"Hakuna Matata. Don't worry, be happy! Swahili. Isn't it smashing? Una and I have had the most super time and Wellington's come back to stay! Hello, Mark," she said, perfunctorily acknowledging his presence. "Come along, darling, why don't you say Jambo to Wellington!"
"Shut up, Mother, shut up," I hissed out of the corner of my mouth, looking from side to side nervously. "You can't have an African tribesman to stay. It's neo-colonialist and Daddy's only just got over Julio."
"Wellington is not," said my mum, drawing herself up to her full height, "a tribesman. Well, at least he is, darling, a proper tribesman! I mean he lives in a dung hut! But he wanted to come! He wants to do worldwide travel just like Una and I!"
Mark was a bit uncommunicative in taxi home. Bloody Mother. Wish I had a normal round mum like other people, with grey hair, who would just make lovely stews.
Right, am going to call Dad.
9 p.m. Dad has retreated into his worst suppressed Middle-English emotional state and sounded completely plastered again.
"How's things?" I ventured when I eventually got an excitable Mum off the phone and him on.
"Oh fine, fine, you know. Zulu warriors in the rockery. Primroses coming through. Everything fine with you?" Oh God. I don't know if he can cope with all the craziness again, Have said to call me any time but is v. hard when he is being all stiff upper lip.
Tuesday 18 February
9st 6 (serious emergency now), cigarettes 13, masochistic fantasies about Mark being in love with Rebecca 42.
7 p.m. In turmoil. Got back from another nightmare day at work in a rush (Shaz has inexplicably decided she is into football, so me and Jude are going round there to watch Germans beat Turks, Belgians, or similar) to two answerphone messages, neither from Dad.
First was from Tom saying his friend Adam on the Independent says he wouldn't mind giving me a go at interviewing someone as long as I find somebody really famous to interview and I don't expect to be paid.
I mean surely that is not what happens in newspapers? How does everybody pay for their mortgages and drink problems?
Second was from Mark. Said he was out with Amnesty and the Indonesians tonight and could he ring me at Shazzer's to see what happened in the match. Then there was a sort of pause and he said, "Oh and, er, Rebecca has invited us and all the "gang" to her parents" house in Gloucestershire for a house party next weekend. What do you think? I'll call you later."
Know exactly what I think. Think I would rather sit in a little hole in Mum and Dad's rockery making friends with all the worms all weekend than go to Rebecca's house party and watch her flirting with Mark. I mean why didn't she ring me up to invite us?
It's Mentionitis. It's just complete Mentionitis. There's no question about it. Telephone. Bet it's Mark. What shall I say?
"Bridget, pick up, put it down, put it down. PUT IT DOWN."
I picked up confusedly. "Magda?"
"Oh Bridget! Hi How was the skiing?"
It was great but . . ." Told her the whole story about Rebecca and New York and the house party. "I don't know whether I should go or not."
"Of course you've got to go, Bridge," said Magda. "If Mark wanted to go out with Rebecca he'd be going out with Rebecca, just say - get off, get off, Harry get off the back of that chair now or Mummy will smack. You're two very different kinds of people."
"Hmmm. You see, I think Jude and Shazzer would argue . . ."
Jeremy grabbed the phone. "Listen, Bridge, taking advice on dating from Jude and Shazzer is like taking advice from a diet consultant who weighs twenty stone."
"Jeremy!" bellowed Magda. "He's just playing devil's advocate, Bridge. Ignore him. Every woman has her aura. He's chosen you. Just go along, be gorgeous, and keep an eye on her. Nooo! Not on the floor!"
She's right. Am going to be assured, receptive, responsive woman of substance and have a lovely time emanating aura. Hurrahs Will just call Dad then go to football.
Midnight. Back in flat. Once out in freezing cold assured woman of substance evaporated into insecurity. Had to walk past workmen working under bright lights on gas main. Was wearing v. short coat and boots so braced myself to deal with lewd catcalls and embarrassing remarks then felt complete arse when none came.
Reminded me of when was fifteen and walking along lonely backstreet into town and man started following me then grabbed my arm. Turned to look at attacker in alarm. At time was v. thin in tight jeans. Also, however, had winged spectacles and brace on teeth. Man took one look at my face and ran off.
On arrival confided feelings re: workmen to Jude and Sharon. "That's the whole point, Bridget," Shazzer exploded. "These men are treating women as objects, as if our only function is physical attractiveness."
"But they weren't," said Jude.
"That's exactly why the whole thing is so objectionable. Now come on, we're supposed to be watching the match."
"Mmm. They've got lovely big thighs, haven't they?" said Jude.
"Mmmm," I agreed, distractedly wondering if Shaz would go mad if brought up Rebecca during the match. "I knew someone who slept with a Turk once," said
Jude. "And he had a penis that was so enormous he couldn't sleep with anyone."
"What? I thought you said she slept with him," said Shazzer, keeping one eye on the television.
"She slept with him but she didn't do it," explained Jude.
"Because she couldn't because his thing was too big," I said supportively of Jude's anecdote. "What a terrible thing. Do you think it goes by nationality? I mean do you think the Turks ... ?"
"Look, shut up," said Shazzer.
For a while we all fell silent, imagining the many penises tucked neatly into shorts and thinking of all the games of many different nationalities in the past. Was just about to open my mouth, but then Jude, who seemed to have become rather fixated for some reason, piped up, "It must be very weird having a penis."
"Yes," I agreed, "very weird to have an active appendage. If I had one I would think about it all the time."
"Well, yes, you'd worry about what it would do next," said Jude.
"Well, exactly," I agreed. "You might suddenly get a gigantic erection in the middle of a football match."
"Oh for God's sake!" yelled Sharon.
"OK, keep your hair on," said Jude. "Bridge? Are you all right? You seem a bit down about something."
I looked nervously at Shaz then decided this was too important to let lie. I cleared my throat for attention and announced: "Rebecca rang Mark up and asked us on a mini-break this weekend."
WHAT?" Jude and Shaz exploded simultaneously. Was really glad the seriousness of the situation was fully appreciated. Jude got up for the Milk Tray and Shaz fetched another bottle from the fridge.
"The thing is," Sharon was summing up, "we've known Rebecca for four years. Has she ever once in all that time invited you, me or Jude on one of her posh house-party weekends?"
"No." I shook my head solemnly.
"But the thing is," said Jude, "if you don't go then what if he goes on his own? You can't let Rebecca get him in her clutches. And also it's obviously important to someone in his position to have someone who's a good social partner."