The other bridget, p.1
The Other Bridget, page 1
About the Book
A feelgood romantic comedy by Australia’s bestselling romance writer, ideal for fans of Emily Henry and Marian Keyes.
Named after a famous fictional character, librarian Bridget Jones was raised on a remote cattle station, with only her mother’s romance novels for company. Now living alone in Fremantle, Bridget is a hopeless romantic. She also believes that anyone who doesn’t like reading just hasn’t met the right book yet, and that connecting books to their readers is her superpower. If only her love life was that easy.
When handsome Italian barista Fabio progresses from flirting with love hearts on her coffee foam to joining the book club she runs at her library, Bridget prays her romance ‘curse’ won’t ruin things. But it’s the attention of her cranky neighbour Sully that seems to be the major obstacle in her life. Why is he going to so much effort to get under her skin?
With the help of her close friends and the colourful characters who frequent her library, Bridget decides to put both men to the test by finding just the right books to capture their very different hearts. She soon discovers that not all romances start with a meet-cute, but they might just end in happily ever after . . .
Written by Australia’s most beloved romance writer, The Other Bridget is a delightfully uplifting book about books, and a gorgeous celebration of the power and pleasure of romance novels throughout the ages.
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
1. Alone Again
2. Russian Roulette
3. The Caffeine God
4. The Way to a Man’s Heart
5. Opposites Attract
6. The Psychopath Next Door
7. Love Isn’t a Character Flaw
8. The Things We Do for Love
9. Homicidal Thoughts
10. Caterwauling
11. Everything Can Change in a Moment
12. Noise-cancelling Headphones
13. When Hell Freezes Over
14. Once in a Blue Moon
15. Rumpelstiltskin
16. What a Load of Bollocks
17. A Bunch of Nonnas
18. Officially a Wanker
19. The Great Gnome Kidnapping
20. Tit for Tat and All That
21. Books Not Boys
22. Giddy-up
23. Too Good to Be True
24. The Terminator
25. Worse Things
26. Scared of the Dark
27. The Total Package
28. Or Else!
29. The Bane of my Existence
30. Welcome to the Bookstars
31. The Plot Thickens
32. Two Teaspoons of Sugar
33. A Not So Happy Birthday
34. Terms of Endearment
35. Lola’s Library
36. Water off a Duck’s Back
37. Aunty BJ
38. Knickers in a Knot
39. Fabio-lous
40. Water under the Bridge
41. Put a Hex on Her
42. TGI Weekend
43. All the Feels
44. The Wicked Witch from the North
45. Definitely a Keeper
46. Channelling Colin Firth
47. How Not to Catch Feelings
48. The G-Spot
49. A Good-for-nothing Scamp
50. (Not) The Whole Truth
51. Something Iffy
52. Citizen’s Arrest
53. A Fool for Love
54. Hole in One
55. Hot Dogs and Goofy Shoes
56. (Not) Faking It
57. Unadulterated, No-strings-attached, Neighbourly Bonking
58. In Case of Emergency
59. Badass
60. A Twisted Sense of Fun
61. All Men Are Liars
62. Molten Lava
63. Fake Dates and Swedish Meatballs
64. Meet the Parents
65. Happily-Ever-After with the Boy Next Door
66. Making a Move
67. This Wasn’t Supposed to Happen
68. Kicking Puppies
69. Head over Heels
Epilogue: Lola
Acknowledgements
Book Club Notes
About the Author
Imprint
Read More at Penguin Books Australia
For my cousin, Lizzy Dent – I can’t believe we both grew up to be novelists!
And for librarians everywhere – thank you for spreading the love.
The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.
Jane Austen
1
Alone Again
There’s only one thing that could make me agree to dress up like a playboy bunny and parade around half-naked in front of my colleagues and library patrons on a Wednesday night. Yep, you guessed it: a boy, or, rather, a man.
Tonight’s the night I’m going to introduce my new boyfriend to my friends, and, despite the outfit, I can hardly wait.
I’m in the staff bathroom putting the final touches on my costume – adjusting the rabbit ears atop my head – when my phone pings with a text. My heart thuds even before I read it. If that’s Kieran saying he can’t make it, I’m going to kill him. He’s the one who convinced me to dress as my namesake in the first place. We’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but when I casually mentioned our adults-only Library Lovers Night, he not only said he’d come but suggested we dress up as a tart and vicar, a la Bridget Jones.
To say I’d taken some convincing would be an understatement. Quite aside from the whole baring much of my body thing, I usually try not to draw attention to the fact I’m the other Bridget Jones. Hold the jokes, please. I’ve heard them all.
The good news is the message isn’t from Kieran.
The bad news is it’s from someone much, much worse.
You total bitch! I know what you’ve been up to with my husband. If you ever touch him again, I will hunt you down, skin you alive and feed your innards to my Rottweiler.
