April 12
Its strange how the idea of moving in together never crossed my mind until it was thrust upon me. Meeting is one thing, cohabitation quite another. On Saturday, I waited for Eleanor outside the flat shed offered for our usual walk. When she opened the door, a smile spread across her face, and I was met with the sight of two bulky suitcases.
Eleanor was perched in her armchair, scrolling through photographs on her phone. There we were, feeding ducks in HydePark, strolling along the Thames, and on a mushroompicking outing in the NewForest. Six months of acquaintance had slipped by almost unnoticed.
We’d met on a dating website. She was sixtyone, I sixtythree. Both divorced, adult children living independently, our lives already settled in separate houses.
Eleanor struck me at oncewellread, articulate, with a dry sense of humour. I wasnt looking for a housekeeper or a mother for my grownup kids; I merely wanted conversation with an interesting person.
We met two or three times a week: the theatre, an art exhibition, a cosy café, walks through the city, trips to a friends cottage in the Cotswolds. Eleanor liked this companionshipno strings attached, yet emotionally close.
Eleanor, tell me how you live, I asked after one of our early meetups.
Quietly, peacefully. Ive been on my own for five years now, and Im used to it.
Dont you get bored?
Sometimes. I have friends, my daughters visit, and now theres you.
Thats nice to hear.
After my divorce, I rented a singlebedroom flat in an ageing block in East London. The landlady was notoriously temperamental, never fixing the boiler and habitually raising the rent.
But what can you do? Id mutter to myself. I have no property of my own. Everything went to my exwife after the split. My parents once bought them a flat, and the renovations I funded there are now a lost cause.
Ever thought of buying something for yourself? shed asked once.
How am I supposed to scrape together enough for a house at my age?
Eleanor understood. She owned a threebedroom flat in a respectable neighbourhood in South Kensingtona place shed paid for throughout her working life. Her daughters had long moved out, leaving plenty of spare rooms.
Still, the thought of asking me to move into her flat never entered her mind. Dating was one thing; living together was another entirely.
Saturday arrived. I knocked, suitcase in hand, and asked, May I come in? Ive got something to explain.
Inside, I set the bags down in the hallway and sank onto the sofa.
The landlady has given me a months noticeshe wants to sell the flat, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Now I have nowhere to go, and finding another place at my age isnt easy, especially without savings.
Eleanors expression shifted as she began to grasp the implication.
Eleanor, Ive been thinking. Weve been together for six months, we know each other well. What if we tried living together?
Together? she repeated, surprised.
Yes. Your flat is spacious, Im not a freeloaderI still work, and Ill chip in for food and utilities.
But we never discussed this, she protested.
Why bring it up beforehand? Life has already pointed us in that direction.
I sensed her unease. She wasnt prepared for such a sudden turn.
I need to think about it, she said.
Whats there to think about? We love each other, I replied.
Love and cohabitation are different things, she countered.
Why different? At our age, we should decide what we want.
Decide what?
In a relationship. If were dating, shouldnt we be living together?
She glanced at the suitcases standing in the hallway, as if they were proof that Id already taken matters into my own hands.
What if Im against it? she asked.
Against what? Against happiness?
Against someone moving into my home with their belongings without even asking permission.
Dont be upset, Eleanor. Im not doing this out of spite. Its just how circumstances have unfolded.
Circumstances dont just happen. People create them.
What do you mean?
That I should have spoken to you first, then brought the suitcases.
Silence fell. I weighed my options.
Fine, lets talk. I propose we live together.
I refuse.
Why?
Because I enjoy living alone. I cherish our meetings, but I dont want to share a roof.
But why? Were compatible.
Were compatible for dates, walks, shared hobbiesnot for daily domestic life.
Whats the difference?
Domestic life is an everyday routinehabits, order, compromises.
So what? We could adapt to each other.
Thats the point. I dont want to adapt. Im content as I am.
I looked crestfallen.
What if I suggested marriage?
Why would you?
Because it would make everything proper, socially acceptable.
Stephen, marriage wont change anything. I still dont want to live under the same roof.
So whats the point of us then?
The same as before: we meet, we talk, we spend time together.
Whats next?
We keep meeting.
Thats not serious!
Why isnt it? This arrangement works for me.
It doesnt for me. I want stability.
What kind of stability do you need? I asked, sitting opposite her.
The usual family stabilitywaking up with a partner, planning a future together.
I dont want to breakfast with anyone every day. I dont want to mould my life around someone elses schedule.
But youre lonely!
Im not lonely. I have my daughters, friends, and now you. Loneliness and living alone are different.
I dont see the distinction.
The difference is I choose when and with whom to converse. If we lived together, my choices would shrink.
Eleanor, at sixty you should think about who will be by your side in old age.
Im thinking. It doesnt have to be a man.
Then who?
My daughters, a carer, social servicesthere are options.
Thats not what I had in mind!
It may not be what you wanted, but it works for me.
I rose and paced the room.
So youre saying I should keep renting my flat and see you on weekends?
Live however you like. Meet when we both feel like it.
What if I cant afford another flat?
Thats your problem, not mine.
Harsh, Stephen.
Honest. Im not obligated to solve your housing issues.
But were dating!
Were dating, and that doesnt make me responsible for your life.
I sank back onto the sofa, thinking.
If I find a new place, will we still talk?
Sure, if we both want to.
And until then, can I stay at yours for a while?
No.
Never?
Never.
It became clear she was serious. I gathered my suitcases and headed for the door.
So Ill have to look for both a new home and perhaps new companionship.
Maybe.
Eleanor, will you regret this?
No.
I left without looking back. She never called again. Eleanor slipped back into her tranquil routine, valuing peace above any relationship and freedom above any partnership.
Looking back, I realise that love without a shared life can still be genuine, but honesty demands that both parties understand where the line is drawn. My lesson: never assume a partner will interpret your unspoken wishes the way you do; clear conversation is the only bridge between affection and expectation.
