appreciatively) Excellent. I'll see
what I can do. Meanwhile - attack that slushpile, Jones. There may be gold in
there. Everything he says seems to carry a load of
playful sexual subtext, which, since he's so tasty-looking, is most
appealing. Life seems to be a delightful joke to him. He strolls off. Nice shoulders, nice bum. He
turns, and catches her looking. Hint of a smile. He's gone. INT. TWO BRYDGES
PLACE CLUB. NIGHT. A dark, higgledy-piggledy wood-panelled club
with many tiny rooms, stairs and blazing fires. BRIDGET, JUDE AND SHARON with
Chardonnay. JUDE is slight, elegant, clever and successful, but vague, SHARON
more robust and strident, Northern accent. They all met at Nottingham
University. Bridget is still in a bit of a lust-daze from Daniel. JUDE: It's as if I was
trying to trap him into a forty-year marriage, for God's sake. I only asked
if we could go for a mini-break. SHARON: They're strange creatures, men. Like
bloody gazelles. One whiff of commitment and they're over the horizon, little
buttocks twinkling away. BRIDGET: (thinking of
Daniel) Nice little buttocks. SHARON: Oh for god's sake woman, pull
yourself together. JUDE Why is he being like this? SHARON: Well, he's gay, isn't he? Must be.
They all are, deep down. Queer as coots, the lot of them. Hello Tom. TOM is gay. TOM: (kissing them all) God, I'm so glad to
see you - Bridget! You've lost so much weight! BRIDGET: (delighted) Have I? JUDE and SHARON roll their eyes. He says this
every time he sees her. TOM: (pouring himself a drink) I've been
having such a tragic time… SHARON: Tom, do you mind if we talk about
something other than you for a moment? We were in the middle of a conversation. TOM: But not about me? Whatever could it have
been about? INT. TWO BRYDGES PLACE CLUB. NIGHT. LATER. Full ashtrays, empty Chardonnay bottles. TOM: But look, Jude. How can you lead an
entire trading floor through the collapse of the Yen to a standing ovation,
and then make such an utter bollocks out of dealing with vile Richard? JUDE: (tearfully) Because economic problems
are susceptible to logical analysis. SHARON: Whereas Vile Richard is an emotional
fuckwit who engulfs her in a seething swamp of Emotional Fuckwittage -you've
got to chuck him, Jude. JUDE: So do you think I should call him or
not? TOM AND SHARON: No! BRIDGET: (simultaneously) Yes. I mean no. EXT. TWO BRYDGES PLACE CLUB. NIGHT. A sordid very narrow passageway, full of
TRAMPS and sick. The four of them drunkenly lurch out. TOM suddenly slumps
against the wall. TOM: Oh God. BRIDGET, JUDE AND SHAZZER: What? What? TOM: Oh, it's Jerome. INT. TAXI. NIGHT. The four of them squeezed in, passing the
lights of Piccadilly. TOM: (tearful) Oh, he'll come to things, like
openings and the Ring Cycle, but when we go clubbing he pretends he's not
with me, and then when we get home he never wants to, oh, you know? BRIDGET: What? You mean you don't, ever? TOM: Oh, sometimes, sometimes. But it's
always me who has to take the so to speak plunge. A shocked pause
while they take it in. SHARON: You know what it is, don't you. He's
straight, he just doesn't know it yet. TOM: Jerome is straight? SHARON: Straight as a die. JUDE: Straight as an arrow. They look at
Bridget. BRIDGET: Straight as a very straight,
straight, straight... penis. She giggles. SHARON: Shut up, Bridge, you're drunk. EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD. NIGHT. They tumble out of the taxi. BRIDGET, JUDE AND SHAZZER: (severally) They're
fuckwits, fuckwits, perverts and bastards, fuckwits. TOM: And we girls do not need them because we
are happy with each other's company and elevating conversation. Like all of them, Tom is very pissed and only
just manages the longer words. BRIDGET: Zackly. I mean exackly. I love you,
Tom. I love you, Jude and Shazzer. Got to go now, beauty sleep. She stumbles off. BRIDGET: (continuing; voice over) From now
on, slim, taut, haughty, haughty yes, that's good, icequeen, stun
them with my icy sang-froid, (aloud, she essays sexy male voice) Hi, I'm
Daniel. (She essays haughty icequeen voice) Not interested - I am the Office
Icequeen. Yeah! (Voice over) Wear my little black skirt tomorrow I think.
Well Icequeens can wear short skirts if they like - and they can't all
be fuckwits - somewhere there's got to be one who's just looking for a nice
girl to love, iss not 's if iss 'n outrageous demand… She trips on a grating and breaks her heel. BRIDGET: (continuing) Oh, bugger! INT. TUBE TRAIN. DAY. Bridget looking not as hungover as she
deserves to, looking very nice, big coat, very short black skirt. There are other
Bridget-types there, amongst other travellers. All the Bridgets sit nicely,
some reading books, some not, men sit between them - businessmen spreading
their pink FTs all over the place, big black guys spreading their thighs so
wide it looks as if they are doing it for a bet, grossly huge twelve year old
boys in massive trainers hitting each other. BRIDGET: (voice over) If I was nine stone two
when I went to bed, how could I be nine stone five in the morning? Questions
like these have baffled scientists since the dawn of time... We look at another "Bridget" in the
tube and hear her voice over. ANOTHER BRIDGET: (voice over) So if he asked
for my number that ought to mean he wants to call me, doesn't it? or does he
just collect phone numbers for a hobby? A THIRD BRIDGET: (voice over) Is it my nose?
It is, isn't it? It's my nose. Her nose is perfectly OK. A JAPANESE BRIDGET: Somewhere there must be
someone waiting for me to come in his life. I am hoping he doesn't have a
hairy back. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DAY. Bridget sits and types - we can see that the
heading in a big fancy font is KAFKA'S MOTORBIKE. Sitting down, her skirt is
indeed very short. Perpetua is on the phone. PERPETUA: But my question is - should
I go for grey ruched blinds against yellow, or blood red with a floral
frieze? Swing door bursts open with a flourish and
DANIEL walks energetically past. DANIEL: Good morning! Without stopping, he stoops and murmurs to
Bridget: DANIEL: (continuing) Why Jones, you seem to
have forgotten your skirt. He strides on into his office. Nice
shoulders, nice bum. Bridget transfixed. (For the following, I think it would be best
if the office were semi-open-plan, so that we and Bridget can see Daniel through
glass in his office, talking to people in person, on phone, and occasionally
making eye contact with Bridget.) So, now, she watches him receive a visitor
- then tries to pull herself together, and gets back to Kafka's motorbike. MESSAGE PENDING flashes on Bridget's computer
screen. She glances at Perpetua, then presses EXE. BRIDGET'S COMPUTER:
MSG Jones. Re absent
skirt. Is skirt off sick? Cleaver. PERPETUA: (still on phone) Yars... yars...
yars. Bridget grins and types. BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Cleaver. Skirt
neither sick nor absent. Appalled by management's blatantly SIZIST ATTITUDE
to skirt. Suggest management sick, not skirt. Jones. She presses SEND and looks slyly at Daniel.
He reads the message and laughs. And glances over - his warm sexy mischievous
smile. Bridget gives him a hint of reciprocation, then lowers her eyes. BRIDGET: Ice queen. Ice queen. PERPETUA: Kafka's Motorbike? BRIDGET: Roarin' up the highway, boss. INT. WINE BAR.
NIGHT. BRIDGET, JUDE and SHAZZER. BRIDGET: I'm not flirting with him. But
obviously I have to reply to his messages because he's my boss. JUDE: Yes, I do see that, but... SHARON: Listen, kid. If you want him, take
him. Take him, shag him senseless, and toss him aside like an old shoe. It's the
only way to do it. Chap walking past carrying drinks to his girl
gets seriously frightened overhearing this. Glasses tinkle and shudder. BRIDGET: Yeah. Right. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DAY. Bridget still labouring at Kafka's Motorbike.
Light flashes: Message Pending. She presses EXE. BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Still worried
about skirt. Shirt is looking peaky too; wan, thin... MESSAGE PENDING light flashes again. Bridget presses EXE. BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: (continuing) MSG
Jones... almost to point of being transparent. Cleaver. Bridget giggles and
types energetically. BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: (continuing) MSG Cleaver.
Shut up I am very busy and important. P.S. How dare you sexually harass me in
this impertinent manner? Jones. PERPETUA: Nice to see you getting on with
some work, Bridget. Daniel reading screen, laughing then typing. PERPETUA: (continuing; into phone) So what
you're really saying, Hermione, is that you don't like the terra-cotta. MESSAGE PENDING on Bridget's screen. She executes BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Mortified to
have caused offence. Any sexual harassment entirely unintentional. P.S. I
like your tits in that top. Cleaver. BRIDGET sighs. INT. COMMUNAL CHANGING ROOM. DAY. BRIDGET, JUDE and SHARON are trying clothes
beside an IMPOSSIBLY THIN GIRL and her OBESE FRIEND. Bridget is headless at
the moment, voice muffled. BRIDGET: It's nothing! It's nothing! She emerges pink faced. BRIDGET: (continuing) Just
friendly banter between colleagues, that's all. SHARON: Yeah, right. THIN GIRL: (to her friend) Does it make me
look fat? INT. BRIDGET'S
OFFICE. DAY. Bridget typing. Light flashes: Message
pending. Message pending. BRIDGET: Ice Queen. Ice Queen. Oh, go on
then. She executes. BRIDGET'S COMPUTER:
MSG Jones. Skirt plainly still unwell. May I please have skirt's address and
phone number so management may send flowers? Cleaver BRIDGET: Yessssss! INT. POSH WEDDING RECEPTION. DAY. BRIDGET as bride.
Daniel is making a speech. DANIEL: And it all
began with some rather irresponsible e-mailing over Bridget's non-existent
skirt. GUESTS laugh.
Bridget smiles modestly. INT. DIFFERENT
CHANGING ROOM. DAY. JUDE is trying on a
most unhappy cat suit. BRIDGET: Well
obviously I had to give him my phone number when he asked for it, or it would
seem rude. SHARON: Yeah,
right. JUDE: What d'you
think? SHARON: You look
like a pantomime snake. BRIDGET: And if he does ask
me out, I'll say no. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DAY. Intercutting
between Daniel and Bridget, on the phone. DANIEL: So I wondered if the skirt would care
for dinner on Friday evening? BRIDGET: I shall get my secretary to ask its
agent. DANIEL: Ah, don't suppose you'd like to come
along too? BRIDGET: Ooh yes please I'd love to! INT. BRIDGET'S BATHROOM. EVENING. BRIDGET is brushing dry skin, showering with
exfoliating scrub, massaging anti-cellulite massage oil, plucking eyebrows,
cleansing and moisturizing. Statistics appear on screen as she speaks. BRIDGET: (voice over) Friday January 31. 9
stone 1 excellent - cigarettes 29 in two hours is that possible? - Being a
woman is worse than being a farmer... harvesting, weeding, crop-spraying...
if I just let it revert to nature... vast mountain ranges, acres of
rainforest... maybe I should...! could be destroying the habitat of all sorts
of rare species here... I wonder if Daniel cares about the rainforest...! bet
he does... he's got a very gentle nurturing look about him... She goes into a bit of a daze... across the
screen we see "sexual thoughts about Daniel" flicker up from 439 to
445. INT. BRIDGET'S LIVING ROOM. EVENING. Real fire blazing in grate, TV on, Bridget in
underwear with towel round head is trying to wax her legs while talking into
phone. NEWS ANCHOR: (on TV) So would you agree that
the Nato leadership have had to abandon any pretence of a high moral
standpoint now that ground troops have begun to penetrate the hinterland? BRIDGET wrinkles her nose in effort to
understand, then gives up, and zaps the sound down. Faces continue to talk
animatedly on TV, with shots of warplanes taking off, mountains, Blair,
Clinton. BRIDGET: Shaz. I am not. Going. To sleep with
him. OK? INT. LONDON BUS. EVENING. SHARON talking into mobile next to
DISAPPROVING MAN. SHARON: Yeah, right. So why are you waxing
your bikini line? INT. BRIDGET'S LIVING ROOM. EVENING. The entryphone rings. Bridget panics. BRIDGET: Gaah! Has he gone out of his mind?
He's here - forty minutes early! I'll call you tomorrow, bye! She puts the phone down, picks up gown, heads
for door. BRIDGET: (continuing) Ice-queen. Ice-queen. She picks up entryphone. BRIDGET:
(continuing; seductively) Hello. Oh Dad. She pulls private
horror face. BRIDGET:
(continuing) Come in. She bangs her head
repeatedly against the doorframe. DAD sitting on sofa
with mug of tea. Bridget is being sympathetic while rubbing her hair with
towel and glancing worriedly towards the clock. DAD: Over thirty
years of marriage would appear to count for nothing. It's as if I'm one of
those East European dictators whose time has come, and she's the leader of
the uprising. At the moment it's not quite clear whether I'm to be strung up
from the lamp post, executed by firing squad, or simply torn limb from limb.
