Bridget Jones's Baby Page #24

Oblivious to this, Bridget continues to squeeze Mark’s hand

with superhuman might. He swallows his anguish and puts his

face in front of Bridget so she can see him.

SHOOTING SCRIPT.

120

MARK:

You can! You can do it, Bridget!

And we can do it together.

BRIDGET:

Really?

Mark nods.

MARK:

Look at what life’s thrown at you

already.

As he talks, Bridget grabs his arm and starts to bite into it

-it’s clearly extraordinarily painful, but Mark just grits

his teeth and talks through the agony, barely letting it

register.

MARK (CONT’D)

Christmas jumpers, massive pants,

cheating boyfriends and repressed

men who don’t deserve you. You’ve

turned disasters into triumphs with

your sheer joyful, infectious,

indefatigable lust for life, time

after time in succession. You’ve

managed your pregnancy almost

entirely alone whilst having to

deal with two juvenile men, a

lunatic mother

and...P...P...Poonani!

He finally said it! She bites down harder. Mark conceals the

pain.

MARK (CONT’D)

This is just the last few moments

and at the end of them, you’ll see

your beautiful baby!

BRIDGET:

And what if the baby isn’t yours?

What if he’s Jack’s?

MARK:

(no hesitation)

Then I will love him anyway. Just

like I love you, just the way you

were; the way you are; and - no

doubt - the way you always will

be...

Bridget looks at Mark through the red haze. He’s making

sense. Then the next pain is upon her and she bows her head

to it.

She takes her teeth out of his now bloody arm, teethmarks

apparent. He turns his back to her and lets out a massive

silent scream.

SHOOTING SCRIPT.

121

DR RAWLINGS:

You should probably go and get

those seen to. I’ll handle it from

here.

She ushers him out.

DR RAWLINGS (CONT’D)

Honestly... ‘think the pain

away’... absolute nonsense, you’re

squeezing out another human, I’d

love to see them ‘think it away’.

You’re doing brilliantly, Bridget

and you’re nearly there

BRIDGET:

I can’t -

DR RAWLINGS:

(firm)

Yes, you can actually, and I think

you know it.

172 INT. GRAFTON UNDERWOOD VILLAGE HALL. NIGHT.

It’s the night of the election, and the recount has gone on

late into the night. Mum is on stage, next to all the other

candidates, awaiting the results. Una stands next to her.

UNA:

The results are in.

A formal looking official clutching a piece of paper

approaches the microphone. Mum - tenses then braces herself.

OFFICIAL:

With three hundred and sixty-six of

the votes, Mavis Rita Enderbury....

DAD:

Pamela-

Dad fights his way to the stage, phone in hand.

OFFICIAL:

With three hundred and sixty-seven

of the votes...

MUM:

What?

DAD:

Darling, it’s Bridget.

OFFICIAL:

Pamela Margaret Jones.

MUM:

Not now, Colin.

SHOOTING SCRIPT.

122

DAD:

It’s about the baby.

OFFICIAL:

Ladies and Gentleman, I hereby

declare that the said Pamela

Margaret Jones is duly elect...

Mum leans over to whisper in his ear. The mic picks it up.

MUM:

I’m so sorry, you will have to

excuse me. We’re about to become a

grandmother!

There are cheers from her supporters and she scurries off the

stage, pushing Una forward as she goes.

MUM (CONT’D)

I’ll leave you in the capable hands

of my deputy, Una.

Mum and Dad rush out of the hall, leaving the official and

other candidates totally confused.

173 INT. HARD NEWS STUDIOS. NIGHT. 173

Miranda is finishing up presenting the programme.

MIRANDA:

And that’s all for this late night

special edition of Hard News...

She looks up at the control room and Richard Finch is fist

pumping the air. He shouts into his headset.

MIRANDA (CONT’D)

Except to say, Bridget Jones is in

labour.

Alice Peabody lets out a small, but discernible, smile.

174 INT. HOSPITAL. LABOUR UNIT. EARLY MORNING. 174

The injured men sit next to each other, heads between hands,

slumped, exhausted, both bandaged from their Bridget-induced

wounds.

JACK:

She’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?

MARK:

Formidable, always has been.

JACK:

Listen, I owe you an apology. I

know I haven’t behaved very well in

all this.

SHOOTING SCRIPT.

174A

175

176

123

MARK:

It’s okay.

CUT TO:

LATER 174A

It’s early morning after what has clearly been a long night.

Jack and Mark are fast asleep in the waiting room chairs.

Jack’s head resting on Mark’s shoulder. Suddenly there is a

huge cry like a great lion’s roar. They wake up with a start,

and whirl round to look at the door. Seconds later, the mewl

of a new-born babe.

INT. HOSPITAL. BIRTHING ROOM. EARLY MORNING. 175

Bridget is on the bed. The midwife is standing beside her and

Dr Rawlings watches on, happy.

The sudden cessation of pain has flooded her body with

endorphins and she is in a blissful state. In her arms, a

naked baby, still attached to the umbilical cord, yells

lustily. Bridget looks up at the haggard faces before her.

BRIDGET:

We did it! Say hello to our

beautiful boy!

Jack embraces Mark and kisses him. Mark almost kisses him

back, then stops himself.

Mark rushes to Bridget’s side and for a moment they both look

down at the mite in her arms, the perfect, everyday miracle.

BRIDGET (CONT’D)

Let’s tell everyone.

MARK:

Why don’t you tell them yourself,

they’re all here.

He opens the door and Jude, Shazzer and Tom pop their heads

in blowing kisses and congratulating her. Bridget smiles at

them, so happy.

INT. HOSPITAL. LABOUR UNIT. BRIDGET’S ROOM. DAY. 176

Bridget cradles the baby, who is now washed and swaddled and

quite simply the most beautiful thing ever. One by one, the

friends rush in.

CLOSE on Jude.

SHOOTING SCRIPT.

124

JUDE:

So sorry, I’m late Bridge, some

Lesbians are having a stupid all

night march.

MARK:

Actually they’re marching in aid of

freedom of speech, it’s a rather

important...

Shazzer rushes in.

SHAZZER:

Bridge - I can’t believe I wasn’t

here - there’s some unbelievably

annoying march...

BRIDGET:

Don’t worry. I would only’ve

punched you as well.

MARK:

Actually, the march is rather...

Tom rushes in.

TOM:

Can I be Godfather?

BRIDGET:

I’m depending on you.

They all clasp hands tightly. The vignette is interrupted by

a loud speech.

MUM (O.S.)

Bridget Jones! My daughter! She’s

my daughter! Where is she?

The thundering of blue heels as Mum approaches. She is

ushered in. Everyone else draws back.

MUM (CONT’D)

So sorry we didn’t get here on

time, there is some march for

women’s rights. Honestly, do we

really need any more rights?

Mum, tearful and overjoyed all at once, kisses Bridget

wherever she can get at her.

BRIDGET:

Meet your grandson, Mum.

MUM:

Grandson! My grandson! Say hello to

new Parish Councillor Jones.

Bridget beams at them both.

SHOOTING SCRIPT.

125

MUM (CONT’D)

Oh - the darling! He looks so like -

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