‘Oh my God!’ I shriek, slapping my hand over my mouth. The face looking back at me in the mirror goes pale. Five seconds ago, I’d been quite pleased with my appearance – I’d tousled my shoulder-length, caramel-blonde hair and accentuated my boring green eyes and lips with bolder make-up than I usually wear – but now I think I look like a clown. A foolish one at that.
‘What is it?’ Fred asks as she emerges from a cubicle, dressed in a shiny faux-leather, skin-hugging full bodysuit and a dark wig with a long braid down one shoulder. She’s dressed as Katniss, her favourite kick-arse literary heroine.
Unable to bring myself to voice the words, I thrust my phone in her face.
‘The prick!’ Her eyes widen. ‘He’s married?’
I shrug in shock. ‘His wife certainly thinks so.’
According to her text, she’d found our explicit messages in his phone. Why is it always the woman’s fault? I didn’t know he was married but he obviously did. With any luck she’s feeding his innards to their Rottweiler this very second.
‘Oh, Bee.’ Fred’s been my best friend since university and we’ve been through numerous highs and lows together. Although she isn’t one for much touchy-feeliness, she pulls me into a hug. ‘I’m so sorry. I know you really liked this one.’
Fred’s right. Although I hadn’t been dating Kieran long, I’d ‘caught feelings’, as she would say. I knew from five minutes of chatting to him on the app that I wanted to meet him, and after hundreds of awkward first dates, ours was anything but. We had so much to say to each other – we liked all the same movies and shared many favourite books. We even had the same tastes in food, both of us agreeing that pineapple and olives should never be seen on pizza. It had felt like maybe, just maybe, this one had take-home-to-meet-the-parents potential. In the short time we’ve been together, we’ve seen each other every other night and messaged constantly in between.
Where the hell was his wife when all this was happening?
‘I guess he’s not coming, then,’ Fred says, giving me a sympathetic smile as I pull out of her embrace.
‘Should I reply?’ I ask, feeling an urge to apologise, to tell this stranger that I’m not the kind of woman who sleeps with married men. Not knowingly anyway.
‘Fuck no! Block his number and move the hell on.’ Fred turns to the mirror and scrutinises her appearance, making sure none of her black crew cut is showing. Wig or not, she looks stunning as usual. At least a head taller than me, Fred is model tall and model thin. She has the kind of body I longed for as a teenager, only it comes naturally to her, and her face doesn’t look gaunt the way mine used to either.
The bathroom door opens and Mary Poppins, aka Persephone, one of the other librarians, pops her head in. I’m surprised she didn’t come as Elphaba or Morgan le Fay, as she’s Pagan and a practising witch. Then again, Mary Poppins is also a witch, I guess.
‘Hurry up. We’re about to open the doors and get this party started.’
Fred looks anxiously to me – ‘Yeah, we’ll be out in a moment’ – and waves Persephone away.
‘I’m going home,’ I say, ripping the bunny ears off my head, ready to change back into my pink boxy T-shirt and denim skirt. You didn’t think I walked through the streets in black bathers and fishnets, did you?
Although this is a work event, none of us is being paid overtime and my colleagues are all here, so I’m not neede
Once again, dateless on Valentines Day.
‘Like hell you are, girlfriend,’ Fred says, tweaking my fluffy bunny tail as she tugs me towards the door. ‘We’re not wasting this fabulous outfit! And no way am I letting you spend the night alone after receiving that crappy text.’
Alone. Did she have to use such a loaded word?
‘I won’t be alone. I’ll be with John Brown and Stephanie Plum.’ No matter how much I wish Janet Evanovich’s famous fictional heroine would just pick a guy – preferably Morelli – and end the series, I can’t stop reading. Her books are like crack and if anyone can take my mind off my latest relationship failure, it’s my favourite bounty hunter.
Fred rolls her eyes. ‘Pets and fictional people don’t count.’ Then she squeezes my hand and hits me with that sympathetic expression again. ‘I know you’re upset, sweets, and you have every right to be, but married Kieran isn’t worth your tears.’
‘I’m not crying!’ Maybe I will later, but right now I’m simply angry and humiliated. What is wrong with me that I keep attracting men who have weird fetishes, believe dick pics are pick-up lines or are already taken? ‘Besides, it’s not fair to leave JB alone all night when I’ve been out all day.’
Fred raises a perfectly preened black eyebrow. ‘He’ll be fine. You went home after work, walked him, fed him and gave him a treat, remember?’
In this moment, I’m regretting the fact that I share almost every detail of my life with her.
‘Come on, just stay for one booktail, then if you still want to go home and mourn the worthless jerk, I won’t stand in your way. I’ll even come with you.’
Fred has a talent for getting her own way in any situation, and I’m too emotionally shocked to put up a fight. Besides, Rory does make amazing cocktails.
‘Okay, fine. But please don’t tell anyone what’s happened.’
