Chapter Eight The Engagement Ring
It quickly dawned on Danny how little he knew about weddings.
He had reached middle age without giving marriage much thought either as a prospect or as a process.
The truth was that as soon as he came to terms with being gay, marriage was an idea he put to one side, not merely improbable but impossible, a foreign language he never needed to learn because he was never going to travel to that destination.
He would attend other people’s receptions, shed a tear at other people’s vows, but he never expected anyone to shed a tear at his.
The first stage of anything becoming real is dreaming about it except Danny had never dreamed about his wedding, never pictured the outfits or imagined the venue, never wondered what words he might say about love.
Unable to turn to the person he always relied on – Luis – he chose to confide in Sophie, a friend from university.
She had married at the age of twenty-five and now lived in Manchester, with a house, a garden and two young daughters.
She had been a geology student at Essex University and every holiday she could be found climbing the sides of volcanoes or studying desert canyons.
During term-time she and Danny had been inseparable.
They met in fresher’s week and lived in a house together in their second and third years.
Looking back, they were in a relationship of sorts, sleeping with other people, she with guys, he with guys, but always reverting to each other, unintentionally blocking each other from forming meaningful connections with anyone else.
After graduation there was a recognition from Sophie that their friendship had been too intense and, diagnosing her intimacy with Danny as a problem, she had dropped out of contact.
When she reappeared, several years later, she was engaged.
Danny hadn’t met her fiancé and during the run-up to the marriage, Sophie hadn’t asked for his advice or involved him in any meaningful way.
Though he was hurt, looking back, he shouldn’t have taken it personally.
After all, why would anyone want his advice about marriage?
Over the years their friendship recovered, never to the same intensity, but they still loved each other and they would always share the helter-skelter memories of their university years.
Hearing Danny’s news Sophie cleared a Saturday and travelled down from Manchester by train, leaving the kids in her husband’s care.
Arriving at Euston Station she looked ready for adventure, wearing frayed Maharishi cargo pants with embroidered samurai warriors on the back, matched with a simple white shirt.
Her trainers were scuffed, her hair artfully dishevelled, she never wore perfume yet always smelt great and when she hugged Danny he was transported back in time.
‘So, you’re finally getting hitched?’
Danny asked, ‘It is crazy, isn’t it?’
Sophie shook her head.
‘What’s the difference? Between being married and the way you guys are living right now?’
Danny was struck by the question. ‘That’s what I want to find out.’
Since it was a sunny day and Londoners were always so happy when it was sunny, they decided to walk rather than catch the tube, ambling through the quaint side streets of Fitzrovia, passing small shops which sold nothing more than music scores and rare violin rosin.
Sophie thought it was smart to ask for help since the jewellers might exploit Danny’s ignorance as an outsider, a man trying to wangle his way into a marriage club he didn’t feel part of, and she was worried that he would pay over the odds to compensate.
For a start, he didn’t even know whether both halves of the couple received engagement rings.
Researching the subject online Danny discovered that in over ninety-five per cent of proposals only the woman received a ring.
The man wore nothing to mark his engagement.
Of course, it was down to Danny to figure out how these traditions translated when there were two guys.
‘It feels odd that Luis will be wearing an engagement ring and I won’t.’
Sophie’s solution was to buy one for himself as well but Danny scrunched his face up at the idea.
‘I can’t buy my own engagement ring. It would be like buying my own Valentine’s card. And Luis can’t buy me one because I’m asking him to marry me. You wore the ring because Harry asked you. Harry didn’t wear an engagement ring.’
On that point Sophie agreed.
‘Yeah. But it always bothered me. And when you look at the history of engagement rings they’re symbols of ownership.’
Danny cut in, ‘Let me stop you there. I don’t want to hear a bad word about marriage. Not today. I’ve been telling myself those stories my whole life to take the sting out of the fact I would never be married. Today is pro-marriage propaganda only.’
Sophie accepted these instructions.
‘Got it. Positive vibes only. But that doesn’t mean you have to do this like everyone else.’
Danny disagreed.
‘Except I want to do it like everyone else. That’s the whole point. To do this by the book even if the book wasn’t written for people like me.’
On Wigmore Street they found a Swedish bakery which smelt of saffron and cinnamon. Waiting for their coffees Sophie asked Danny where they were starting their search and he suggested Bond Street. Sophie wasn’t convinced this was a great idea.
‘This is not a negative remark but a practical observation which is my job today. Agreed?’
Danny agreed. Sophie continued, ‘Those famous brands pay to be featured in romantic movies, the ones where the hedge fund guy rents the entire store and escorts the bride-to-be inside, blindfolded, and they turn on the lights and there are rows of twenty-carat diamond rings and he says pick one, money no object.’
Danny had watched all these movies.
‘And then she marries the guy with no money?’
Sophie was impressed. ‘My point is that they’ve paid to make their brands synonymous with the dream of a perfect marriage. But they’re not.’
Danny accepted this.
‘I know. It’s dumb. I’m a sucker. But I’m never going to step foot in those stores otherwise. I’m never going to have that movie moment. This is my chance. And I want the experience of asking to see their engagement rings, having them laid out for me, even if it’s only for a few minutes.’
Sophie ventured an observation.
‘This is a big deal for you, isn’t it? I mean you could just rubber-stamp the relationship one afternoon in a simple ceremony in a town hall.’
Emphatic, Danny shook his head.
‘We’re not going to sign a few documents in the back of a rundown register office like it’s a grubby secret. I want traditions. I want spectacle. I want to a make a show out of our love story.’
Referencing his failed theatrical career, he added, ‘Might be the only show I ever get to stage.’
Heading towards Bond Street Sophie asked a question that had been on her mind.
‘Why didn’t the two of you marry when they introduced civil partnerships? When was that again?’
Accepting it was a fair question, Danny talked through the reasons.
‘The law passed in 2004. Ceremonies began in 2005. And we spoke about it. At the time. But it was strange. Speaking about it. It wasn’t romantic.
It felt academic. We were going to have this thing called a “civil partnership” because the government told us we could.
We couldn’t even call it a marriage. And once you start discussing it, the politics of it, the meaning of it – there’s no spark.
No fire. If we were going to do something we were going to do it because we wanted to.
Not because we were allowed to or because the government permitted it. ’
Sophie asked, ‘What’s changed?’
Danny stopped walking.
‘I changed. I want this.’
Sophie arrived at the most important question of all.
‘Why?’
For the first time Danny formulated his desire into words. ‘Because I want to stand up in front of all the people in my life and say this is the man I love. I don’t want to reach the end of my life never having done that.’
Caught by the simplicity of the reply Sophie fought back her tears.
‘I can’t wait to be there.’