'I was completely in love with her... but my heart was broken': Lembit Opik tells of his romance with a Cheeky girl
By Lembit Opik
Last updated at 11:40 AM on 02nd February 2009
The Geeky Boy and the Cheeky Girl – to many Lembit Opik’s romance with Gabriela Irimia was something of a joke. In this touching two-part series, he tells for the first time of the deep feelings he had – and how his life was shattered when she left.
The year 2008 was the worst year of my adult life. One former fiancée wrote a book about me. The other told me, through a newspaper headline, that she’d lost our baby.
My best friend died without warning. And to round it off, I nearly died myself. But somewhere on a journey in which I lost my heart, I found my soul. It is this that has motivated me to write. Until now, I have seen no purpose in responding to the mountain of discussion on these matters.
However, I have started on a new and remarkable journey in my life. I sense it may be instructive, even encouraging, to others to relate a year of crises and solitude, leading ultimately to a kind of epiphany that I’m still trying to interpret.
Lembit Opik and Gabriela Irimia at the height of their romance
The year had started brilliantly. In January I was on top of the world. Work was good, I felt physically great and people were actually being nice to me.
Cheeky Gabriela was the love of my life. We’d met accidentally in 2006, during an infinitely long evening in a West London studio after a channel Five programme called The All Star Talent show.
The Cheeky Girls and I were among celebrities who revealed a secret talent to three judges. I played harmonica, which I’ve done for 20 years now, and the Cheeky Girls performed a ballet. I think it was part of Swan Lake. Neither of us won; I came third out of six in my heat and they came fourth out of six in theirs. All the same, it was a lot of fun to take part.
Our very first meeting was at the final ‘wrap’ party. I had never seen either of the girls before but, of course, I knew of them. Funnily enough, it was Monica who first came over and talked to me at the bar. Then she drifted off to talk to some other people and some time later Gabriela approached. They looked incredibly similar and I was worried I’d offend them by mixing them up. They were dressed differently but for a while I wasn’t sure who was who.
Lembit and Gabriela leaving a Cheeky Girls party where she was toasting to six years in the music business and their engagement
I really enjoyed talking to Gabriela. The conversation was lively and varied. She wanted to learn more about my job as an MP, she talked about her life growing up in Romania and being a pop singer. I was impressed by her range and depth. She was clearly well educated and intelligent. I also found her extremely attractive and was flattered that she wanted to spend so much time chatting with me.
It had been an interesting first meeting and I was intrigued by her. I gave her my telephone number but I had no expectation that she would call me. To my surprise, she did. We chatted over the phone and she expressed an interest in science and in museums. I’m very interested in science myself – my father was a physicist and my grandfather an astronomer. I have a passion for both, so it seemed natural to offer to take her to the Science Museum in London.
Two weeks after our initial meeting we went to see the Space and Aviation exhibition at the museum. On reflection, I can see it’s quite an odd place to take a lady I hardly knew on what amounted to a first date. I suppose I wasn’t thinking about it in that way. I just thought she’d be interested – and evidently she was.
Lembit Opik MP out walking in Wales near Newtown as he reflects on the events of the past year
Every few minutes she had to stop and sign autographs because people recognised her. She was gracious and I didn’t mind. I knew my place. She was the glamorous one, not me. Afterwards we had a drink in the Westminster Arms pub – a popular watering hole for politicians because you can hear the division bell from there – as I was going back to the Commons to work.
Frankly, I had no expectation of anything romantic happening between us, although I must admit that I was secretly hopeful. When, two months later, we became more than just friends, cynics derided our alliance. To them it just had to be a stunt, after all I was 41 and she was 24. They cited my quirky reputation and wonky face as evidence against me, although, surprisingly, I received nothing but support from my fellow MPs. People in Parliament were curious and there was some gentle teasing but no one was offensive or malicious.
And Gabi? Of course there were people who felt she was clearly too attractive and sexy to be smart. But smart she was, and more intelligent than those who put her down. Indeed, she’s rather accomplished. She taught me a lot about Romanian history and politics. She could talk knowledgeably about so many subjects – including classical ballet, dance, philosophy and her experience growing up under the politics of Soviet Eastern Europe. She is also a skilled chess player and a very witty lady.