That, probably. That's what it feels like. He looks at her and
attempts a wry smile but he is clearly in a bad way. BRIDGET: Oh, Dad.
You're not supposed to be like this. DAD: I know, I
know. Bloody nuisance. I just thought you might have some, you know...
advice. BRIDGET: Well -
maybe it's a sort of... later-life crisis. I mean you've retired, maybe she
wants to retire as well. You mustn't get all upset about it. DAD: I think she hates me, Bridget. The phone rings. Bridget picks it up, staring
at her Dad. BRIDGET: Tom, this isn't a good moment.
Daniel's going to be here in ten minutes. And Dad's here - and the flat's a
tip - what? I threw them away an hour ago. Can't it wait till... OK, OK. She puts the phone down and gives Dad her
phone book. BRIDGET: (continuing) Dad. Sorry. Will you
call, this number in five minutes? Tom's left his mobile and I've thrown it
away with the newspapers. She grabs a coat and exits. EXT. REAR OF BRIDGET'S HOUSE. EVENING. BRIDGET stands on a low wall by three
communal dustbins. Mark Darcy appears, dressed in formal dark clothes, lovely
overcoat, carrying a briefcase. MARK: Hello. BRIDGET: Oh, God. She becomes aware that she has mad hair, and her
coat is open revealing she is wearing nothing but her sexiest underwear
underneath. MARK: What are you doing? BRIDGET: Waiting for the dustbin to ring. MARK: Ah. Er... have you been waiting long? BRIDGET: Oh... about the usual. The dustbin starts to ring. Bridget starts
trying to reach into it. Mark joins her on the wall. MARK: Please. Allow me. He reaches into the dustbin. He's tall, and
surprisingly agile. MARK: (continuing; into phone) Bridget
Jones's phone. May I ask who's calling? (Handing phone to Bridget) It's for
you. BRIDGET: Thank you. Thanks, Dad. I'll be back
in a minute. Hang on. (To Mark) Thank you - good night. She heads off. He gives her retreating back a
long smouldering look. INT. BRIDGET'S LIVING ROOM. EVENING. BRIDGET enters, breathless. BRIDGET: Bloody, bloody Mark Darcy. "Have you been waiting long?" Dad, I'm rushing but I'm listening. She dives off into the bathroom. DAD: She says she's wasted her life. She says
we need time apart. Oh by the way someone called David rang? BRIDGET shoots out of bathroom. BRIDGET: David?
Daniel? DAD: Yes, that's
right. He said he had to work tonight, and he'll call you over the weekend. Bridget's face. INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT. NIGHT. Friday night.
Bridget huddled in a state on the sofa, in dressing gown, eating, stares at
the phone. Frasier is just ending on the TV, we hear the theme tune, don't
need to see the screen. She zaps tv off,
stares at the phone. DISSOLVE TO: INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT. DAY. Bridget pacing the
room... which is in a mess, all the things she's started and abandoned,
books, magazines, food... she looks out of the window. Grandstand music on
TV. Down in the street a young couple walking along hand in hand stop and
kiss. Bridget lets out a sort of suppressed howl, goes to the phone and
starts to shake it. BRIDGET: Come on!
Come on! DISSOLVE TO: INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT. NIGHT. Saturday night.
Bridget on the sofa in her dressing gown sucking her thumb or having otherwise
regressed. Angus Deayton fills the screen saying something witty, audience
sycophantically laughs, Bridget lets out a little sob. DISSOLVE TO: INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT. DAY. Bridget stares at
the telephone, willing it to ring. Picks it up, dials 1471. Puts it down
again. BRIDGET: (voice over) Sunday February 1st. 9
stone 4: disaster. Calories 300, off food, very good. Number of 1471 calls
despite not having left the flat 44, insane. Negative thoughts 942. Positive
thoughts 1, well done. BRIDGET eating Branston pickle, then muesli
out of the packet with a spoon. The phone rings. She grabs it. BRIDGET: (seductively then psychotically)
Hello? Shaz! Have you gone out of your mind? Get off the phone! Get off the
phone! She puts the phone down. It rings
immediately. BRIDGET: (continuing; seductively) Hello?
Mum. INT. DICKENS AND JONES COFFEE SHOP. DAY. MOTHER and BRIDGET face each other across the
table. MOTHER: I've spent thirty five years cleaning
his house, washing his clothes, bringing up his children... BRIDGET: (hurt) I'm your child too. MOTHER: I'm like - Germaine Gear, you know. BRIDGET: Bloody hell. MOTHER: The Invisible Woman. Well now I want
something for me. Is that too much to ask? Mother glances across the room, and suddenly
makes to leave. MOTHER: (continuing) Anyway, darling, must
whizz. I've got to catch the butcher! Bridget follows her glance to the exit where
JULIO, late in life Latino smoothie, taps his watch then ducks away. BRIDGET furtively following MOTHER and JULIO
through the store. She watches them furtively on the escalator. Then, as
Bridget travels down, she sees Mother in the perfume department coquettishly
spraying perfume on her wrist, which Julio sniffs and nuzzles. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. EVENING. Phone is ringing. BRIDGET, ENTERING, POUNCES. BRIDGET: Hello? MAGDA: Mummy will smack! She will smack! Oh,
hi, Bridge, I hope you're still coming to our anniversary. INT. MAGDA'S HOUSE. EVENING. MAGDA is pretty, same age as Bridget, but
married, one baby under arm, another little toddler staggering around with a
turd in its hand, handsome husband (JEREMY) sitting in background with drink
and newspaper. MAGDA: We've got someone for you. Single?
Divorced? Very rich? No! In the POTTY! The POTTY! Well put it in Daddy's hand
then! JEREMY resignedly holds out his hand for the
turd, but looks dangerously at Magda. MAGDA: (continuing) Sorry Bridge, I'd better
go, bye. INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT. EVENING. Bridget replaces phone, punches answerphone button. ANSWERPHONE: (severely) You have no
messages. Bridget crashes her head on the table. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DAY. Perpetua is on the phone. Bridget watches the
door and the clock. PERPETUA: The problem is, if we hang on to
the Bechstein there simply won't be any room for the Biedermeier. Bridget makes a face, then looks at the
clock. BRIDGET: Ice. The door bursts open. DANIEL enters, looking
not in the least furtive or guilty, and breezes through. DANIEL: Morning, everyone! (He leans and
whispers as he passes Bridget) Message pending, Jones. She turns her head away, disdainfully. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE, DAY. LATER. BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: Messages pending: 6. DANIEL types a message and looks over
anxiously. BRIDGET calmly marks up a manuscript, ignoring him. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DAY. LATER. BRIDGET'S COMPUTER Messages pending: 14. DANIEL approaches Bridget. Perpetua watches
disapprovingly. DANIEL: (in an undertone) Look, sorry, Jones,
I suddenly got called to a business dinner, and I left your skirt's number
in... Bridget's phone rings. She picks up. BRIDGET: (sweetly, interrupting him) That's
fine. Excuse me. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DAY. LATER STILL. MESSAGE PENDING flashes repeatedly on her
computer screen. Bridget smirks and types. BRIDGET: (voice over) Monday March 2nd. 9
stone 1, cigarettes 12, messages pending from Daniel 24. ICE QUEEN RULES OK. DANIEL looks across at her hungrily. She ignores
him, and carries on typing. INT. CORRIDOR. OUTSIDE LIFT. DAY. BRIDGET, leaving, gets into lift, followed by
SIMON FROM MARKETING - a plump bore - and DANIEL. INT. LIFT. DAY. Tense silence. SIMON FROM MARKETING gets out.
The doors close. BRIDGET and DANIEL are drawn like magnets
into a wild passionate kiss. INT. OFFICE BUILDING. GROUND FLOOR. DAY. DANIEL and BRIDGET emerge, trying not to
giggle. FITZHERBERT passes. DANIEL: (his hand on Bridget's bottom) Have a
pleasant evening, sir. FITZHERBERT: Ah, you too, Cleaver. Good
night, Bridget. DANIEL: (growls) All right, Jones, you sexy
devil, I'm taking your skirt to the Pont de la Tour to fatten it up. Coming? INT. PONT DE LA TOUR. NIGHT. They are eating. DANIEL is enjoying looking
at her enjoying herself. Enjoying her response to him. All this on just looks
- she thinks it's lovely, but perhaps she'd better make an effort to show
she's an intelligent woman in touch with world issues. She blurts: BRIDGET: What d'you think about the situation
in the Balkans then? He grins. DANIEL: What do you think about the
situation in the Balkans? BRIDGET: Well I think it's very bad they've
started penetrated the hinterland - they've completely surrendered the high
moral uplands. DANIEL: (thoughtfully) The high moral
uplands. Whereabouts would they be then? BRIDGET: (panicking) Actually I'm very
worried about the rainforest too. What do you think about the rainforest? DANIEL: I adore the rainforest. He takes her hand. BRIDGET: I'm actually fiercely political. They both start to laugh. EXT. PONT DE LA TOUR. NIGHT. Lights twinkle on the Thames and Tower
Bridge. BRIDGET and DANIEL emerge from the restaurant. DANIEL: Coffee? My flat's just down the road. BRIDGET: (primly) No, thank you, I'd better
get a taxi. But thank you so much for dinner. He lightly brushes the hair from her forehead
and kisses her. INT. DANIEL'S FLAT.
NIGHT. A flash loft overlooking the Thames. Camera
follows trail of coats and shoes from door to sofa where Daniel is unzipping
Bridget's skirt. DANIEL: Mmmm, poor tired little skirt, I
think it needs a lie down, don't you? Bridget giggles and nuzzles. BRIDGET: Skirt's had a lovely time. Mm,
that's better. Oh, Daniel... INT. DANIEL'S BEDROOM. NIGHT. Daniel and Bridget are in bed, sheets already
tangled, we can imagine there's already been quite a lot of delightful,
playful, foreplay... Daniel is out of sight at the moment... Bridget has a
blissful expression on her face. BRIDGET: Mmm, you do adore the rainforest,
don't you? He comes up smiling, nuzzling. DANIEL: Born and bred in the rainforest, Miz
Jones... now... I think it's time to... penetrate the hinterland, don't you? He's giving her lots of little kisses as he
manouevres into position, she's in heaven... BRIDGET: Oh, Daniel... you do... DANIEL: Concentrate, Jones. BRIDGET: Ooo... She stretches both arms up over her head and
closes her eyes... EXT. RAINFOREST. DAY. Bronzed muscular Daniel sends the canoe
shooting up the narrow river under the overhanging trees with one powerful
stroke of his paddle, ecstatic Bridget leaning back in a floaty dress
trailing her fingers in the water, another great swoosh of the paddle and the
river opens out into a broad pool where a huge waterfall gushes down,
Bridget's ecstatic gaze, and exotic birds flutter up, their bright wings
filling the screen, shimmery cascady music... INT. DANIEL'S BEDROOM. NIGHT. LATER. Bridget happily, dreamily nestled in crook of
Daniel's arm. DANIEL: Damn. I forgot to put the car in the
Citroen garage. Funny thing to think about at such a moment,
thinks Bridget, then stops thinking and snuggles happily again. BRIDGET: D'you think Perpetua's noticed? DANIEL: Noticed what? BRIDGET: Well...us. You know. Just a flicker in Daniel's eyes - warning
signs. DANIEL: Hey, Jones. We're not an "us." BRIDGET: (not worried yet) Aren't we? DANIEL: We're just... two people - enjoying
ourselves. Mmm? I mean it's not as if we were having a relationship, is it? BRIDGET: Isn't it? I rather thought we sort
of were. DANIEL: One night out, and we're having a
relationship? Jesus. She's sitting up now. BRIDGET: So all
that - messaging and everything just didn't mean anything? DANIEL: It didn't mean I'm about to ask
you to marry me! Jesus Christ! BRIDGET jumps to her feet and starts
scrambling into her clothes. BRIDGET: This is all just... do you know
what this is? Sweetly furiously incoherent, she starts
bustling round looking for her coat and bag and putting them on. BRIDGET: (continuing) I mean who said
anything about wanting you to marry me? Who do you think you are? And what
d'you mean, you don't want a relationship, what are you so scared of? DANIEL: (now angry too) Oh, for Christ's
sake. BRIDGET: No, you don't want a relationship,
I mean what would you prefer, would you rather - stick your cock through a
hole in a fence, or what? Daniel is staring at her, gobsmacked, as well
he might. BRIDGET: (continuing) You know what all this
is, don't you? Fuckwittage! You're a fuckwit, and this is Fuckwittage, and
I'm not interested in fuckwits and their fuckwittage - so I'm going!