Fred mimes fastening a zip across her lips, then picks up her plastic bow and arrow and we head out to face the music, me wishing I had something to pull over my skimpy costume.
Fremantle Library is one of my favourite places in the world. Just before I started working here, it moved from its old location on the corner of Newman and William Streets to the Walyalup Civic Centre, a state-of-the-art building with meeting rooms, galleries, public rest rooms and a customer service centre on the street level, the library underneath. As I descend the stairs or escalator, I always feel that I’m venturing into a whole new world where nothing matters but books and sharing my love of them.
Tonight, this place of my heart is decked out with pink, black and silver streamers and balloons, and hundreds of paper hearts that Xavier, assistant library manager and all-round great guy, made with the Story Time kids this morning. We spent the afternoon decorating and I’d been proud of our handiwork, but now all these gorgeous trimmings feel like a slap in my face.
My colleagues are standing around the drinks table, alongside which is another table boasting a massive grazing board and tiny heart-shaped chocolates wrapped in pink foil.
Xavier, dressed in tight, faded jeans, a red flannelette shirt pushed up to his elbows, black cowboy boots and a black cowboy hat, all but hiding his short-cropped, dirty-blond hair, wolf-whistles as we join them. ‘Bee, you look smoking!’
I blush, always awkward with compliments because I never really believe them. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’ve got great pins on you,’ his partner, Rory, adds with a wink, his diamond earring glinting beneath the artificial light.
‘That she does.’ Dave, husband of our library manager, Janine, is taking a little too much interest in my near-bare legs.
Janine – dressed as Daisy Jones in white knee-high boots, leather mini skirt, bohemian top, yellow fake-fur coat and chunky pink, square sunglasses – swats his arm. ‘Oy. Don’t be an old pervert.’
‘Ah, don’t be jealous, luv,’ Dave says, planting a noisy kiss on her cheek. With his shaggy, salt-and-pepper hair, he looks like an ancient rocker, and I wonder which band member he’s supposed to be. ‘You know I only have eyes for you.’
Oh, to still be that smitten after more than forty years of marriage.
I look back to Xavier and Rory. ‘You guys look amazing too. Jack and Ennis?’
They nod proudly and smile adorably at each other. Or at least it would be adorable if I wasn’t currently dateless and bitter.
‘Nice one,’ I say. Most people have no idea that the movie Brokeback Mountain was based on a short story by Annie Proulx, but I think the boys were just looking for an excuse to buy fancy cowboy boots and, frankly, I don’t blame them.
‘I think we all look great.’ This is from Persephone’s husband Nick, who’s dressed as a very dashing chimney sweep, his thick black hair and equally thick bushy eyebrows the perfect match for Bert’s.
We all blink in surprise – usually he’s a man of few words who only speaks when spoken to – but I’m guessing the beer he’s already nursing has helped lure him out of his shell.
Janine claps her hands. ‘Let’s get a group selfie before we let in the hordes.’
We all squish in together and then Nick – because he has the longest arms – snaps a quick pic.
Janine pulls me aside as Persephone heads up the escalator to let in our guests. ‘You okay, chicken? Is it Kieran? Don’t tell me he’s running late.’
I blink, a lump rushing to my throat. With my mum way up north in the Pilbara, Janine has become like my surrogate city mum, and as with my own mum, I can’t hide anything from her. ‘He’s not coming, but I don’t want to talk about it. I’m fine.’
‘How about we get you a drink?’ she asks, squeezing my arm. I can tell she doesn’t believe me – the absence of the new boyfriend I’d told them all about speaks volumes – but I’m glad she doesn’t push.
‘Yes, please.’ The sooner I have my one beverage, the sooner Fred will let me leave.
We head over to join the queue that has quickly formed behind the drinks table where Rory and Xavier are whipping up the kinds of cocktails – or mocktails, if alcohol’s not your thing – that you’d usually only find in upmarket bars. I wait in line behind Wally and Wendy, two Cats in Hats, another Mary Poppins, several Harry Potters and Pippi Longstocking.
‘Bee, this is Ethan,’ Fred says, breaking into the queue and gesturing at a stocky guy in a bottle-green jumpsuit beside her. ‘Ethan, meet Bee, my colleague and BFF.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, trying not to feel hostile that her guy turned up. Bet he’s not married either. ‘So who are you dressed as?’
‘Maverick from Top Gun.’ He grins, touching a finger to the dark sunnies perched atop his sandy-coloured hair.
I raise an eyebrow at Fred – although Top Gun was inspired by a newspaper article and later made into a book, I’m guessing Ethan only knows the movie, and this is supposed to be a book costume party. My friend just shrugs.
‘What can I tempt you with, Bee, dearest?’ Xavier gestures to the menu as we reach the front of the queue. ‘Anne Shirley’s Raspberry Cordial? A Tequila Mockingbird? Or a Margarita Atwood?’
