Chapter Seven How Do You Propose?
The opening ceremony lasted three hours from the chiming of the bronze bell to the firework finish.
In the show’s second act Danny took to the stage, managing without a stumble to perform his small role.
Nurses, doctors and volunteers danced around illuminated hospital beds, each bed carrying a young child, some of them patients from Great Ormond Street Hospital who might not live long enough to see another Olympic Games.
Among his fellow cast members, Danny experienced an emotion he was rarely allowed to feel – a sense of national pride.
In the past, when the government passed laws excluding him and newspapers ridiculed the few who were prominent while ignoring the many who were sick, patriotism always seemed a prize for others.
But it was his as much as it belonged to anyone, and it felt wonderful right now to be part of a country that had staged such a great party for the whole world.
By the time Danny and his friend Matt cleared the stadium it was one in the morning.
Neither of them had eaten anything before the show and since Danny had been abstaining from alcohol in the weeks leading up to the performance the cans of Marks & Spencer premixed gin and slimline tonic that they had stashed to celebrate made them tipsy, high-fiving strangers as they walked to the nearby Underground station which was operating late to transport the crowd home.
Danny phoned Luis, arranging to meet him at Matt’s afterparty where celebrations were already underway.
Over the bar’s din Luis declared that it was one of the best nights of his life.
The truth was that Luis had been part of every great day in Danny’s life, and he wanted him to be part of every great day going forward, which was another way of saying they should get married.
Looking back, Danny had been circling the idea for months.
The mystery of his sadness was solved. Marriage was missing, a public celebration of their relationship.
And yes, it was true, Danny was aware that they weren’t technically allowed to marry, this wasn’t Denmark or Spain or the Netherlands.
The law in England still prohibited it. But that was the verb – to marry – and okay, so it would be a civil ceremony, he and Luis would be civil partners, but no one got down on one knee and asked someone to civil ceremony with them.
The question everyone asked, whether they were allowed to or not, was – will you marry me?
On the crowded tube carriage into central London people were singing and drinking and Danny did something he normally never did with drunk strangers on a tube – he joined in.
Matt lived in a Victorian mansion block near the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, a popular after-hours house.
He was single, handsome, thirty-seven years old, in great shape from a routine of early-morning workouts and late-night dancing.
But if you knew where to look, and Danny did know, there were lines of loneliness around his eyes.
Before they went into the flat Matt suggested they smoke a joint and Danny nodded, aware that after tonight they would drift apart, no matter how hard they tried to stay close.
Their shifts were too long and, without the rehearsals to bind them together, they would see each other maybe once or twice a year.
He could sense that Matt wanted to make a move, but he admired Danny’s relationship with Luis and was yearning for one of his own.
A kiss would feel less like affection and more like jealousy and a kiss should create something special rather than damage it.
Matt peered up through the pollution at the muted stars and said without a trace of hyperbole, ‘That was the best day of my life.’
Having heard this phrase from Luis and now from Matt, it occurred to Danny that most people described their wedding day in those terms. A day none of them had ever been allowed to enjoy.
He shared a few half-hearted drags on the joint, not caring much for weed which made him woozy rather than witty.
At the end of the smoke they hugged, holding on to their connection for as long as possible.
Upstairs the party was messy and young. Danny weaved his way through the guests, many of whom were high, none of whom he knew, eventually finding Luis seated in the living room on a shamrock green sofa, nursing a bottle of Modelo beer.
Commotion swirled around him while he waited patiently like a lifeguard on a raucous gay beach.
The music of Robyn and Rihanna was straining the speakers of the sound system.
Surveying the scene Danny understood that this party was not the place to propose – proposing needed planning, preparation and an attention to detail.
He had made the decision tonight but that didn’t mean he was required to blurt it out at the first opportunity.
Luis might think that Danny was drunk or trying to stretch out the night’s happiness, ricocheting from one ceremony to another.
He needed Luis to be sure that their rendition of the world’s most romantic question had been twenty years in the making.
Approaching the sofa, Danny offered his hand to Luis.
‘Let’s go home.’
To his surprise Luis rejected the idea. This night was special, one of a kind, and he wanted to make the most of it.
Instead of standing up he indicated for Danny to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around him and declaring, ‘Watching you tonight made me realize how wrong I was not to go back to Spain to celebrate the Barcelona Olympics.’
Staged in 1992, the Barcelona Olympics were twenty years ago, the year they had met. Danny placed a hand on Luis’s leg.
‘I asked you at the time. You said you didn’t want to go?’
Luis admitted, ‘Yes, that is what I said. And I was a fool. Those Olympics were special for Spain. It was my country announcing itself on the world stage. And I missed the party. But that’s what is so great about tonight, because you seized the opportunity.
I was with you tonight, living through you, and an old wound inside of me healed. ’
Danny said, ‘When I was walking to the station I thought – this experience doesn’t become real for me until I share it with you. That’s how I’ll understand it, by listening to you, by watching your reaction. I had a sense that it was a special thing and now I know why.’
Inspired, Danny jumped up and approached the baby-faced guy in charge of the music, making a request for a song to be played. He asked, ‘Is that a song or a city?’
Won over by Danny’s persistence, he found the track and with a sceptical shrug, queued it.
After a pop song finished, the sound of bells filled the room causing many to pause their conversation.
They turned towards the speakers, their confusion growing as the sound was followed by a string orchestra and then, after a brief pause, the voice of Freddie Mercury, singing baritone, in duet with Spanish opera singer Montserrat Caballé, one of the finest sopranos of the twentieth century.
The only person in the room to react enthusiastically was Luis, who stood up, taking Danny’s hands while mouthing the words which he knew by heart, indifferent to whether he seemed middle-aged and cringey.
It was the unofficial anthem of the Barcelona Olympics, recorded by Freddie Mercury in the final months before his death.
At the end of the first chorus, in front of everyone, Danny and Luis kissed, and it felt to Danny like a dress rehearsal for a marriage proposal.