Goodnight. She marches out, in a bit of a tangle, her
coat covering some chaos underneath. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. NIGHT. BRIDGET is dancing wildly and singing
snatches to the record. BRIDGET: Go on now go! Walk out the door! … and so on. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. NIGHT. The music has stopped. Bridget, slumped,
stares forlornly ahead, glass in hand. BRIDGET: Alone. I'm completely alone. I'm
going to be alone for the rest of my life. The doorbell rings. INT. HALLWAY. NIGHT. BRIDGET opening the door. DANIEL smiles sexily. DANIEL: Jones, you appear to have forgotten
your skirt. He holds out the skirt. They fall into each
other's arms. EXT. BLOOMSBURY STREET. DAY. Bridget emerges from tube with other
Bridgets, looking radiant, walking on air... hear her voice over: BRIDGET: (voice over) Monday something the
somethingth, nine stone exactly, brilliant, cigarettes nil don't need them
alcohol units nil because my body is a temple, positive thoughts about Daniel
seven hundred and sixty four and why bloody well not? She strides past the coffee shop, calling: BRIDGET: Morning! COFFEE MAN: Bugger me. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DAY. Bridget coming in all pink and glowing,
what's it going to be like when she sees Daniel again? PERPETUA: (on phone) - including a key to the
gardens and you can tell 'em that's a deal-breaker! Phone down. BRIDGET: Morning! Isn't it a lovely day? PERPETUA: I beg your pardon. BRIDGET: Isn't it a lovely day? PERPETUA: Have you won the lottery or
something? BRIDGET: No! (She can't help herself) Um... is
Daniel Cleaver about? I just needed to... Her besottedness is all too apparent.
Perpetua ignores it. PERPETUA: He's in Frankfurt. Didn't you know? Bridget didn't. This is a BIG shock. She was
expecting, you know, red roses and stuff. BRIDGET: No. Um... d'you know when he'll be
back? PERPETUA: He didn't say. BRIDGET stands there, all dazed. PERPETUA:
(continuing) Are we planning to do any work today, Bridget? Has it
slipped your memory that the Kafka's Motorbike launch party is only four days
away? BRIDGET: He'll be coming back for that I
expect, won't he? PERPETUA: (cruelly)Who? BRIDGET: Um, Daniel Cleaver. PERPETUA: I have no idea. INT. WINE BAR.
NIGHT. SHARON: Classic
fuckwittage. Shag and run. BRIDGET: But it's
work. You know, Frankfurt. JUDE: But the next
morning? Without saying a word? BRIDGET:
(unhappily) Well I expect it slipped his mind. Men aren't the same as women. TOM: So, what was it
like, anyway, the sex I mean? JUDE: Tom,
honestly. BRIDGET: Ecstasy. They all groan. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. DAY/NIGHT. Very brief montage,
to six brief chords of music, of Bridget not being rung up by Daniel. Glaring
at phone, ostentatiously turning back on phone, cradling phone and pleading
with it, trying to charm a ring out of it like snake charming, finally
defeated, wrung out, head in hands at the kitchen table in her vest and
pants. EXT. LEICESTER SQUARE TUBE. NIGHT. BRIDGET emerges
from tube looking very smart and walks through alley to St Martins Lane and
on to Ivy. Lots of people out and about on the town. Hear her statistics over
and see them on theatre posters, in shop windows, and so on. BRIDGET: (voice
over) Thursday March
27th, eight stone twelve, cigarettes 43, number of calls from Daniel in
Frankfurt telling Bridget how much how much he's missing her, nil. Nil! Sod
all! He's chucked me, he's chucked me, he's chucked me! Come on Bridget, this
won't do. You're on your way to one of the key publishing parties of the
year! How to behave at a party, 1. try not to get too pissed, 2. circulate,
3. drop names every five seconds Martin Amis, Salman Rushdie, Nelson Mandela
4, when introducing people include additional information, as in "Margaret comes from New Zealand and is a keen horsewoman. John is keen
on hang-gliding and comes... all over your face. I can't believe I said that.
Lovely to see you, hi, fantastic, incredible", 5. try not to break down
sobbing, try to remember ice queens rule. JEREMY (of Jeremy and Magda) is standing by
the Orion building in St Martins Lane, looking at his watch....Bridget
delighted and surprised to see him. BRIDGET: (continuing) Jeremy! What are you
doing in these parts? JEREMY: (panicking) Ah. BRIDGET: Look I can't stop I'm late - I'll
see you at your anniversary do… JEREMY: Ah, right… Just as a fresh
young girlie of about 23 bounces up behind him, pulls him round and gives him
a big kiss, she's obviously in love with him. BRIDGET openmouthed. She and Jeremy stare at each other appalled.
Bridget manages to mutter: BRIDGET:
See you then, then... …and turns away, in shock. EXT. IVY. NIGHT. Bridget, still in shock, goes in. INT. IVY UPSTAIRS ROOM. NIGHT. Everyone's there: SALMAN, MARTIN, MELVYN,
NICK, JULIAN. There is a big poster cut out with a huge photo of Kafka and a
Kawasaki. There is also a vintage motorbike in the flesh, or metal. The
author, who looks as fucked over and miserable as Kafka himself, and has been
persuaded to wear a rather silly leather riding helmet, stands ignored next
to a pile of his books. Bridget feels overawed and hovers nervously near a
group which includes Julian Barnes. JULIAN BARNES: The problem with Martin's
definition of the novella is it only applies to him. He smiles at Bridget and tries to include
her. JULIAN BARNES: (continuing) What do you
think? Bridget's mind goes blank. All she can think
of is: BRIDGET: Do you know where the toilets are? INT. IVY CORRIDOR. NIGHT. Bridget hits herself hard on the forehead BRIDGET: Very very bad. Try again. She takes a deep breath and re-enters. INT. IVY UPSTAIRS ROOM. NIGHT. PERPETUA is standing with NATASHA, a thin
ambitious Miss Bingley, who keeps looking over at someone we can't see. NATASHA: The wife was really thick,
apparently. I think what he needs is intellectual challenge. PERPETUA: Hello, Bridget.
Bridget suddenly sees MARK DARCY, looking
tremendously elegant, chatting to Salman Rushdie. BRIDGET: (to Perpetua) What's he doing
here? NATASHA: Mark Darcy? He's only the leading European authority on intellectual property. (As
if explaining to an idiot) "Books?" Bridget makes a face like the gurning idiot
she feels herself to be. Mark looks over, and approaches. Natasha takes his
arm. NATASHA: (continuing) I was just saying,
Mark, I think people should be made to read the classics before they're
allowed to watch them on television - then they'd realise that what they're
gawping at as they channel-hop between Blind Date and Mr Blobby isn't the
real Austen or the real Dickens at all, but some dreadful ersatz supermarket
confection - "literature-lite" - you know? She actually makes the quotation marks with
her fingers. BRIDGET: (sturdily, sure of her ground for
once) Blind Date's on Saturdays. NATASHA: I'm sorry? BRIDGET: Blind Date's on Saturdays, after
Gladiators. So they wouldn't be channel-hopping between that and the literature
lite because the literature lite's on Sundays. They all stare at her. MARK: Bridget's a postmodernist, I believe. Bridget sees this as a putdown, which it
wasn't meant to be. BRIDGET: Do you know Mark Darcy, Perpetua?
Mark is a top human rights lawyer with his own car and driver. Perpetua is
one of my colleagues and she's buying a flat in Fulham. MARK: (playing the game straightfaced)
Natasha Glenville is a top family law barrister who plays a mean viola.
Natasha: Bridget works in publishing and keeps her mobile phone in the
dustbin. NATASHA: How bizarre. MARK smiles,
superciliously, Bridget thinks. BRIDGET: Yes, well. I think I'll just go and
circulate now. Cheerio! MARK is sorry to see her go - even makes a
move, but too late: MARK: Look… Natasha restrains him - we go with Bridget. BRIDGET: (aloud) Tosser. HANIF KUREISHI: You what? BRIDGET: Sorry, didn't mean you. But come to
think of it... She passes on, smiling sweetly. HANIF KUREISHI: Cunt. IRVING WELSH: (agreeing) They're all cunts. SALMAN RUSHDIE appears at his elbow. Salman's
FOUR BODYGUARDS loom up behind him, bulging. SALMAN RUSHDIE: (severely twinkling) Irving,
Hanif, you are making a simple category mistake. What you mean is: they all have
cunts. He moves on serenely. IRVING WELSH: Fuckin' clever
clogs Salman Rushdie. Why cannae I have a bodyguard? Plenty of cunts wantae
kill me. BRIDGET: (wafting serenely)
Inner poise. Above it all. Ice Queen. She spots a CHILD
crying and tugging on his mother's Gucci skirt. His piggy is trapped under
her Prada mule. MARK watches as Bridget bends down, extracts the piggy, hands
it to the little boy. MARK: Excuse me. But as he starts to approach Bridget, Daniel
appears, with a bottle of champagne. Julian Barnes claps Mark on the
shoulder. JULIAN BARNES: Darcy! How's single life
treating you? DANIEL puts his hands round Bridget's waist.
She jumps. DANIEL: Jones. I see you've found someone of your
own mental age to network with. Come on. (He growls sexily) Let's go. I must
have you now. BRIDGET: Sod off. DANIEL: (he seems genuinely
hurt and puzzled) Why? What's wrong? BRIDGET: You just
disappeared. I thought I was never going to see you again. DANIEL: Four days, Jones.
Frankfurt. We're in the book trade. Daniel's air of
sweet reason and utter guiltlessness shakes her a bit, but: BRIDGET: You never
phoned. DANIEL: I tried to,
honestly - but you were engaged all the time. BRIDGET: No I
wasn't. Daniel suddenly
sees Mark, and looks uneasy. Mark gives him a terrible look, then looks away.
Daniel makes a big effort. He really is very charming and sexy indeed when he
puts his mind to it. DANIEL: Oh, Bridge. Don't be like this
over a phone call, I've missed you so much, I kept ringing to say, but it was
always engaged or the answerphone. God, you look so good. Wait till you see
the present I've got for you. BRIDGET: What? DANIEL: It's back at the flat. Come on. You
know you hate it here. I'll go first and you follow. BRIDGET: Well; maybe just for a coffee. Daniel gives her one of his wonderful
girl-melting looks promising all sorts of delights, and buggers off. Bridget,
at a loose end, really just waiting for Daniel to clear the scene so she can
follow, she turns and finds herself very awkwardly face to face with MARK
DARCY and can think of nothing to say. He looks awkward and strained - and
sounds it, as he says: MARK: Er - how are your parents? BRIDGET: Fine, thanks. A long fraught awkward pause, then, abruptly: MARK: Look, would you like to have dinner
sometime? BRIDGET: What for? MARK: Well, the usual reasons I suppose. BRIDGET: Oh. It's extremely kind of you, but
there's no need, I'm not a desperate case these days, I'm seeing someone
actually and I'm very happy. MARK: Oh. Daniel Cleaver? BRIDGET: Yes, as it happens, do you know him? MARK: Yes, I used to know him rather well.
Bridget, don't be offended, but be careful - I'd hate to see you get hurt. BRIDGET: And what makes you think I'd get
hurt? MARK: Well, he's a shit, you see. BRIDGET: And what's he done to deserve that
little bit of character assassination? MARK: I'd rather not discuss it if you don't
mind. BRIDGET: Well I'd rather you kept your nasty
little insinuations to yourself if you don't mind, I happen to be in love
with Daniel Cleaver, and if anyone's the shit in this I'd say it's you, all
right? And just to make things perfectly clear, I don't accept dinner
invitations from shits and tossers! She has raised her voice quite a bit in the
course of this last, and Mark freezes as if he has been hit. Bridget marches
out, hearing: PERPETUA: She's very immature, of course... …before the party
noise starts up again in earnest. INT. DANIEL'S
BEDROOM. NIGHT. BRIDGET lying happily on Daniel's chest,
postcoital. He is stroking her affectionately and smoking a cigarette.
Football is on the telly. BRIDGET: Daniel. Where's my present? DANIEL: (laughing) That was the
present. A sort of Frankfurter.
