In September 2012, I was sitting at one of the rooms of Shire Hall, Cambridge County Council, with a pile of documents that I needed to sign. I was also subjected to formal questions from an official, a cheerful lady, who looked at me with a reassuring smile.
“How long have you been in the country?”
“About a month.”
“Have you been married before?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Is this certificate a confirmation of your divorce?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Are you related to your fiancé?”
And in this exact moment something slipped from my mind completely, and I said quickly, “Of course!”
The woman gave me one of those slightly confused gazes, which made the whole scene look like something from PG Wodehouse’s “Jeeves and Wooster,” or at least “Cold Comfort Farm.”
“Um. You’d better not be,” said she with a polite but somewhat restrained voice: I bet she wanted to burst into a laugh straight away, but kept herself as professional as possible.
I was petrified and smiled forcedly: “I mean… Of course, we aren’t, I just… I don’t know.” (I was in complete despair).
She chuckled, which made everything much better, and said, “Don’t worry, I totally understand your excitement. Is the 6th of October a suitable date for your special day?”
I nodded with relief, and that’s how it all began.
8 years ago the day was as sunny and dazzling as today, and we both, L. and I, felt immediately that no matter if anything went wrong, it had to be fine at the end. And it was.
More than that: it was beautiful, joyous, absolutely marvellous and blissful, and when we went out for our photo shoot on Magdalene Bridge, a few young girls screamed and waved to us from their punts. “Happy wedding!” and their voices flew up to us, and it was touching and great.
Sometimes I still can’t believe that I met this quirky, funny, insanely kind and smart man just like that. Sometimes it feels like we got married only yesterday, and at other times I feel like I’ve known him all my life. And in both cases it feels genuine.
Happy Anniversary, my angel.
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