Gabi was different to the kind of women I had dated previously. She was flamboyant. People had to take her on her own terms. She never toned down her dressing style, make-up or anything. I had no problem with any of that, or even the publicity hype that went with her. All that mattered was that she made me feel whole. To me, that was the definition of loving someone and, to be frank, I was completely in love.
Lembit and Gabriella during a visit to Hope House to sing karaoke with the children
She was living with her sister, mother and stepfather in East Sussex. We met up as often as our work allowed. I’ve had a private pilot’s licence since 1988 and own a quarter share in a four-seater plane. So sometimes I would fly to Lydd Airport in Kent to pick her up and then travel on to Wales for the weekend. It cut a six-hour journey to 90 minutes. She loved flying so much that I bought her some lessons. She was a natural.
We both enjoyed travelling and went on holiday to various European countries, including Estonia. We also made a couple of trips to Romania. I felt very drawn to her. She fitted into my world without a hitch and was very supportive of my work. She attended some constituency events, came to listen to me in the Commons and attended a couple of Lib Dem dinners. We had a very deep interaction. I felt lifted when with her and she was strong enough to stand up to me.
Of course, the Press went wild. It was a perfect cliche: ‘The Geeky Boy and his Cheeky Girl.’ Everyone had an opinion and I was overwhelmed by the attention. Inside that media maelstrom we created our private space – inspirational and hopeful. Their negative assumptions versus our positive connection was an almost monochrome contrast.
A year later, even the most cynical had to revise their view. I bear no grudge, for the job of the Press is ultimately economic survival above all else. Eventually they had to reflect a public mood that preferred to celebrate our curious liaison, rather than to damn it.
Lembit remembers one of the couple's happier moments when proposing to Gabriela in Rome by the Trevi fountain
On March 2 last year, Gabriela gave me a photo album for my 43rd birthday. In it was the visual record of our times together – the beginning, the public poses, the private moments, the humour and the glamour. She turned to the empty pages. ‘These are the pages we will fill together,’ she said.
I had already decided she was the ideal woman for me and I knew there and then that I wanted to marry her.
I decided to make my ‘big ask’ in Rome, which in my opinion is the most romantic city in the world. In a moment of extravagance, I’d even upgraded us to business class for the flight over because – as they say in the advert – she was worth it. We played chess as the British Airways staff treated us like royalty. That night, special and close, set the scene for my plans next day.
But the next day did not go quite as smoothly as I had planned.
We had agreed to be filmed for a reality TV series called Living With The Cheeky Girls for the Living TV channel. I expected the filming to take a few hours. In the event, the crew turned up at nine in the morning and stayed until after ten at night. By the time they left it was late but I decided to go ahead and pop the question anyway. Being filmed all day meant that, for me, our day in the city was not quite as relaxed and carefree as I would have liked.
All the same, I wanted to ask her in private with no one else present for my actual proposal. It would be wrong to turn such a special occasion into a media circus.
Midnight at Rome’s Trevi Fountain was breathtakingly romantic. Lit from below and glinting like liquid crystal, the sound of water added to the atmosphere.
I was just about to propose when some random man came up and tried to sell us a half dead rose and a Polaroid photo. He was annoying, I thought, but it was funny too. For five euros he took a rubbish picture of us standing in front of a grey wall, apparently oblivious to the photogenic qualities of the fountain itself. Then, finally, we were alone.
Heart racing, I got down on one knee and asked: ‘Will you marry me? I don’t mind if you say no, but only say yes if you mean it for ever.’
She looked excited. I asked again. ‘OK, I will,’ she said.
I was so surprised. ‘Seriously? Do you really mean it?’ I blurted.
‘Yes, I WILL!’
I cried with gratitude and good fortune. She phoned Monica as I sat next to her taking it in. She was excited and laughing with delight. I felt like the king of the world. No moment could have been happier.
I produced the ring as I proposed, in traditional style, and put it on her finger. I had already spent some time looking at rings great and small but kept coming back to the fact that I knew she liked Tiffany. Tiffany, I should say, doesn’t give refunds so I took quite a risk when I bought it in Selfridges. I found one with a clean modern design that I hoped she’d like – a diamond set in white gold. The stone was contained within the shape on the ring, so I thought it wouldn’t catch and get in her way when she was on stage.
