by Liam Livings
“I’m Derek, Nice to Meet You” had shaken my hand so tightly, I thought it would break, before enthusiastically saying he had been looking forward to meeting Sky’s man, man to man, for ages. We spent the whole afternoon as they reminisced over Sky’s childhood, pulling out family photo albums aplenty. All the time Sky had joined in with the memories, quietly shrugging to me and nodding with his parents.
On the way back to London that night, we had both concluded the Higher Ones had done a very thorough job with backstory when they set Sky up as Miriam and Derek’s son.
Now, they both smiled broadly as they saw Mum and me.
They walked closer to us. Miriam kissed my cheek, and Derek gave me another bone-crushing handshake. I reached to squeeze Sky’s shoulder. He smiled at me as his mum wiped his face with a white hanky with an embroidery edge that she’d taken from her handbag.
Amy looked around us all, holding her hat’s brim out of the way so she could scan the room. “Everyone ready? No last-minute loo stops? They’re just there.” She pointed to the gents on one side and the ladies behind where Mum stood.
Everyone shook their heads.
Mum squeezed my arm as it was looped through hers. Sky’s mum did the same to him. Sky’s dad scuttled ahead of us into the ceremony room with Amy by the hand. The music started, and we walked into the circular ceremony room, accompanied by our mums. As we reached the centre of the room, I looked at the walls, with names of past councillors on the walls. I caught Amy’s eye. Next to her sat, in top-to-toe bright purple—hat, summer scarf, dress—was her friend Pat. I had insisted we invite her. All blame for the Bobby incidents was allocated to nothing as trifling as crystals, tarot cards, or fate, but very obviously, in my mind, to Kylie, the useless guardian angel temp who’d been in charge at the time. Pat smiled and waved at me. Next to them was my boss, John, sitting in the semicircle of dark wooden seats behind us. John wore an Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark T-shirt under a smart jacket, and he flashed it when I looked at him.
Sky nodded at his dad, who was seated on one side. Mum unlooped her arm, kissed me, and left me standing in the middle of the room, with Sky next to me.
Sky wore a bright blue suit, white shirt, and matching blue tie. I’d gone for a more subdued dark grey suit with chalk stripes, a dark tie, and a flowery blue shirt. My right arm was still in plaster, so I draped that side of the jacket over the cast. I caught Mum’s eye, and she put two thumbs up back at us, and all the traipsing along Oxford Street, all the dressing and undressing to try on endless suits in endless changing rooms was all worth it.
Sky adjusted my tie, smiling at me.
The Registrar coughed, the room fell silent, and he began. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Islington Town Hall for the marriage of Richard James Sullivan and Sky Smith.” He paused and looked around the hall. “This place in which we are now met has been sanctioned according to law for the celebration of marriage. We’re here to honour their commitment to each other. We are here to celebrate with them and for them.”
I stared at Sky, and he wiped a tear from my cheek. He smiled at me and wiped a tear from his own cheek with the back of his sleeve.
The Registrar asked us if we were all right to continue. We both nodded, and he did the bit about any lawful impediment to the marriage and asked anyone to declare it if there was.
We waited with bated breath. The congregation looked from side to side.
I bit my lip.
The Registrar nodded, made eye contact with us, and then continued. “Marriage joins two people in the circle of its love. It is a physical and emotional joining promised for life. When two people are joined in marriage, it creates a spirit that binds them closer than words or deeds ever can. Marriage is a promise in the hearts of two people, taking a lifetime to fulfil.” He explained we had to declare that we knew of no lawful reason why we couldn’t be joined in marriage to each other.
I said, “I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I, Richard James Sullivan, may not be joined in marriage to Sky Smith.”
More tears rolled down my cheek.
Sky blinked. Then, repeating the Registrar’s words, he said his declaration.
The Registrar gently turned us to face each other, explained we were now moving on to the formal marriage vows.
I said mine, concentrating very hard on repeating what the Registrar said.
Then Sky said, “I call upon these persons here present, to witness that I, Sky Smith, take you, Richard James Sullivan, to be my lawful wedded husband, to love and to cherish from this day forward.”
The Registrar said, “Exchanging of rings is the traditional way to seal the contract you have made. The ring is an unbroken circle, symbolising unending and everlasting love, which will be an outward sign to others of the promise you have made to each other.”
John stepped forward, a broad smile on his face, he held a red velvet cushion, the rings placed on top.
Holding the ring on Sky’s finger, remembering the boat restaurant in Paris, and the pate, and all the things we’d been through, I slowly repeated the Registrar’s words. “I give you this ring as a symbol of our love. All that I am I give to you. All that I have, I share with you. I promise to love you, to be faithful and loyal, in good times and in bad. This ring may remind you forever of the words we have spoken today.”
Sky repeated his words from the Registrar, holding my ring on my finger, staring into my eyes, blinking quickly to stop too many tears escaping his eyes.
The Registrar ended with “It gives me great pleasure to tell you that you are now legally husband and husband. Congratulations.”
John enveloped us both in his arms, telling us how happy he was and how we made a lovely couple.
The council chamber echoed with our friends’ and families’ clapping and whooping.
I kissed Sky, holding his hands, closing my eyes as the cheering continued to fill the room.
Sky squeezed my hand. “All right, husband?”
I opened my eyes and nodded. “I am if you are, husband.”
So, if someone tells you they don’t believe in fate, destiny, or guardian angels, tell them my story of how I not only met my guardian angel, but that I’m now married to him. And the next time you have a run of bad luck, even if you don’t really believe all this guardian angel stuff, it might put a smile on your face if you think about how your guardian angel is on a sabbatical, learning to look after you better, but in the meantime they’ve got a temp in, who’s only doing the bare minimum. Hopefully your permanent guardian angel will return, and you’ll have even better luck than you had before.
And if you don’t believe any of this guardian angel malarkey anyway, I still hope you enjoyed my story about meeting my perfect partner in the most unlikely place.
Richard
xxx
About Liam Livings
Eight things about Liam Livings, one is untrue, can you guess which one? Email him with your answers.
He lives, with his partner, where east London ends and becomes nine-carat-gold- highlights-and-fake-tan-west-Essex.
He was born in Hampshire with two club feet (look it up, it’s not nice) and problem ears, needing grommets: this meant he was in plaster from toe to groin until he was two, and had to swim with a cap and olive oil soaked lamb’s wool over his ears—olive oil bought from a health food shop, before it was sold by supermarkets.
He started writing when he was fourteen: sat in French lessons during a French exchange trip, for want of anything better to do, he wrote pen portraits about his French exchange’s teachers. He wrote for his school’s creative writing magazine and still writes a diary every day.
He grew up on the edge of the New Forest—not in the New Forest mind, but on the edge. Now it’s a national park, it’s so much more glamorous. He went to uni in London and never really left.
One evening, flicking through the channels, he stumbled across the film, Saving Private Ryan, and it
took twenty minutes of not seeing Goldie Hawn in an army uniform, before he realised it wasn’t actually the film, Private Benjamin.
When not writing, he also enjoys baking.
He avoided any sport at secondary school by having an orthodontist appointment between the age of fourteen and sixteen, and when he was old enough to drive, just drove home instead of playing rugby/hockey/whatever.
He is a car geek, his particular passion is old French classics, and his every day car is what is popularly referred to as a ‘hairdressers car’ a Mazda MX5 in powder blue—Muriel.
Connect with Liam
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www.liamlivings.com/blog
www.facebook.com/liam.livings
twitter.com/LiamLivings
www.goodreads.com/author/show/7424798.Liam_Livings
Connect with Love Lane Books
http://www.lovelanebooks.co.uk
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