Romance Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ London Rain ❯ Volume One, Chapter One: Diary ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

“My name is Bridget Finn,” Bridget wrote in her new diary. She had just bought this pink and blue small diary yesterday. The woman couldn’t wait to write all the way to the last page in it. She had filled up the first three all ready.
Bridget was a journalist. She had been one since she was twenty. The woman loved her job. Even if it didn’t pay much. But it was the love of the career that mattered.
“Bridget!” a voice called above. The journalist jerked her head up. Nathan was standing over. Bridgey blushed hard. Nathan was a luvvly-jubbly Luvvly-jubbly: lovely) man. But he was way out of her league.
“Yes sir?” Bridget asked. “I need you to cover a bloody accident that just occurred.” her boss replied. Bridgey’s blush faded away.
“Oh,” she said flatly. Then she rose from her desk and head down the hall. Nathan watched the nearly overweight journalist leave.
Bridget made it to the newsroom. The heat crashed to her fast. She missed her desk all ready. At least, there was cool air there…
“Hey Bridgey!” a voice called out. Bridget cringed. Usually, she didn’t mind being called that. But this voice that addressed her as that made her want to puke.
“What James?” Bridget hissed.
James was her ex-boyfriend. They broke up last year. Now he wants her back. Too bad Bridgey doesn’t feel the same.
“Aw, don’t be like that honey.” James said as he put his arm around her. Bridget pushed him off hard. James backed up.
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be so harsh.” Bridget snorted.
“That’s over!” she snapped. James looked sad.
“There’s always second chances.” he said. “So don’t be harsh.” Bridgey rolled her eyes as her ex walked off. God, she hated him for that.
Bridget shook that away and came to the news desk. The main lady looked.
“Ah Bridget.” she said. “Here’s the location of the accident.” Then she handed the journalist a bullet of papers. Bridget took the information and read over it.
“I’m on it!” she said at last. The main lady smiled. I knew we could rely on you!” she said cheerfully. Bridget nodded as she parted to the van.
The accident involved two cars, a truck, and bus. Pretty much a mess in deed. Glass was broken everything. Blood covered the pavement. All of it was news gold.
British Royal News, Bridget’s company, was first on the set. Bridget stepped out of the van and looked around. Damn!, she thought. Nathan wasn’t joshing!
The cameramen joined her. Bridget quickly straightened up and became serious. “Come on boys!” she spoke up. “Let’s get to it!”
The crew was set up in under a minute. Bridgey herself was ready. She listened for the transmission.
“Thank you Brenda,” she replied once the anchorwoman came through. “As you can see, we have a nasty pile-up over here.” The cameras turned to the wreck.
Three aid cars drove to the scene. “But luckily,” Bridget went on. “The victims are going to the casualty. Thank God!” Bridgey executed her report with grace. What a success it was!
By the end of her day, Bridget rode the trolley to her favorite.
The Pug was always packed. Only friendly faces were there. It was the ideal pub to visit.
Bridget sat down near the back exit. She was worn out from the beastly crash that drained the life out of her. Now, all the journalist wanted was a glass of best, go home, have a small dinner, take a bath, and go to bed.
“So Bridgey, the usual?” Hal asked her. The journalist looked up from her thoughts. The barman was staring at her. Bridget felt stupid for keeping Hal waiting.
“Oh, yes,” she said at last. The barman smiled and went to get her her best.
Hal and Bridget have been friends since secondary school. Hal was a fine man and a complete gentleman. Bridgey could tell him almost everything.
“Here’s your best Bridgey.” Hal addressed when he returned.
“Thank you,” Bridget said as she took her glass. Then she reached in her wallet and started to pay for the ale.
“No,” Hal said quickly. “The bill’s on me.” Then he winked. Bridget understood and put her wallet away. Hal always paid her bill here.
After her drink, Bridget called for a cab. Usually, she would walk to her flat since the Pug was so close to where she lived. But tonight, it was raining. Bridgey was unfortunate enough not to bring her brolly Brolly= Umbrella!
Bloody weatherman!, Bridget thought as she climbed into the cab soaking wet.
“Up the street, eh?” the driver asked.
“Yeah,” the journalist said. Then the cab drove off to Bridget’s flat.
The flat wasn’t expense but it was a decent place to live. Bridget moved out of her mother’s house in Liverpool to this place in London once she received her first major rise. It was her first taste of freedom too.
Bridget pulled out the key from her purse and unlocked the door. The smell of home cooking greeted her. That only meant one thing.
“Hiya Bridgey!” an old woman exclaimed. The journalist looked up. Rosemary was rushing forward to hug her. She had on an apron and oven mitts. Bridget sighed as she let the older woman hug her.
Rosemary was Bridget’s mother. She’s well… old-fashioned. And when I say old-fashioned, I mean old-fashioned. Rosemary doesn’t use technology so much. She also drove Bridgey insane at times.
“I made you dinner!” Rosemary announced once she let go.
“Uh…. thank you…” Bridget said uneasily.
“I made you your favourite, Shepherd’s Pie!” her mother exclaimed.
“Aw, you shouldn’t have…” Bridget mumbled. When will the bloody woman get it through her head I’m trying to slim down, not gain more weight!, she thought.
The problem with Rosemary’s cooking wasn’t her skills but the quantity. She would cook enough to feed the world. Bridget would end up giving the leftovers to soup kitchens. Apparently, Rosemary didn’t understand the word “diet”. Because every time Bridget told the old woman, she’d cook even more than ever.
After dinner, Bridger washed the dishes. “I’m going to take a bath now.” she said once she had put the dishes away.
“I’ll get your bath ready for you,” Rosemary said.
“Rosemary! I am thirty-two years old! I can do it myself!” her daughter yelled.
“You sure?” the mother asked.
“Yes!” Bridget yelled.
“Okay…” Rosemary said. The journalist rolled her eyes and headed to the bathroom.
The bathroom. Bridget could escape from work, James, and Rosemary. A long hot bath was the perfect end to her day. Here, Bridgey was free to daydream and reflect on her life. Free to let her mind roam. Free from the outside world.
A knock interrupted her thoughts. “Bridgey,” Rosemary called. “Are you roasting in there?” Bridget clinched her teeth.
“No, I’m fine!” she hissed.
“Okay.” her mother said. Her daughter frowned. Leave it to Rosemary Finn to ruin the moment.
Bridget collapsed onto her bed. She needed some rest. The woman was worn out! Every night before she went to sleep, Bridget would wish for excitement. Soon, her wish would come true! But not the way she expected!