Reality kicked back in the following day. The only thing that marred my joy that Gabi had said yes was my own concern that maybe she hadn’t fully meant it. But soon it was clear to me she did mean it, and a morning of sightseeing was mixed with feelings of excitement at the change of status of our relationship.
Sadly, our engagement lasted for just four months.
Initially everything was wonderful but as time went on Gabi’s work and my work kept eating into our time together. We had never lived in the same home, but she often stayed over with me in London or Wales. As spring became summer, the filming for Living TV continued. It was a happy time but also a bit frustrating because when I did see her, there were usually cameras in tow.
One such evening stood out above the rest. On June 27, Gabi and I met in London. She bubbled with her usual effervescence as for six hours the lenses recorded everything, including dinner in Kennington’s Lobster Pot restaurant. At last the film crew left and we were grateful to close the door to my home that night without having to do a second take.
Next day I was off to watch New Zealand beat England in cricket at Lord’s, and Gabi was off shopping with Monica. But we felt so close we arranged to meet briefly prior to my heading off on another political pilgrimage: this time to the Lib Dem annual dinner at Chippenham in Wiltshire. She looked radiant. As we sat talking and laughing, I felt hypnotised by her amazing grace.
As the train pulled out, she stood on the platform, waved, turned and shrugged her shoulders, careless and beguiling. I loved her more than ever – not knowing she was pregnant with our child.
And then it all went wrong. On June 30, Monica and Gabi were performing at the Diversity Ball, an event that celebrated the multi-cultural talents and backgrounds of Britain’s citizens, in London’s posh Park Plaza Riverbank Hotel. It was a spectacular event and I was proud that the Cheeky Girls agreed to take part in this mainstay of the London socio-political calendar.
Afterwards I’d hoped Gabi would stay over, but she said she had to go home with her sister.
The girls and their stepfather, Ray, dropped me off at my London home. I wanted to see more of her and was disheartened that she couldn’t stay. I don’t mind admitting that I was quite frustrated that she couldn’t. She was very clear about it. She said she had to go back for a meeting the next day.
Feeling a wrench in my heart I slammed the car door hard. It hurt to see her leave.
It seemed like a minor spat, but in retrospect it was fateful. Perhaps I should have been more understanding, more patient. I have often thought about that night, playing it back again and again. That was our last evening together and I just hadn’t seen it coming.
You might expect such a colourful and passionate relationship to have ended in a blaze of emotions but the main characteristic of that period was not a great series of rows, just a deafening silence.
I was keen to talk things through. I recognise that, for better or worse, it’s always been a trait of mine to want to discuss problems and see if they can be resolved. But she made it clear she wanted space away from me, to think things through. I felt I had to respect her wish.
All through the next weeks I hoped and waited for the chance to have a face-to-face meeting and work through the issues. Perhaps innocently, I felt that we were so close this was going to be quite possible. After all, she hadn’t said she wanted us to finish, just that she wanted time to think.
Only later, when the Living reality show was broadcast, did I realise the pressure she’d been under at home. She had clearly been struggling with disapproval from her family over the engagement. In one scene they were seen questioning her decision to agree to marry me.
In the film she looked very subdued. I had not realised that Gabi was being so torn between loyalties. I’m not sure that I could have done anything to change the outcome of our relationship, but obviously I’d unwittingly made the situation worse.
Even though we were not seeing each other, I still hoped for reconciliation. It’s important to emphasise that this relationship hadn’t been a game to me. I was in it for the long run. This was the woman I wanted to grow old with. The ring on her finger was for real. So I held a lonely vigil, waiting and hoping she’d end my solitary confinement.
It was hard to know what to do. I admit that I felt like bombarding her with letters and phone calls. But I kept my attempts to contact her discreet. I worked as hard as I could in the office and after work sought some quantum of solace in the company of friends.
I’d be lying if I denied I spent week after week in this state, still believing we could find a way back to each other. But on July 20 came a bombshell that blew my state of mind to pieces.
Alerted by a concerned friend, I stood in a newsagent’s shop, staring at a Sunday paper front page. Its words, more than any previous revelation, taught me what it means to be heartbroken...
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