DANIEL: So how do you know Mark Darcy? BRIDGET: Oh, he used to let me play in his
paddling pool apparently. DANIEL: Did he, the bastard. BRIDGET: He thinks you're a shit. DANIEL: He thinks I'm a shit. He’s
the shit in this scenario. BRIDGET: (happily) That's what I told him. DANIEL: My loyal trusty Jones. BRIDGET: What shitty things does he do? DANIEL: Well, he got me sacked from Mulligans for one thing. BRIDGET: No. Why? How? DANIEL: How, he was on the board. Why, I
think he thought his wife fancied me. BRIDGET: I bet she did fancy you. You're so
gorgeous. Imagine having to have sex with Mark Darcy. All stiff and bony, and
he probably looks all disapproving even when he's doing it. DANIEL: Well you have got to have sex
with him. You've drawn him in the raffle. BRIDGET: No, no, please, please, can't I have
sex with you instead? DANIEL: Mmm, all right then... He starts, trying to arrange it so he can see
the football at the same time. INT. BRIDGET'S BATHROOM. DAY. MONTAGE:
BRIDGET weighing herself, measuring
her thighs, writing statistics down on wall chart, filling in weight graph. BRIDGET: (voice over) Saturday May 15th. 8
stone 12 vg thighs... 15 vg, cigarettes 0 - excellent, alcohol units 3,
amazing. Feel marvellous. Inner poised sex goddess. Can't believe how wrong
everyone has been about Daniel. Phone rings. She goes and picks it up. BRIDGET: (continuing) Darling. Oh, hi Shaz. INT. SHARON'S FLAT.
DAY. Sharon in t shirt and track suit bottoms.
Standing with cordless phone looking out of the window. SHARON: Miserable
bloody day. How d'you fancy a drunken lunch, write off the afternoon? BRIDGET: Oh Shaz, that'd be great but I'm
spending the day with Daniel. He's being really lovely. SHARON: I hate it when things go well for
other people. What are you doing? BRIDGET: Oh, I don't know... picnic, maybe a
pub in the country... SHARON: Yeah, all
right then, go on, shag yourselves silly, don't mind me. BRIDGET: What about
Jude or Tom? SHARON: Jude's trapped vile Richard into a
minibreak and Tom's got some school thing. I'm fine, I'm fine. I'll just get
on with my crocheting, I'm never at a loss, me. BRIDGET: See you in the week then? Bye. Sharon clicks the phone off. She stands
there. She sighs through her nose. SHARON: (glumly)
Shit. EXT. STREET. DAY. BRIDGET talking on mobile
as she walks. BRIDGET: Daniel, I'm running a bit late,
anyway I'm on my way now, bye. She clicks off and it rings again
immediately. BRIDGET: (continuing) Hello? Dad? I don't
understand. INT. VIRGIN TRAIN. DAY. BRIDGET: (on mobile) I'm so sorry, Daniel,
it's a crisis, I'm on my way home to see Dad, can we make it tomorrow
instead? I'm really sorry, Daniel. INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. DAY. DANIEL looking
gorgeous and sweaty just back from early morning run. DANIEL: Hey. Not to worry. Tomorrow's fine.
Just come on round. He puts the phone down. DANIEL: (continuing) Hmm. He's not upset. Every problem is an
opportunity in disguise. He gets out his little black book and riffles
through numbers. INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. KITCHEN. DAY. DAD is going to pieces in some style, sitting
unshaven in his vest at the kitchen table with a bottle of whisky. Bridget is
watching him nervously as if he might explode. DAD: Why, when people abandon their partners,
for - just to pick an example out of the air - some Hispanic gigolo with a
gentleman's handbag, do they think it's better to pretend there's no one else
involved? BRIDGET: Perhaps she's worried that you
might, you know, attack him or something. DAD: Yes, I could do that, couldn't I? I could
slaughter the pair of them with my Black and Decker bandsaw in a sickening
suburban bloodbath. That should earn me some respect in de hood. He pauses to pour himself a big shot of
scotch. BRIDGET: (nervously trying to lighten the
tone) In de hood of Grafton Underwood, you mean. DAD: (savagely) Exactly. I mean isn't life
grotesque and absurd enough for her as it is, why does she feel she has to
push back the boundaries of the ridiculous? BRIDGET: But - you love her really, don't
you, you love each other, this is just a... She tails off. DAD: It's all
just a. Listen. This is how it is, if you haven't realised. You meet someone and you feel some
sort of combination of lust and tenderness and call it love, and then you
marry them and find out what they're really like and what you're really like,
and possibly you don't come to feel a mixture of contempt and loathing
and fear, but something more like a sort of... rueful cameraderie... and
basically you have two choices, either to go through the whole caboodle with
someone else, or a succession of someone elses - or you can settle for the
one you've got, and hope to trudge together towards the grave with some
vestige of kindness and dignity. And that was what I was hoping for, you see,
before this. Bit fucking optimistic, it would seem. The phone rings
twice, then stops. DAD: (continuing) It's on the... thing. BRIDGET: (shakily) You don't think that -
this - might be, I don't know, a sort of melting pot in which you could um -
rekindle your original feelings? DAD: Oh, for God's sake, Bridget, how could I
rekindle my original feelings for a woman who calls me Daddy? Suddenly the ansaphone blurts out: MOTHER: (on ansaphone) Hello, Daddy, it's me-ee!
Just making sure you're coping - I'll pop round tomorrow with some butterfly
buns and a lasagne! Byeee! DAD turns and looks at Bridget: you see?
Bridget's face. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. DAY. Curtains drawn, empty beer cans and full
ashtrays everywhere. DANIEL sits on the sofa with his hand down Bridget's
top, watching football. BRIDGET looks frustratedly at a pile of mini-break
brochures. The phone rings. She picks up. EXT. RIVER. DAY. MOTHER on mobile phone is in a rowing boat,
reclining against cushions, being rowed by a leering JULIO. MOTHER: Oh, hello darling. I thought you'd be
outside enjoying the sunshine. BRIDGET: I'll just take you into the bedroom. MOTHER: (to Julio) She's taking me into the
bedroom. JULIO: Soon I shall do that also. BRIDGET: Look, how did you leave it with Dad?
Is he all right? MOTHER: He's fine, darling! Lighten up! Life
is for living! INT. BRIDGET'S LIVING ROOM. DAY. DANIEL: Noooo! You stupid
fucking bastard from hell! MOTHER: Don't forget the tarts and vicars.
Mark Darcy's coming. BRIDGET: Look why are you still trying to fix
me up with men when you're trying to be a person in your own right? MOTHER: I am a person in my own right,
darling, it's just you seem to need a little more help. BRIDGET: Well actually I've got a boyfriend
now. DANIEL: Oh, no! What are you?
Jesus! MOTHER: Have two. You could handle it. Easy
peasy. She dimples at Julio. EXT. HAMPSTEAD LADIES POND. EARLY EVENING. A pastoral scene: water, trees, women sitting
in groups on the grass in little dresses and swimsuits (some in middle
distance in nothing at all) Bridget, Jude and Sharon. SHARON: So what did you do Sunday? BRIDGET: Well, it was really nice, we... SHARON: What? BRIDGET: Watched the football. But we're
going to do something really nice next weekend. EXT. PRIMROSE HILL. DAY. Sunshine, blue sky, couples walk arm in arm.
Information on screen (perhaps trailed behind a little aeroplane in the sky) "Saturday June 4. 9 stone, 15 in, 17 cigs, deliriously happy". INT. DANIEL'S FLAT.
DAY. Curtains drawn,
beer cans, ashtrays. DANIEL sits on sofa with Bridget watching football. The
phone rings. Daniel lunges at it, picks it up then clicks it off. BRIDGET: Daniel. DANIEL: Mmm. BRIDGET: Don't suppose you want to come to
my Mum's friends' Tarts and Vicars party do you? DANIEL: Nooo! Go on! Go on you great wet
girl! Bridget pouts. He tries to put his hand down
her top, she wriggles away. DANIEL: (continuing) What's the matter
with you? BRIDGET: Well I know that men and women's
needs are different... Daniel is not listening, he is attending to
the football. CUT TO LATER. BRIDGET: (still talking) So the thing is I
thought we might, you know, go for a mini-break. DANIEL: Yesss! Yesss! Yessss! After a moment of euphoria she realises he's
talking about the football, and gets up. BRIDGET: Did you hear any of that? DANIEL: (bangs beer down on table) What is this?
You want to have a relationship - we have a relationship. You want us to
spend Sunday together. We spend Sunday together. Now we have to go frolicking
over the hilltops and shagging in four-poster beds. BRIDGET: I only asked if we could sort of go outside
sometimes. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. NIGHT. BRIDGET, JUDE AND SHARON are sitting round
the table, which is covered in M and S food and bottles of wine. There are
mini-break brochures everywhere. They are already really drunk. JUDE: He stood me up for relationship
counselling so the woman thought I'd made him up. And then he came round and
we shagged, and then he said he wanted to keep seeing me and just be friends. BRIDGET: Bastards! Fuckwittage! How can they
be like that? SHARON: Because they can. Because you let
them. It's as simple as that. If they can do it to you, they will. That's how
it is. That's the way they are. She pours a glass of Kir Royale right down
her throat. Her brutal insight shocks the group into semi-sobriety. BRIDGET: Bastards! Why aren't women like
that? SHARON: Actually, they are, when they get the
chance. BRIDGET: I don't
think I'd ever be like that. SHARON: (fondly) No, maybe you wouldn't, Bridge.
You're the exception that proves the rule. BRIDGET: And nor is Daniel like that, not
really. I mean it's not a crime to want to watch the football with his hand
down my top. And he does like other things too. She is thinking happily about the sex. And is
rather smug about it, and not very aware of how Jude and Sharon might be a
bit cast down by her happiness. SHARON: Yeah, well: when the revolution
comes, we'll be calling the shots not them, no more waiting by the
phone, we'll keep them in kennels as pets and use the fuckwitting bastards
for our pleasure as and how we wish! JUDE: Fuckwitting bastards, right. BRIDGET: (happily) Buggering bloody bastards
(behind her hand) 'cept Daniel. SHARON: (dangerously) What was that? BRIDGET: Nothing,
nothing. Buggering blurry bastards. Her lips move
minimally. We know she is thinking "'cept Daniel." Sharon eyes her
suspiciously. The doorbell rings. They freeze and look at each other. BRIDGET
lurches towards the entryphone. BRIDGET: (continuing) I bet that's Daniel.
Buggering blurry bastard. (Into entryphone) Hello? Yurr it's 'im. She presses the buzzer, unlatches the door,
and lurches back to the table. SHARON: Culture of entitlement, y'see. Young
women's bodies when they're old and fat. Think women are just there for...
'ere 'ave we run out of wine? The door opens. It is Daniel, fresh faced,
clean shaven, in a suit, carrying Tesco Metro bags. DANIEL: Oh hello ladies. I'm sorry to barge
in on your girls' evening like this, but I've been in the board meeting from
hell all evening and... (gives Bridget little kiss) I so much wanted to see
you. I've brought some bits and bobs for the store cupboard. He starts putting the shopping away. The
girls stare at him, openmouthed. DANIEL: (continuing) So, urn... you're
Sharon, and you're Jude, right? SHARON: Other way round. DANIEL: Really. I don't know - somehow I
thought you'd be... bigger, Sharon. Well, well. Nice to meet you both at
last. There is a brief moment of eye-contact with
Sharon in which he is saying "you and I could get it on, no problem"
and she is thinking "cheeky arrogant sod, how dare you assume I fancy
you too" though she does. She would of course never try to pinch her
friend's boyfriend - but she wouldn't mind getting to know Daniel a bit
better. DANIEL: (continuing) Excuse me one second. He turns to Bridget. DANIEL: (continuing) Bridget, I've been
thinking about what you said - you're quite right - and I think we should go
for a mini-break this weekend. I'll pay. Bridget looks at him speechless. He takes her
in his arms and kisses her. Jude and Sharon make as if to leave. JUDE: Well, we'll be off then. DANIEL: Hey, look, I can't have you walking
the streets alone at this time of night. Let me give you a lift. JUDE: We're fine, honestly. DANIEL: No, really, I insist - just to set my
mind at rest? SHARON: (unexpectedly) All right. DANIEL: (to Bridget) I'll be back in a flash.
