Bridget Jones's Baby Read Online Free PDF

Oh God, he was such a great kisser.
    “No, no, we mustn’t,” I said weakly.
    “Yes, yes, we must. You know the one thing people most regret when they’re about to die? Not that they didn’t save the world, or rise to the pinnacle of their career, but that they didn’t have more sex.”
    T UESDAY 27 J UNE
    8 p.m. My flat. Staring psychopathically at phone. Still no word from either of them. Is this going to go on for the rest of my life? Am I going to be getting drunk on sherry with Mark and Daniel over dominoes in the old people’s home, then getting furious because they’ve shagged me and haven’t asked me to play Scrabble?
    8.05 p.m. Cannot believe I am still behaving like this after sex after all these years—as if I have sat an exam and am waiting for my results. Am going to call Shazzer.
    8.15 p.m. “Doesn’t count with exes,” decreed Shaz.
    “That’s exactly what Miranda said! Why?”
    “Because you’ve already fucked up the relationship.”
    “So I already know I’ve failed?”
    8.30 p.m. I am going to give up men. I eschew them.

F OUR

P ERIMENOPAUSE

T HREE M ONTHS L ATER
    S UNDAY 17 S EPTEMBER
    10 p.m. My flat. Everything is terrible. I mean, I just can’t believe that this is…Oh, goody! Doorbell!
    —
    11 p.m. Was Shazzer, Tom and Miranda, bursting into the flat, completely plastered.
    “Darling! You’re alive!” said Tom.
    “What’s going the fuck on?” enquired Shaz.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You haven’t answered calls, texts, emails anything all weekend. You’re in total techno-purdah.”
    “What is she googling?”
    I leapt at the laptop and wrestled it from their hands.
    “Perimenopause! She’s been googling perimenopause for seven hours. She’s
signed up
to hotflush.com.”
    “For some women perimenopause can begin as early as thirty-five,” I gabbled. “In years to come all women will automatically freeze their eggs, build their careers, microwave them, and Bob’s your uncle, but…”
    “Why do you think you’re perimenopausal?”
    I stared at them, embarrassed.
    “Have your periods become irregular?” said Shazzer.
    I nodded, almost in tears. “Gone, and I’m getting middle-age spread. Look, I’ve had to buy jeans a size bigger.”
    I showed them my stomach. But instead of looking sympathetic they started exchanging glances.
    “Er, Bridget,” began Tom. “Just, um, a thought. Perhaps a random thought, but…”
    “You have done a fucking pregnancy test, right?” said Shazzer.
    I reeled. How could she be so cruel?
    “I told you—I’m barren,” I said. “I can’t be pregnant because I’m perimenopausal, so I can’t have children anymore.”
    Miranda looked as though she was trying not to laugh. “You know, the whole ‘doesn’t count with exes thing’ in the summer? Mark and Daniel? Did you use condoms?”
    This was unbearable.
    “Yes!” I said, starting to feel quite cross now. “Of course I used condoms.” I picked up my handbag and held out the packet. “These condoms.”
    The packet was passed between them as if it was a piece of evidence from
CSI Miami.
    “Bridget,” said Shazzer. “These are eco-dolphin-friendly condoms and they’re two years out of date.”
    “Well, so?” I said. “I mean, sell-by dates are just there to sell more products, aren’t they? They’re not real.”
    “The whole point of the dolphin-friendliness is that they dissolve over time,” said Miranda.
    “Look,” said Shazzer, standing up and putting on her coat, “never fucking mind the fucking dolphins. Let’s get the fuck to the late-night chemist.”
    —
    As we drove through the streets to the late-night chemist I felt like I was driving through the graveyard of my fertile years—there the tree where Daniel threw my knickers after the Pergamon Press Christmas party, there the corner where Mark and I had our first kiss in the snow, there the doorstep where Mark Darcy first said, “I love you, just as you are.”
    —
    Back in the flat,