Sam and Felipe

Blimey, has it been that long? Not that I’m back or anything… but there is a story that has been in my mind for the last week or so, and today is the day for telling that story.

Around fifteen years ago, long before I thought of conducting ceremonies, I was living in London next door to Sam. He was the same age as me and we quickly became good neighbourly friends. Sam was affectionate, impractical, easy-going and HIV positive. He lived with Felipe, his polar opposite and the love of his life. They had been together for eighteen months, and both loved to tell of the moment when Sam’s big blue eyes met Felipe’s deep brown ones over a nightclub bar and they both knew, they just knew, they were smitten.

The trouble was that Felipe’s visa was running out and he was facing the possibility of having to return to Argentina. He couldn’t bear to leave Sam, worrying in particular that Sam might become ill when he wasn’t there to look after him. They didn’t want to move to Argentina either; Felipe described it as ‘horribly Catholic and homophobic’, and Sam was receiving good health care here. After much discussion they decided the only realistic option was to find a British woman who was willing to marry Felipe. They had a few thousand pounds in savings, and hoped this would be sufficient incentive. So, discreetly, they began to ask around.

I was there, at one of their impromptu dinner parties, when Sam asked his best friend Annie whether she or her girlfriend Laura knew anyone who might be willing to marry Felipe for a single down payment. Annie and Laura looked at each other in the way of people who can speak without talking, and an instant decision was made.

‘I’ll do it. And you can forget about the money,’ said Laura.

Annie nodded.

We all sat there, open-mouthed.

‘What?’ said Laura, aggressively. ‘It’s no big deal. People marry people they don’t like all the time.’

That made us laugh, as Laura and Felipe were great mates.

‘And then, after a few years, when it’s safe for you, we can get divorced. OK?’

She wanted us to accept it and move on, not make a fuss, treat it as a simple favour, as if she’d offered to be the one to go to the garage on the late-night chocolate run.

Over the next few weeks the plans were laid. Sam soon confided in me that he felt terrible about the whole idea of Felipe marrying someone else, even Laura.

‘He should be able to marry ME, Zin, dammit. And in a way it’s worse that it’s Laura. I wish it could be someone we didn’t know, who would just take the money. I know I should be grateful, but it all feels so wrong.’

His chin wobbled and I put my arms around him.

‘Don’t worry, Sam. It’ll be you he’s really marrying. We all know that, whatever the words are on the day.’

He sniffed and wiped his eyes. ‘Zinnia, will you be my girlfriend?’

‘Will I what??’

‘Not like that, silly. I mean on the day. I’m going to be the best man, obviously, and Annie will be the other witness. But I need a girlfriend. Someone whose hand I can hold, for moral support.’

‘Well, sure, I’d be glad to. But why not Annie?’

‘We’re too close. We talked about it. She’s not really telling me how she feels, because she truly wants to help, but I know it’s difficult for her too. So it would be hopeless, we’d end up sabotaging the whole thing. We can’t afford to do that. She’s going to ask Ross.’

I nodded. Ross, a large and stoical Scotsman with a dry wit, would be good in the role.

‘Hey, Sam, you know what, this could even be fun. Are you asking anyone else?’

‘No, just the six of us. Then we’re going to have a HUGE party for everyone, back here. I can’t bear the idea of lots of people at the wedding part because it’s such a bloody farce. But afterwards, when we’ve done it, then we can celebrate properly, you know? Then it’ll be me and Felipe.’

As a comparative outsider, I enjoyed most of the experience enormously. The six-person trip to the Oxfam shop to pick our outfits, planning the party, putting our minds together to subvert the bureaucratic requirements on Felipe and Laura – it was all highly entertaining for me. And I remember there was a lot of bureaucracy. For example, because of Felipe’s nationality, Felipe and Laura had to attend several intimidating interviews to ‘prove’ their devotion to each other, and Felipe had to arrange to change his postal address to Laura’s from the date of the wedding, which was a nuisance for them all.

On the bus to the registry office Sam was subdued. We were sitting together, Ross and Annie chatting quietly behind us, Felipe and Laura across the aisle. Sam was sighing a Beaufort scale sigh on every third breath. Time to do something about this, I thought.