Right, ladies. Bridget basking in her chivalrous boyfriend. EXT. BRIDGET'S HOUSE. DAY. See Bridget coming out to where Daniel looking
very handsome in white open neck shirt is waiting by his flash car with the
door open. Hear her voice over: BRIDGET: (voice over) Saturday June 21, 8
stone 10, perfect, thighs 14 and a half, miracle, boy friends 1, all a girl
needs, God's in his heaven all's right with the world. She gives Daniel a kiss, gets in, radiant. EXT. MOTORWAY. DAY Solid traffic jam. One car pulls out of the
queue and zooms up the hard shoulder. Other drivers toot, yell, and gesture. INT. DANIEL'S CAR. DAY. DANIEL is grinning. DANIEL: Way to go. INT. COUNTRY HOUSE HOTEL RECEPTION. DAY. DANIEL and BRIDGET come in, she's in heaven. BRIDGET: (sings softly) If they could see me
now, that little gang of mine... DANIEL: Yes indeed. Quite a pair, those two. BRIDGET: Best friends a girl ever had. DANIEL: Look, are you quite sure you don't
want them along? We could send a car for them, no trouble at all. BRIDGET: (happy, snuggling) No, I'm all
right, thanks. Receptionist comes. DANIEL: Hello. Daniel Cleaver and Bridget
Jones. Seems very quiet here, are we the only guests? RECEPTIONIST: We have a wedding, sir. There's
just one other couple who aren't involved. She gestures over to where a couple is
approaching the double doors. MARK DARCY and NATASHA. BRIDGET, who hasn't
noticed their approach, gives DANIEL a sexy little kiss. Might we see Mark
clocking this? DANIEL: Oh my god. MARK: Well. What a surprise. There is a tense moment, the two of them
obviously hate each other's guts. There's more to it: Mark is obviously
affected by seeing Bridget and Natasha is alarmed. MARK: (continuing; to Bridget) I take it
you're… heading for the Alconburys too? BRIDGET: Yes. DANIEL: Well isn't this all going to be
jolly? I'll see you upstairs in a minute, darling. Just going to find the
bar. EXT. HOTEL LAKE. DAY. The black sky threatens rain. The WEDDING
PARTY shivers on the terrace. MARK AND NATASHA in
rowing boat are sensibly clad, Ralph Lauren style. NATASHA: Oh I know.
I've read Derrida, I've looked at Barthes, but one has to accept in the end
that cultural hierarchies are just a fact. I mean they absolutely are. BRIDGET and DANIEL
are also in a boat. Bridget, blue with cold, sports a floaty white dress and
hotel bath towel. DANIEL, surrounded by beer cans, is lighting a fag. Bridget
trails a hand in the water and pulls it out to find it covered in
slime-gobbit. Their laughter carries across the water to MARK. NATASHA:
(continuing) I mean - you know - the Ring Cycle - Nabokov – Casteneda… MARK'S face.
BRIDGET is now trying to swap places with DANIEL. The boat wobbles and nearly
capsizes. More hoots of laughter. MARK watches. INT. BRIDGET AND DANIEL'S HOTEL BEDROOM. DAY. Chintz, fourposter.
Daniel and Bridget in hotel bathrobes watching the football with curtains
drawn. DANIEL'S hand is
down Bridget's front. DANIEL: No! Noooo!
He looks at his
watch and gets up and starts getting dressed. DANIEL:
(continuing) Just going down to get some fags. INT. HOTEL LOUNGE AREA. DAY. A formal
gilt-lamped lounge. Mark and Natasha are taking tea. NATASHA: I mean twenty minutes to bring
tea, and then he was over-familiar. MARK: Oh, come on. He made the briefest
remark about the weather. NATASHA: I didn't come here to discuss
cloud formations with scaly operatives. Aargh. MARK has poured tea on NATASHA'S immaculate
cream trousers. She jumps to her feet. MARK: I'm so sorry. Let me get you someone. He rounds a corner to find DANIEL talking
sexily on a mobile. DANIEL: Yeah, I know, I know, but if I
just happened to pass by... no harm in that, is there? DANIEL sees MARK watching and cuts off
guiltily. DANIEL: (continuing) Why don't you just go
and fuck yourself Darcy? MARK: I'd have said you were rather more
uniquely equipped for that sort of thing. DANIEL: (not very brilliantly) Oh, fuck
off. INT. BRIDGET AND
DANIEL'S HOTEL BEDROOM. DAY. BRIDGET is trying on a bunny outfit, trying to
pin on her tail in front of the mirror. DANIEL bangs into the room and stops
in his tracks. DANIEL: Ding dong! Little tail problem? Let me help you. BRIDGET: Honestly. Tarts and Vicars. They're
a strange warped generation. He adjusts the
tail. DANIEL: Hm. Not sure. Just
go over by the window and bend over. BRIDGET innocently
obliges. DANIEL:
(continuing) Mm. Bridget suddenly
clocks. BRIDGET: You dirty
old bugger. She laughs and
starts hitting him. He grabs her - he's behind her, pinning her arms. DANIEL: (murmurs)
Ever tried it - bunny fashion? She turns her head
and does a bunny-wrinkle with her nose. Daniel growls sexily and starts
undoing her bunny outfit. BRIDGET: What's up,
Doc? Is that a carrot in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me? How
do rabbits do it anyway? DANIEL: There's a lot of
hopping to begin with. The girl rabbit hops away and the boy rabbit has to
catch her. By the time he has
said that Bridget is hopping away round the bedroom going "Ooh - ooh -
ooh!" holding her paws up in front. Daniel prowls after her. BRIDGET: Hey, that's prowling, not hopping. DANIEL: Yeah, well, I'm not a rabbit really,
I'm a FOX! Bridget squeals and hops out into the corridor
- Daniel follows and catches her from behind - her costume is falling right
off her front now. Then MARK and NATASHA come round the corner and stare
transfixed. Everyone freezes for a split second, then Daniel bundles Bridget
back into the bedroom and they collapse on the bed. BRIDGET: Oh, God. That was so
embarrassing. DANIEL: (growls sexily) Who cares what those
stuffed shirts think? Come on bunny. He starts the bunny action. BRIDGET: Mind my tail then. …and we cut to Mark and Natasha's bedroom. INT. MARK AND NATASHA'S HOTEL BEDROOM. DAY. They've just come in. NATASHA: Bizarre. What some men find
attractive. MARK goes over to the window and stares out.
He wishes he were with Bridget. MARK: Yes. (Long pause) Yes. INT. BRIDGET AND
DANIEL'S HOTEL BEDROOM. DAY. Next morning. Daniel is asleep. Bridget,
already dressed as a bunny girl, looks at him and does a little dance of joy.
She puts her face very close to Daniel and stares at him till he opens his
eyes. DANIEL: Gaaaaah! BRIDGET: Come on, we'll be late for the tarts
and vicars. DANIEL: I'm not coming. BRIDGET: But you promised. DANIEL: Sorry, love, it just completely
went out of my mind. I've got to write a speech for the Sales and Marketing
do in Macclesfield. BRIDGET: But you promised to come. DANIEL: (shiftily) Oh, come on, for Christ's
sake. It's only a party. BRIDGET: Now they'll all think I've made you
up. EXT. ALCONBURY'S
HOUSE. GRAFTON UNDERWOOD. DAY. A sunny day, cars parked outside. BRIDGET in
Bunny outfit walks round side of house. BRIDGET: Well it is only a party. Sales and
Marketing are important. Inner poise. Inner poise. The Inner Bridget steady
at the wheel. She rounds the corner. A buffet table is laid
out on the lawn. The GUESTS, none of whom wears fancy dress,
gawp at Bridget. UNA ALCONBURY hurries across with a jug of Pimms. UNA: Bridget! Durr! Late as usual. Where's your
boyfriend? BRIDGET: Where are the rest of the Tarts? UNA: Oh, didn't Geoffrey call you? GEOFFREY: (looming up drunk and leery) How's
my little Bridget? He squeezes her tail. GEOFFREY: (continuing) Parp parp. So where's
this chap of yours then? BRIDGET: He had to work. GEOFFREY: Ha! A likely tale. Parp parp! Parp
parp! BRIDGET: Get off. She is painfully aware of Mark and Natasha
approaching, both in elegant casual clothes. Natasha is trying to suppress
laughter. MARK: Hello again. NATASHA: Are you on your way to another party
then? We thought it was some sort of - sporting outfit. BRIDGET: I'm on my way to work actually. MARK smiles. NATASHA: Sorry don't quite follow that - oh
there's your mother darling… … and she goes off thinking Mark will follow
but he lingers - he can't take his eyes off Bridget in her outfit. BRIDGET: (wretchedly) They told me it was
tarts and vicars. And then Daniel couldn't come, he's got to work. MARK: On Sunday. BRIDGET: (challengingly)Yes? MARK: Rotten luck. (He
clears his throat) For what it's worth I think you look lovely. He turns and stalks off. She stares after
him. At this point Bridget's MOTHER makes her
entrance, wearing something unsuitably young, on the arm of JULIO. DAD
looking dangerous in the background. MOTHER: Bridget darling, what are you
wearing, you look like a prostitute! Come and meet Julio! JULIO takes Bridget's hand. JULIO: Ravishing. He starts to kiss her hand. DAD: (coming up) You might at least leave my
daughter alone! He pulls Julio roughly away. MOTHER screams.
Julio sneers nervously. Dad makes to attack him, clumsily, Julio clumsily
backs off and falls sprawling, trying unsuccessfully to get up. MOTHER puts
herself between them. Geoffrey is clumsily trying to restrain Dad, who is
irritatedly trying to shake him off. The whole thing is messy and awkward and
embarrassing. MOTHER: No, no, you mustn't! He is my love
teacher! Guests stand round gawping. Bridget wishes
she could sink into a hole in the ground. EXT. DANIEL'S RIVERSIDE FLAT. DAY. BRIDGET still in Bunny outfit with anorak round
shoulders gets out of taxi and rings the bell. After a few moments Daniel
looks out of the window. She waves. He disappears. DANIEL: (on entryphone) I'm just on the phone
to the States. Can I meet you in the pub in five minutes? BRIDGET: (cheerfully) Ok. She sets off, looks down at Bunny outfit,
returns and rings again. DANIEL: What's the problem? BRIDGET: Daniel I've had such a horrible
time, I don't want to go to the pub in my bunnies. Can't we just stay in
please? Silence. BRIDGET: (continuing) Daniel? More pause, then the buzzer is pressed. INT. DANIEL'S FLAT.
DAY. DANIEL stands in
the entrance hall looking nervous. BRIDGET falls into his arms. BRIDGET: (into his chest) It was horrible. No
one else was dressed as a tart or a vicar and Dad hit Mum's gigolo and Mark
Darcy was awful. DANIEL: Come in the living room. Let me
get you a drink. As he takes her into the living room
something falls in the bedroom and a suppressed desperate female voice
distinctly says "Shit." BRIDGET: What was that? DANIEL: Next doors. Fucking party walls. She stares at him then heads for the bedroom. INT. DANIEL'S
BEDROOM. DAY. Someone is desperately trying to struggle
into her clothes. Eventually her head emerges. It is Sharon. Sharon and
Bridget stare at each other. SHARON: Oh, shit. INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT. NIGHT. Bridget, still in the remnants of the Bunny
costume, sobbing on the sofa, really down. Amongst the sobs, the only words we
can distinguish are: BRIDGET: Oh,
Sharon... INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT. NIGHT. Semi-darkness.
Bridget is tragically staring at the television, where a rather moulty
looking lion is mounting a lioness in a nature film. DAVID ATTENBOROUGH:
(voice over) Coitus is brief, almost perfunctory... Bridget lets out a
little sob. INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT. EVENING. Another evening.
Bridget is just sitting there staring into space. The phone goes. She doesn't
move. SHARON: (on
ansaphone) Bridge? It's Sharon. Bridge, we've got to talk. Please pick up if
you're there. (Pause) Bridge, I'm so sorry. (Pause). Then we hear her
put the phone down, Bridget sits there. INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT- DAY. The sitting room is
empty. The phone goes. DANIEL: (on ansaphone)
Hey, Jones. Cleaver. I've been missing you, are you OK? Haven't caught
something off that, skirt I hope? Listen - that thing the other day... that
was nothing, that was just a bit of nonsense... come on Bridget pick up, I
know you're there... oh, fuck it. As he speaks we
slowly track into the bedroom and find Bridget, lying on her face on the bed,
clothed, her face to one side. She can clearly hear the message. INT. MAGDA AND
JEREMY'S. EVENING. BRIDGET sits at the
dinner table, pale and wan. She is next to the bloke they have invited for
her. The others are all couples. The bloke raises his glass. BLOKE: Jeremy and
Magda! Three years! Well done, brilliant! OTHER COUPLES: Jeremy and Magda! JEREMY: Thank you, Simon.
It's not so bad, really. You should try it yourself. He puts his hand on
Magda's. JEREMY:
(continuing) There's a lot to be said for it, believe me. He catches
Bridget's eye and looks a bit sick. SIMON: Ooh, well,
major step, bit scary. MAGDA: Yes it is
scary, I know just what you mean, committing your whole life to just one
person, but then: you have to take that risk some time, you have to - you
have to offer yourself up to - to whatever comes, or, you know, what' s the
point of being in the world? And there are times when you just think
Christ this was all a terrible terrible mistake... People are
realising that Magda is in a state, she's sort of laughing but very close to
tears... Jeremy squirming trying not to look at Bridget. MAGDA: (continuing) But then the children
come, and you - can't go back then, and it is sheer hell a lot of the time,
but then you feel this great rush of love just as you're clearing up some -
sick or something, and you think this extraordinary beautiful creature came
out of me, we made it together, we did that, and somehow - somehow
- that sort of makes it all w… wor… She is trying to say "worthwhile"
but she is gasping, she can't get her breath. She stumbles out of the room.
Jeremy just sits there, so does everyone else. Perhaps half the people there
(the men and Bridget), know Jeremy is shagging someone else. EXT. PUB. DAY. Bridget walks towards a table where Sharon is
sitting, and sits down. SHARON: Thanks for coming. EXT. PUB. DAY.
LATER. The tables have filled up now, Bridget and
Sharon, are well down a bottle of wine. SHARON: And it was all about how you and
him had got all out of control and he felt trapped, but he couldn't bring
himself to tell you because you were such a sweetie... BRIDGET: He felt trapped. SHARON: That's what he said. BRIDGET: Even though I'm such a sweetie. SHARON: That's what
he said. And of course I said well if that's how it is of course you've got
to tell her, and he said I know, I know... BRIDGET: And then
you shagged him. SHARON: I don't
quite know how that happened. BRIDGET: Well I
think what you do is, you take your knickers off and he… SHARON: Oh, Bridge,
don't, please. I'm so ashamed of myself. BRIDGET: So he's your
boyfriend now, not mine, is he? SHARON: No he isn't. BRIDGET:
(continuing) Well I'm sorry but I just don't think I can handle that, what? SHARON: I haven't seen him since and he
hasn't called. He really is a bastard, Bridget. EXT. PUB. LATER. Everyone else has gone.
Bridget and Sharon have two empty bottles of wine on their table and are well
down the third. BRIDGET: Bastard.
Tell you what, we'll put out a contract on him. SHARON: Fatwa,
fatwa. Mind you, didn't seem, to work with Salman. Bastard. BRIDGET: Sexy
bastard though. SHARON: Oh, yes
indeed. BRIDGET: Knew
his... knew his way 'round rainforess. They look at each
other. BRIDGET AND SHARON:
Bastard. BRIDGET: You see,
what it's like - I saw this lion programme and I got it in a flash - they're like
a lot of mangy lions, and we're like lionesses, and all they want to do is
jump on us and shag shag shag then run away! SHARON: (nodding)
Bastards. BRIDGET: And If
they do settle down all they want is lie round with their paws down our
fronts watching other lions playing footy, just resting up so they can go out
and shag other lionesses, and it is all just immature fuckwittage! SHARON: This is
brilliantly insightful stuff. BRIDGET: And what we have to do is... SHARON: Kill the fuckers. BRIDGET: Recover
our pride. She pours out the
rest of the wine, knocking the upended bottle to get the last drops out. EXT. TUBE. DAY. Bridget coming up the steps amongst other
Bridgets, hear her voice over: BRIDGET: Tuesday 23rd August, 9 stone 3,
calories 4235, don’t care, cigs 23, so what, proud lioness building up
strength. INT. BRIDGET'S
OFFICE. DAY. BRIDGET is typing. See the statistics spread across the screen and hear her voice over. (Perpetua in background going "mmm… mmm… mmm" on the phone.) BRIDGET: Strong, strong, poised and strong. She looks and feels pretty ropy actually. DANIEL comes in with LARA, who is a gorgeous
blonde about six feet tall. Clearly "with" Daniel. DANIEL: Listen up everyone - Iguana's
making changes, not quite a U turn, more of a wriggle on the rocks, we're
starting a Self-Help List, and this is Lara Hodge-Normington. Lara's
joining us in an advisory capacity. BRIDGET stands up abruptly. PERPETUA's
alarmed face. DANIEL looks scared. Then Bridget turns her head slowly and
moves away from him. He makes an involuntary movement to follow, then stops
himself. BRIDGET: Just going
to the loo. And goes. DANIEL: (nervous laugh) She should be getting
over me by now. PERPETUA: What I'd like to be
getting over you is a large polythene bag. INT. OFFICE LOO.
DAY. Bridget exercising
a bit of control, looking in the mirror. BRIDGET: Good girl.
Strong strong. Proud lioness. Toughing it out. INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT. EVENING. BRIDGET, SHARON,
JUDE, TOM. Bottles, pizzas. BRIDGET on floor, surrounded by self-help books,
drunk… she picks them up, tosses them, aside. BRIDGET:
Bollocks... crap... tosh, gibberish and nonsense. Any fool could write that.
I could. JUDE: (dramatically) Do it! BRIDGET: I will!
(Pause) I'll just have a little drink first though. INT. BRIDGET'S HALLWAY. DAY. There is an
envelope on the mat, BRIDGET opens it; and invitation from Mark Darcy to a
Ruby Wedding Party for his parents. BRIDGET: Man oh man. I'd
rather tear my own head off and eat it. On the other hand... what would the
proud lioness do? INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DAY. PERPETUA is talking
on the phone. BRIDGET is gearing herself up to typo something important. PERPETUA: Get him to
get caterers Natasha. You can't organise a Ruby Wedding for him… but
if he wants to, why would you want to do it yourself? Oh, I see, yup,
yup, no well in that case, absolutely. While she is saying
this, Bridget takes a deep breath and types: Mangy Lions and
Proud Lionesses By Bridie Jeunesse Getting Back the
Pride. BRIDGET: Yeah ! INT. HARVEY NICHOLS
MENSWEAR DEPARTMENT. DAY. DAD emerges from
the changing room, gorgeous in evening dress. BRIDGET: Very sexy
and distinguished. DAD: I look like
something out of the Third Reich. BRIDGET: "Every woman adores a fascist." (Adding hastily as he stares at
her) Sylvia Plath. DAD: But I don' t
want to be adored by women. I just want my old wife back. DAD: (continuing)
You are going to come? BRIDGET: Oh, dad,
Mark Darcy always makes me feel like a prat and I'm only just starting not to
feel like a prat. DAD: It isn't the
easiest thing you know - cuckolded in the eyes of all one's friends by a -
pomaded tour guide. She looks at him -
she's going to give way. EXT. MARK DARCY' S
HOUSE. NIGHT. A grand Holland
Park mansion, music and laughter emerging, all the windows lit, tiny red
lights in the trees, a covered walkway to the door. INT. MARK DARCY'S
HOUSE. NIGHT. A dazzling
glamorous scene - a modern minimalist interior, red candles, largo staff,
canapes, and black-tied guests. BRIDGET, beautiful, elegant as we have
never seen her before (but maybe some Bridgety flaw?) appears at the head of
the staircase with Dad, resplendent in his Third Reich cummerbund. Mark looks
at her, stunned. Natasha (who has made a bit of a mistake with a Versace)
looks threatened. BRIDGET turns to say something to Dad, which makes him
laugh. As they start their descent we see MOTHER watching DAD. UNA, cleavage on
show, and Penny Husbands Bosworth - merrily widowed member of the
Grafton Underwood set - talking at the bottom of the stairs as Dad and
Bridget join them, A WAITER hands them champagne. UNA: What do you
think? Bit showy, isn't it? DAD: A young man
gives a party for the parents who brought him into the world and nurtured
him: I find it pleasing, I find it appropriate. He takes a canape. DAD: (continuing; to waitress) Thank you, my
dear. Your breasts look very fine, this evening, Una, if I may say so: worth
the trip in themselves, I'd say. Ah, Geoffrey. GEOFFREY approaches, pissed. GEOFFREY: Hello everybodayyyyy! Oops.
Bridget? Still no feller? How are we going to get you married off at
this rate? DAD: (suavely) What a fucking idiot you are,
Geoffrey, to be sure, but if you dropped dead at this moment I dare say we
should all miss you in a way, in a sort of - do you remember
Captain, Bridget, that smelly old Labrador who was always hugging visitors'
legs? - what made me think of him now? Dad is a bit hyper because he's very tense
expecting Mum to show up with Julio again. And here she comes now, but on her
own - and Mark Darcy is also approaching with his parents. UNA: (hissing) Pam! Pam! What do you think? MOTHER: (mouthing like Les Dawson) Showy. MARK DARCY is waiting, listening. UNA: Exactly what I said, showy. MOTHER:(she brushes
Dad's shoulder) Dandruff! I think if parties get too fancy it starts to look
a bit common. Oh hello Mark! MARK: Good evening. MOTHER: Hello! MARK: Would you
excuse me a moment? He heads off hurt
towards the stairs. Dad gives Mother a filthy look, then turns to the Darcy
parents. DAD: What a
splendid occasion - you must be very proud of him. ELAINE: Yes, we are
- he's always been the best son any mother could hope to have. He was a
lovely little boy, and he's a lovely grown-up man - I suppose I'm biased,
but I don't care. She smiles at
Bridget. PENNY: Now come
along, Colin! You promised me a dance! Dad holds up his
hands in mock surrender and allows himself to be led off. Mother looks very
disgruntled. MOTHER: Ridiculous
woman. ELAINE: Is Julio
not here, then, Pam? MOTHER: No, he's
wanted in Portugal, poor lamb, seems they can't do anything without him –
Bridget, why don't you see if Mark fancies a dance? GEOFFREY: Ooh, she
scares them all off, our little Bridget - come and have a dance with your
Uncle Geoffrey! INT. ANTE-ROOM. MARK DARCY'S HOUSE. NIGHT Presents are on
display, BRIDGET bursts in with a cup of tea. She shuts the door and leans on
it. BRIDGET: Oh my
bloody god and fuck. Calm. Strong. Proud lioness. She is just taking
a look at the presents when Mark enters, startling her. MARK: I'm sorry. I didn't
realise there was anyone here. BRIDGET: I was
just... They are staring at
each other awkwardly as usual, standing quite close. She turns away, and as
if hypnotised, Mark follows her, led by his nose, as it were. She stops and turns.
They both look a bit startled now. MARK: I'm sorry.
I... like your scent. BRIDGET: Thank you. (Pause) I'm
sorry about my mother being so rude. It's a great party. Thank you for
inviting me. MARK: Actually
I didn't. It must have been my mother. BRIDGET: Oh, fine. MARK: I hear Daniel
turned out rather bad. BRIDGET: Thank yon
for bringing that up. MARK: I did try to
warn you. BRIDGET: Look, do
you go out of your way to make me feel like a complete idiot every time I see
you? MARK: (mortified)
No. BRIDGET: Because
actually you don't need to bother, I already feel like one most of the time. MARK: Look… NATASHA appears in
the doorway. NATASHA: Oh there
you are. (To Bridget) Not in your bunny girl outfit today then. BRIDGET: No, we
bunnies wear full evening dress in the winter. NATASHA: Mark these
caterers are utterly inept, they've completely buggered up the placement, I
told you you should have let me do it. BRIDGET: Excuse me. EXT. MARK DARCY'S
GARDEN. NIGHT. BRIDGET is having a
fag. Waltzy music drifts out. Another pissed person - a BLOND WHIPPERSNAPPER
- approaches unsteadily. WHIPPERSNAPPER: Hi,
don't suppose you fancy a dance or anything. Oh sorry. (He holds out a hand)
Simon Dalrymple. Eton. BRIDGET: (shaking
his hand) Bridget Jones. Northampton comprehensive. WHIPPERSNAPPER:
Yah, great. So um, could we dance? BRIDGET: Why not?
They begin to. WHIPPERSNAPPER:
(after a while) Sorry about the boner. BRIDGET: The what? WHIPPERSNAPPER: The
boner. Stiffy. Not used to dancing with an older woman, y'see. I mean one
who's left school. BRIDGET: Oh, right. MARK appears in
doorway. MARK: I'll
take over now, Simon. Come on, there's a good chap. Harriet's looking for
you. WHIPPERSNAPPER: Oh, right.
Cheers then. Sorry again about the, er… Hs limps off
adjusting his boner. MARK: (holding out
his hand) May I? BRIDGET: You're
just so bloody arrogant and insensitive, aren't you? I wish you'd just - fuck
off and leave me alone. She makes to go -
he gets hold of her and turns her to face him. MARK: Listen to me
- I wasn't trying to upset you by bringing up Daniel - I was going to tell
you - he did it to me as well. BRIDGET: Now that
does surprise me. MARK: I mean my wife.