‘SUCH a pity you couldn’t fix the car this morning, darling,’ I said, fluttering my eyelashes at him. ‘You’re usually SO clever with mechanical things.’

He looked at me, the beginnings of a smile on his face as he caught my direction.

‘Well, you see,’ he said, mock-sententiously, ‘if I’d had time to get a new big widget and hammer it in, we would have been back on the road. But I’ll do it when we get back.’

‘Oh, darling, you are such a hero. Will you have time to fix the roof as well?’

‘No problem, honey. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. Just make sure my dinner’s on the table.’

‘Of course I will, don’t I always? I’ll make your favourite chicken casserole.’

He put his arm around my shoulder proprietorially, and we giggled together. The role play was feeble, the jokes lame, but it served to diffuse the tension, and we kept it up all the way to the registry office waiting room. Ross and Annie caught on and started their own version, which helped. As we waited to be called, Ross and Sam were discussing ways to manage an errant girlfriend, while Annie and I were talking about how to keep a kitchen really clean. I was amazed by how much we could all find to say on these subjects when we had so little personal experience to draw on.

When we were called in for the ceremony Sam clutched my hand again. The room was municipally pleasant, with dark wood panelling halfway up the walls, a flowered carpet and frosted glass windows. The registrar stood at a table in the middle of the room and called Felipe and Laura to stand before her. The rest of us took our seats in the front row of chairs.

Sam was trembling beside me and his grip was very tight, but the service was mercifully brief. I think the hardest part for Sam was when the registrar told Felipe that he could kiss the bride. Felipe and Laura shared a brief dry kiss, then a big supportive hug. I whispered to Sam that it was over, done now, but his face was tense and unhappy as he applauded politely.

The registrar asked the witnesses to sign the book. Sam jumped up, glad of something to do. He and Annie signed as required, and then the registrar suggested that we might like to take photographs of the ‘happy couple’. We were prepared for this so Ross and I took out cameras and clicked away as Annie and Sam stood to one side.

‘Now how about one with the couple and their witnesses?’ said the registrar.

I’d never seen Sam move so fast. He was at Felipe’s side, beaming at last, and Annie was next to Laura, hand in hand. Ross and I raised cameras to eyes, but the registrar intervened, sounding puzzled.

‘It’s usually the other way round,’ she said.

My heart sank. Had we fallen at the last fence? But Sam and Annie, bless them, were acting well, slapping their foreheads and grinning at their own stupidity while calmly swapping places. Then the registrar offered to take photos of all six of us, and we smiled steadfastly on, as I thought to myself that a woman, like a man, may ‘smile, and smile, and be a villain’.

Finally it was all over. We stayed in role on the bus home, just in case of immigration spies, but with the deed finally done we were much more relaxed, looking forward to a drink and some food back at Sam and Felipe’s in the lull before the party that afternoon. When we got there, Sam and Felipe disappeared into their bedroom and Annie and Laura went into the living room. Ross and I headed for the kitchen to give them all some space.

I can picture Ross sitting in Sam and Felipe’s kitchen that day, an open can of beer in one hand, a half-eaten breadstick in the other.

‘Zinnia,’ he asked me, ‘do you think they’ll ever let gay people marry each other?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I hope so. They should do. But I can’t see it happening any time soon.’

Of course it still hasn’t happened. The ‘civil partnership’ is not the same as marriage. And if any British person wants to make a commitment to someone from another country, particularly if they come from outside the EU, there will still be many immigration hoops to jump through. But the civil partnership seems to me to be a big step in the right direction. It would have made life easier for Sam and Felipe because, despite all the hassles they would inevitably have faced, they could have worked towards their own commitment without having to involve Laura and Annie and the rest of us in a nerve-racking charade. So I wanted to tell their story today, when the first civil partnerships will be celebrated in England, because I think that although there is much work still to do, the progress these partnerships represent is truly something to celebrate. I lost touch with Sam and Felipe soon after I left London, but I’d bet serious money that they’re still together, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re celebrating too.