(Pause) He slept with my wife. Two weeks after I married her. BRIDGET: Oh. I'm
sorry. MARK: Look, I'm
sorry if I've been, ... the thing is I can't stop thinking about you. It's
extremely inconvenient, in fact it's bloody absurd but there it is. I just
can't... He walks to and
fro, runs his hands through his hair and carries on. MARK: (continuing)
I realise there are elements of the ridiculous about you. Your mother is a
real embarrassment. BRIDGET'S jaw drops
at the impudence of this. MARK: (continuing)
You smoke, which I actually find the mark of a person with no self-respect. BRIDGET: Have you finished? I thought you
were apologising? Do you want me to start on you? MARK: What I'm trying to say is - all the
other women I know are so deadly poisonously dull and depressing and actually
not very nice. He says this, especially the last, as if he's
only just discovered it. BRIDGET: I thought you were going out with
Natasha. MARK: I sit in this ridiculous mausoleum of a
house, and wish I was with you, and I keep thinking about the things
you've said to me - some of them quite offensive but... what I'm trying to
say is... for whatever reasons I find myself liking you very much...very
much... BRIDGET: Apart from the smoking and... MARK: Just as you are. NATASHA appears at the French windows. NATASHA: Mark! MARK: (savagely) Oh, fuck! Excuse me. He goes. BRIDGET: Just as I am? INT. GYM CHANGING
ROOM. DAY. JUDE, SHARON, BRIDGET, various
stages of getting dressed. Two perfect figured girls just out of the shower
are yelling at each other. JUDE: Just as you
are? PERFECT FIGURED
GIRL: He said if he caught me smoking skunk again he'd take away the flat,
and I'm like "fucking
Daddy". JUDE: You know what
you should do, you should ask him to your party. BRIDGET: No. PERFECT FIGURED
GIRL: I'm like "Daddy you can fucking fuck off because it's in
trust!" PERFECT FIGURED
GIRL TWO: What are they like? They head off,
dripping water from their to-die-for flanks. BRIDGET: He is a
supercilious sod who despises me and everything about me. If he thought I was
after him I couldn't bear it . Sharon, clocking
this. INT. BRIDGET'S
HALLWAY. DAY BRIDGET is hurrying
downstairs with her bags for work and a recipe book. There is a pile of cards
on the mat. BRIDGET: (voice
over) Thursday 25 October. Birthday, Hurrah! 8 stone 11, brilliant!
cigarettes 0, alcohol 0, hurrah! Cards… excellent. She picks them up and opens the first one. It
shows sheep in the country and says "Guess which one is you?" She
opens the card. It says "you're
the one over the hill." INT. BRIDGET'S
OFFICE. DAY. BRIDGET is typing furiously, ignoring MESSAGE
PENDING. Through the partition Daniel keeps looking at her. PERPETUA bustles up, brandishing the MS of
Mangy Lions and Dominant Mares. PERPETUA: Ah Bridget. This one is actually rather good.
In fact everyone's raving about it. We're rushing it out for Christmas. Well
spotted, Bridget, drop a line to the author with the standard contract. BRIDGET: And I can be the editor? PERPETUA: Well, that was the deal. BRIDGET: Yessss! PERPETUA: (disapprovingly) And Daniel says
will you read your messages. BRIDGET in a daze
presses EXECUTE. BRIDGET'S COMPUTER:
MSG Jones.
Congratulations. Could we have a drink? To celebrate? Cleaver. BRIDGET: He remembered. He remembered my
birthday. INT. SAVOY AMERICAN
BAR. EVENING. Bar is full of yuppies, Daniel has his arm
round the back of Bridget's chair. BRIDGET: I mustn't be long, I'm cooking
supper DANIEL: Supper? And you
haven't invited me. Oh Bridge, I've been desperate to talk to you. I feel
such a stupid shit about the way I behaved. He takes her hand. DANIEL:
(continuing) I think about you every day. BRIDGET: I've
thought about you too. DANIEL: The thing
is, Lara and I... I can't explain, it's very special. We're, well we're
getting married. She stares at him. DANIEL:
(continuing) But what I wanted to say: that doesn't mean that you and I can't
see each other now and then. BRIDGET: See each
other? DANIEL: Well, you
know. BRIDGET turns her
wrist to look at her watch. Her drink, which was in that hand, pours slowly
and steadily into Daniel's lap. BRIDGET: Oh, is
that the time? INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. EVENING. A scene of utter
carnage. Half cooked dishes in pans, carrier bags and open recipe books all
over the surfaces and floor. Bridget, who has had a drink or two after the
one in the Savoy, is reading from a piece of paper. BRIDGET: Schedule - 7.00
prepare Grand Marnier soufflés. 7.10 go to shop for forgotten ingredients.
7.20 make frisee lardon frissled charouso bollocks thingy. 7.30 clear up flat
removing all signs of sluttishness also unhip kitchen accoutrements, e.g. She looks round. We
see a flour shaker in the shape of a baby with a huge bonnet, a biscuit tin
with squirrels dancing round it, a kitchen roll holder with a smiling flower
on the end, a tube of contraceptive jelly. Oh, God. She pours a generous
dollop of Grand Marnier. BRIDGET:
(continuing) Whose sodding birthday is it after all? And drinks. She pours a bit
more Grand Marnier and heads for the bathroom. BRIDGET:
(continuing) Far better to be dressed and cooking when they come than not
looking nice. Close up on CLOCK
FACE, hands moving round. CUT TO LATER. The doorbell rings.
Bridget emerges from the bathroom in bra and pants with wet hair. BRIDGET: Great.
Shaz. She rushes over,
presses the buzzer and leaves the door open. Then rushes back to the kitchen
and treads in a pan of mashed potato. BRIDGET:
(continuing) Gaaah! MARK DARCY appears at the door carrying
champagne, flowers, and a box of Belgian chocolates. BRIDGET: (continuing) Gaaah! MARK: I'm so sorry I think I may be a
little early. Your friend Sharon was kind enough to pass the
invitation on, I think she did say eight sharp. Should I, er??? BRIDGET: No, no, more the merrier. (She peers
behind him) Where's whatsername? MARK: Ah. It didn't work out. He's in now, smiling at her. MARK: (continuing) You're looking very lovely
if I may say so. BRIDGET: Thank you. MUSIC: Let There Be Love - Nat King Cole. MARK is helping to sort out the carnage,
stirring the soup. BRIDGET: (continuing) How does it look? MARK: Very good. Er, blue. BRIDGET: Oh shit it must have been the
string. MARK: Ah it's string soup, is it? BRIDGET: The string I tied
the bones up with for the stock, silly. MARK: Real stock. I'm
impressed. BRIDGET: But I
could only find blue string. It's a disaster isn't it? MARK: Blue soup could be
very good. Blue soup could be the next thing. BRIDGET: Maybe we could have
the salad for the starter. Oh god I've left the tuna in the office. Oh shit shit
shit. They're all going to be here in a minute and it's all gone wrong and
it's my birthday. MARK: Let's keep a sense
of perspective here. Sit down. She sits down. He
pours out two glasses of champagne and clinks glasses with her. MARK: (continuing)
Happy birthday. BRIDGET: How did
you know it was my birthday? MARK: Oh - I have a very highly developed
sixth sense. You just said it was. (Pause) Actually I've
always remembered the date of your birthday, since paddling pool days. BRIDGET: Did I really run
round your lawn naked? MARK: Yes, you really did. BRIDGET: How old were we? MARK: Well you were
five and I was eight. BRIDGET: That's a
pretty big age difference. Quite pervy really. MARK: (smiling) Yes, I suppose it
was. Great BRIDGET: Oh God
Mark what are we going to do about this bloody dinner? MARK: Send out for pizza. People aren't
coming for Grand Marnier soufflé in a sugar cage. They're coming to see you. BRIDGET: Yes, they
are, aren't they? She looks really pleased
then looks up at the clock. BRIDGET:
(continuing) So where are they, then? MARK: They'll be here.
Um, look - do you think I could just… He is leaning
towards her. Her eyes widen, then soften. They are moving towards a kiss,
when JUDE SHARON AND TOM appear in the doorway loaded with carrier bags. SHARON: Sorry we're
late. Happy Birthday! Hope you liked your present. BRIDGET: Mark, Sharon, Jude, Tom. They all say hi and
Mark says how d'you do. BRIDGET: (continuing) We
were just… (she stops) I'm afraid the food's all gone a bit wrong. JUDE: That's amazing, we
had this weird flash that it might have, so we stopped by the Shah and got a
takeaway. BRIDGET: (moved)
Did you? JUDE: Happy
birthday! SHARON: (hugging
her) Happy birthday, girlfriend. TOM: (handing over
an enormous box of Milk Tray) Happy birthday, skinny. MARK, out of this
but not shunned, watches: the warmth and tenderness of this fragile urban
family. CUT TO LATER. They are all gorging
and laughing, falling about drunk, on the sofa and the floor, JUDE is
demonstrating proud lioness with Tom. JUDE: Ok, so I'm the proud lioness and the
mangy lion comes slouching round for his bit of nookie... what do I do? Tom makes a
rather hesitant lion. BRIDGET: Do what
feels natural. Jude snarls and
starts cuffing Tom about the head. TOM: Ow, get off
you mad bitch! JUDE: Oh Tom lions don't go like that, you're
hopeless. TOM: Well I'm miscast, I want to be the
lioness and Mark can be the lion. BRIDGET: Absolutely not! (Now she has to say
why) He's not mangy enough. TOM: Oh, thank you very much I'm sure. All
right, let's try again. He tries a really
big snarl. Mark puts his arm round
Bridget, she lets her head fall against his shoulder, her fingers curl into
his - Sharon clocks it. CUT TO LATER. They are all
leaving. Tom is unable to walk unaided, Mark is helping Sharon get him down
stairs. SHARON: Blurry good
night. JUDE: Wonderful
night. TOM: Cunnery,
culinary trumph. Try. Umph. You're a big lad for your age. MARK: Thank you Tom. TOM: 've you
ever thought of, how shall I put it... MARK: (over his shoulder)
Back in a minute. Bridget, the door
still open, left alone, sits down and sighs happily, surveying the remnants
of the evening, the cards, presents, and Mark's coat and briefcase still on
the sofa. BRIDGET: You see, even when everything seems
awful, nice things sometimes happen. INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. NIGHT. DAD in pyjamas, on phone. DAD: My dear. Rather bad
news I'm afraid. Your mother and Julio are wanted by the police. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. NIGHT. Mark appears in doorway, smiling. His face
changes as he sees Bridget. BRIDGET: Look, don't worry
too much, Dad. Nothing's ever as bad as it seems. We'll sort it out.
I'll be' there. I'll be there as soon as I can. She puts the phone
down and sinks down at the kitchen table. MARK comes forward and takes her
hands. MARK: Tell me. INT. BRIDGET'S
PARENTS' HOUSE. NIGHT. MARK is striding
round the room on the telephone. BRIDGET is sitting with DAD. GEOFFREY is
clucking round uselessly. GEOFFREY: I don't
know. I don't know. I don't know. Gurrr. I don't know. MARK: (into phone)
Right. Good. And it's specifically a UK offence? Or could they be charged in
Portugal too? With what exactly? OK, hang on. He puts the phone
under his chin and writes. CUT TO: DAD talking to
Bridget, Mark Darcy still on the phone in the background. DAD: The time share
apartments never existed, apparently, or belonged to someone else. Julio,
using your mother as, as it were, front man, has defrauded large numbers of
people - including your mother and me - of considerable sums. In our case,
everything. We may lose this house. Oh, by the way, he's not Spanish or
Portuguese, he comes from Peterborough and his real name's Adrian Timms. When
I think about my life… what I thought it was… UNA bustles up with
tea in a mug decorated with apricots. UNA: Is that too
milky for you, Colin? DAD: I don't
know... I don't understand... just don't know what to think. UNA: There's no
need to get in a state about it. I'll just tip some out and top it up with
hot water. MARK, off the phone
now, clears his throat for attention. Everyone looks up respectfully. MARK: They're still
in Portugal apparently. If it transpires Mrs Jones was assisting her - friend
- in ignorance of the fraud, she may get off reasonably lightly - provided we
can find her and get her back within a reasonable interval. DAD: But how can we
possibly do that? We don't even know where she is. MARK: I have a colleague with connections in
Lisbon. Hs looks at his
watch. MARK: (continuing)
There's nothing more to be done tonight. The best thing is for everyone here
to get some sleep, I'll drive back to London and see what can be done in the
morning. I'd better say now that I can't promise a happy outcome. He looks very grim
and scary. Bridget rises, to go with him. MARK: (continuing;
curtly) I think you should stay here with your father. INT. 192. NIGHT. BRIDGET, JUDE,
SHARON and TOM are tucking into the Chardonnay. BRIDGET: No.
Nothing since the dinner party. It's obvious - he can't afford to have
anything to do with the daughter of a known criminal. I think he did want to
help though. Oh, well. JUDE: Another
bastard. I thought he really liked you. TOM: He did, you
could tell. I think he liked me, too. There was real tenderness in the way he
carried me downstairs. Strength, too. Great shoulders. Nice tight little
buns. SHARON: Oh do shut
up Tom. This is just another fuckwit. BRIDGET: I don't think so. I think he's
really OK. I'm the fuckwit. I should have got divorced from my mother when I
was eleven, you can do it now, it's all the rage, instead I stuck it out, and
look what happened - not content with shagging herself silly all over Europe
when she should have been getting meals on wheels, she has to go and ruin my
chance of happiness with the first really nice boyfriend I've had for years. SHARON: Come on
Bridge. Strong, strong. Big mare now. BRIDGET: I don't
spose she did it on purpose. JULIAN BARNES and
SALMAN RUSHDIE come in with Rushdie's four armed guards. JULIAN BARNES leans
graciously down from his great height and speaks solicitously to Bridget. JULIAN BARNES: So sorry to hear about your
mother, Bridget - any news? BRIDGET: Bloody hell - does everyone know? No
- no news. JULIAN BARNES: I gather Darcy's on the case - that man is pure gold, if
anyone can fix it he will. SALMAN RUSHDIE: He's on it big time. Full-on.
Balls-out . BRIDGET: What? JULIAN BARNES: He's been out there all this week. We're all on hold. SALMAN RUSHDIE: You got a diamond geezer
there, Bridget. Oh - congratulations on the book. They pass on, regally, the bodyguards
scanning the joint for assassins, Uzis out. BRIDGET: (in shock) Bloody hell. INT. LUTON AIRPORT. DAY. DAD and BRIDGET are walking through he
Arrivals hall. DAD: Apparently if they retrieve the rest of
the money the, the - Peterborough Lothario might be quite leniently dealt
with, which would be a shame. I don't know how I can ever thank Darcy, a busy
man like him. I think he had some contact in the Portuguese judiciary. There
but for the grace of God... your mother could be rotting in some foreign
dungeon. BRIDGET: And serve
her right! Ah well. Let's hope it's knocked some sense into her. MOTHER rounds the
corner flanked by two POLICEMEN, trolly laden with bags. MOTHER: Oh, there
you are, Daddy! Oof. I'm dying to get home and put the kettle on. D'you think
Una remembered the timer? (To Bridget) Hello darling! I've bought you a
leather clutch bag! Ugh. Have you been smoking? You smell like Yates's Wine
Lodge. The policeman take
Dad to one side. BRIDGET: What on
earth do you think you were doing? MOTHER: Oh, it was
just some mix-up over, the planning permission. I don't know what Mark Darcy
thought he was doing, throwing
his weight about and carrying on like Lord Muck. BRIDGET: Oh God.
Don't you know you're lucky to have a house to go back to? DAD: Pam, these
gentlemen need you to accompany them to the police station. MUM: Oh, don't be
silly Daddy. BRIDGET: Do
something with her. DAD grabs her hard
by the shoulders. DAD: Pam. At this
precise moment you are still under arrest. Now will you for once in your life
behave like a grown woman? She stares at him.
Her lip begins to tremble. She starts very quietly: MUM: I do know, you
know - what I'm like - and I do wish I could help it - and it doesn't help
that you and Bridget have your lovely grown up club of two and what's silly
old Mummy done this time, and yon might just ask yourselves if that's not the
way you want it, feel more comfy when you don't have to think of me as a
person like you, but you did once, you were mad about me, you couldn't get
enough of me, and I thought well it would be nice to feel like that again -
adored - adored! - but of course silly old Mummy made a mess of things
again... She starts to sob -
great heaving sobs. Dad takes her gently in his arms, she doesn't resist. DAD: Oh, Pam. Pam. It's not a great
romantic reawakening. But it is a recognition of her as a person, the one
he's chosen to share life's long journey with. Bridget, moved and rather
awed. The policemen wait. Ono of them looks at his watch. Mum and Dad don't
move. (Shall we say it's a quiet time at the airport, there are staff and
travellers, but not too many, and they all have their own lives to get on with.
So just a few curious glances in passing. Don't want to pre-empt the
director, but I do rather see the crane shot going up and looking down at
them.) INT. BRIDGET'S
FLAT. DAY. BRIDGET is
decorating an extremely small Christmas tree on her own. BRIDGET: Thursday 21 December. 9 stone 3 -
but still time to lose half a stone before Christmas. Cards received 5 - vg
but three from paperboy. Cards sent 1. 1471 calls to see if Mark Darcy has
rung 12 - not vg but no need to tell anyone… EXT. STREET AND
TUBE STATION. DAY. BRIDGET going down the steps of the
Underground Station. INT. TUBE TRAIN. DAY. Bridget sits between a BUSINESSMAN spreading
his FT and a YOUNG BLACK MAN spreading his enormous thighs. Opposite, TWO YOUNG
LOVERS still at it on the morning after, and some Bridgets… BRIDGET: (voice over) You'd think he'd make
just one teeny tiny call, just to say oh, I don't know, you'd have been all
right if it weren't for your idiot mother problem... it's probably the
smoking... who'd want to kiss anyone with breath like a pub ashtray? Her gaze wanders over the Bridgets opposite.
Hear their thoughts: ANOTHER BRIDGET: (voice over) I could just
tell he thought I looked like a whale in those cargo pants. A THIRD BRIDGET:
(voice over) It's my
nose, it is, it's my nose... oh when will I find someone to love me? A FOURTH BRIDGET is
reading MANGY LIONS AND PROUD LIONESSES. INT. BRIDGET'S
OFFICE. DAY. BRIDGET is sitting
at the computer. PERPETUA comes in
and throws down the best-seller list with a ring round MANGY LIONS. PERPETUA: Straight
into the chart at number seven. Well done. The phone rings.
PERPETUA grabs it. PERPETUA:
(continuing) No! I don't believe it! I don't believe it! (Dramatic announcement to entire
office) We've exchanged on Drayton Gardens! DANIEL walks past. DANIEL: My heart,
it soars like an eagle. (Under breath to Bridget) Keep up to date with your
e-mail, will you Jones? BRIDGET'S COMPUTER:
MSG Jones. Bridget. I have to talk to you. Come for a drink after
work. Please? She looks over at
him. He looks back, anguished, and types: BRIDGET'S COMPUTER:
(continuing) MSG Jones. Fancy the Savoy? Cleaver. She makes it go
away and types: BRIDGET'S COMPUTER:
(continuing) MSG Cleave. No. Jones. She presses Send.
Another message appears. BRIDGET'S COMPUTER:
(continuing) MSG
Jones. Would you please come to my office. This is a professional request.
Cleave. BRIDGET gets up and walks composedly towards
his office. INT. DANIEL'S
OFFICE. DAY. BRIDGET sits with
her hands folded on her knees. DANIEL is striding round running his hands
through his hair. DANIEL: Every
time I look across the room I think what a fucking idiot I've been. BRIDGET: That a fact? DANIEL: The thing is, that Lara thing - it
was just a way of hiding my – thing, thing is I felt compelled to be
unfaithful because I loved you so much. BRIDGET: So you were so commitment-phobic you
get engaged to someone else? DANIEL: Oh, Bridget. It took me losing you to
kind out how much I needed you. I can't live without you, Bridget. The door opens and
PERPETUA bursts in. PERPETUA: I'm not having this. Just because
your money-grabbing fiancée found someone richer than you to run off with… DANIEL: This has nothing to do with you,
Perpetua. PERPETUA: Just
bloody well leave her alone! DANIEL: I think
Bridget can speak for herself. Bridget? I've told you how I feel, sweetheart.
Now… what do you say? He does look, terribly
appealing and rumpled and sexy. BRIDGET: Sorry,
Daniel. I just don't feel able to commit. She gets up, and
walks out, very calm and together. INT. 192. NIGHT. BRIDGET, JUDE,
SHAZZER and TOM. SHARON: Excellent!
Outstanding! TOM: Dominant lionesses...
dominate. BRIDGET: So - who's
coming round tonight? JUDE: Sorry…
actually I've got a date. New chap. TOM: New chap!
What's he like? JUDE: Well... how
young is too young, would you say? BRIDGET: I'd say as
long as he's not young enough to be your legal son. JUDE: He's 24 and
he's taking me to the Oxo Tower! BRIDGET: Shazzie? SHARON: My
osteopath's coming round. He, um, asked me if I'd consider mixing business
with pleasure. BRIDGET: I see.
Tom? She looks at Tom. TOM: I've got the
new PE bloke coming round, said he'd drop in for a bite. His very words. Wish
me luck. Supposed to be straight but he'll turn, I can feel it in my bones. BRIDGET: Well fine.
That's fine! She looks round
brightly. EXT. PORTOBELLO
ROAD. NIGHT. BRIDGET walking in
sleet. BRIDGET: (voice
over) And it is fine, they're happy, I'm happy. Because there's no point
worrying about the future because you never know what's round the corner. She rounds the corner
where a big crackhead DRUNK is slouched with bottle. DRUNK: Give us
a quid then you fucking yuppie! She gives
him one. BRIDGET: Merry
Christmas. DRUNK: Don't think you can buy my fucking
friendship! She goes on. BRIDGET: (voice over) No it is great really. Even if
everyone else in the world is at a great big party and you're going to end up all alone half eaten by dogs, at
least I'm free! (Aloud) Free and
independent! Never blurry mind! She fumbles in her
rucksack. BRIDGET: (continuing)
Fuck, I've lost my keys. A big car
approaches, MARK DARCY driving. He spots BRIDGET sitting on the step, tipping
out the contents of her rucksack. He parks the car. At a distance we
see him approach. Bridget explains. He tries to slip the lock with his credit
card and wipes her eyes. He looks at the window, takes off his jacket, climbs
up and gets in. We see BRIDGET'S face smiling fondly, then he appears at the
door, takes her in his arms and kisses her. INT. BRIDGET'S
PARENTS' HOUSE. DAY. Once again the Turkey Curry Buffet is in full
swing. Caption on screen: January 1, 2001. Mother is wearing, a policeman's
helmet. Una is bustling about. MARK and BRIDGET in different parts of the
room exchange a look. MOTHER: Isn't it super? The policeman said I
could keep it. DAD removes the helmet and shoves it under
the buffet table, BRIAN ENDEKBY lurches up to Bridget. BRIAN ENDERBY: Bridget!
Another New Year, and still no feller! Bridget smiles
secretly. MOTHER: Bridget!
Why don't you see if Mark wants a vol-au-vent? BRIDGET: Ok. She walks over to
MARK, radiant, gorgeous and flirty, with the tray. BRIDGET:
(continuing) Would you care for a vol-au-vent? MARK takes the tray
from her and puts it down. MARK: Thank you,
no. Actually, what I'd really care for is this. He takes her in his
arms and kisses her passionately, to assembled gawps and gasps. BRIAN ENDERBY: (to
Geoffrey Alconbury) See that? Got a feller after all. GEOFFREY: Won't
last. MARK: And now,
if you'll excuse us, Bridget and I are going on a-mini-break. He picks her up in
his arms and carries her out. EXT. COUNTRY HOUSE
HOTEL. NIGHT. MUSIC: You've got
to give a little, take a little, let your poor heart break a little… Bridget and Mark walk
through the pool of light across the threshold. INT. COUNTRY HOUSE
HOTEL. RESTAURANT. NIGHT. MARK and BRIDGET at
dinner, she’s about to light a cigarette, he makes to
kiss her, she puts the cigarette down and kisses him. INT. COUNTRY HOUSE
HOTEL. SUITE. NIGHT. Mark and Bridget
coming in, she's happy, tipsy, carrying a half-full champagne bottle. Mark
gently takes it from her, puts it in the bin, and leads her to the
four-poster. She looks up lovingly into his eyes, he unzips her dress, and it
slips off, to soaring romantic music. EXT. BRIDGET'S
PARENTS' HOUSE. NIGHT. The dregs of the
Turkey Curry Buffet. MOTHER is holding forth to the remaining guests, who are
slumped in recumbent postures. MOTHER: He's
divorced, you know, wife was Japanese, very cruel race. Actually I don't
think it was quite right, taking her off like that without being married. DAD: (wearily)
Pamela. Then he smiles. INT. COUNTRY HOUSE.
HOTEL SUITE. NIGHT. MARK is asleep.
BRIDGET creeps out of bed and across to the bin, where she retrieves the
champagne. BRIDGET: Waste not,
want not. She is just raising
the bottle to her lips, when she catches our eye, guiltily. Freeze frame. FADE OUT |
