Dear Diary,
It never crossed my mind that I would ever suggest moving in with Eleanor. A casual date is one thing; sharing a roof is quite another.
On Saturday she was waiting for me outside the little terraced house on the outskirts of Bath where we usually take our walks. She opened the front door, stepped aside, and there I was, two large suitcases in hand.
Eleanor was perched in an armchair, scrolling through pictures on her phone. There we were, feeding the ducks in Victoria Park, strolling along the promenade, and on a mushroompicking outing in the New Forest. Six months of knowing each other had slipped by unnoticed.
Wed met on a dating website. She was sixtyone, I sixtythree. Both divorced, adult children living independently, each of us renting our own place.
She liked me straight awaywellread, witty, and with a dry sense of humour. She wasnt looking for a mother for her kids or a housekeeper; she simply wanted a companion with whom to share a laugh.
We met two or three times a week: a matinee at the theatre, a visit to the Tate, coffee in a Camden café, walks through the city, and occasional trips to a friends cottage in the Cotswolds. Eleanor enjoyed this kind of companionshipno strings attached, yet emotionally intimate.
Eleanor, tell me how youre getting on, Stephen asked after one of our early meetings.
Good, quiet, peaceful. Ive lived alone for five years now, so Im used to it, I replied.
Dont you get bored? he pressed.
Sometimes. I have my friends, my daughters visit, and now you.
Thats nice to hear.
After his divorce, Stephen had rented a singleroom flat in an ageing Victorian block. He complained that the landlady was capricious, never doing repairs, and kept raising the rent.
But what can you do? hed sigh. All my belongings went with my exwife. Her parents bought the flat years ago, and the money I spent fixing it is gone.
Did you ever think of buying something for yourself? I asked.
Where would I find enough money for a house? he muttered.
I understood. I owned a threebedroom semidetached house in a respectable suburb of Bristolsomething Id built up through a lifetime of work. My daughters lived on their own, so there was plenty of space.
Still, the thought of inviting Stephen to move in never occurred to me. Dating is one thing; cohabiting is quite another.
On that Saturday, as I opened the door, Stephen stood there, his suitcases at his feet.
Stephen, whats happened? I asked.
Eleanor, may I come in? I need to explain.
We moved to the sitting room. He set the suitcases down by the hallway and sank onto the sofa.
The landlady has decided to sell the flat. She wants me out within a week, he said, eyes downcast.
What now? I asked.
Im out of options. Finding another place isnt easy, and Im flat broke.
I began to see where he was heading.
Eleanor, Ive been thinking. Weve been together for half a year, we know each other well. What if we tried living together?
Together? I echoed.
Yes. Your house is big, theres room. Im not a freeloaderI still work, and Ill chip in for food and other expenses.
We never talked about this.
Why discuss it beforehand? Life has shown us the answer.
A wave of unease washed over me. I wasnt ready for such a sudden turn.
I need to think, I said.
Whats there to think about? We love each other.
Love and cohabitation are different things.
How so?
At our age, we should decide what we want.
Decide what?
In our relationship. If were seeing each other, shouldnt we be together?
I glanced at the suitcases in the hallway. It seemed Stephen had already made a decision for both of us, bringing his belongings and presenting a fait accompli.
What if Im against it?
Against what? Against happiness?
Against someone moving into my home with their stuff without even asking.
Dont be angry, Stephen. Im not doing this maliciously; circumstances just happened.
Circumstances are created, not given.
What do you mean?
That you should have spoken to me first, then brought the suitcases.
Stephen fell silent, pondering.
Alright, lets talk now. I propose we live together.
I refuse.
Why?
Because I like living alone. I enjoy our meetings, but I dont want a shared household.
But why? We get along well.
Were suited for meetings, walks, shared hobbies. Not for daily domestic life.
Whats the difference?
Domestic life is everyday: habits, order, compromise.
So what? We could adapt to each other.
Thats the pointI dont want to adapt. Im fine as I am.
Stephen looked dejected.
What if I suggest we get married?
Why?
To make it proper, by the book.
Stephen, marriage wont change anything. I still dont want to live together.
Then whats the point of us?
The same as before. We meet, we chat, we spend time together.
And then?
We keep meeting.
But thats not serious!
Why not? This arrangement works for me.
It doesnt for me. I want stability.
Which kind of stability? I asked, sitting opposite him.
The ordinary kind. A family life, breakfast together, building plans.
I dont want daily breakfasts with anyone. I dont want to mould my life around someone elses schedule.
But youre alone!
Im not alone. I have my daughters, my friends, and you.
Loneliness and living alone are different.
I dont get the distinction.
The difference is I choose when and with whom I interact. If we lived together, my choices would be limited.
At sixty, shouldnt we think about who will be with us in old age?
I do. It doesnt have to be a husband.
Who then?
My daughters, a carer, social servicesoptions exist.
But that isnt what I want!
It may not be what you imagined, but it works for me.
Stephen stood and paced the room.
So youre saying I should keep renting my flat and see you only on weekends?
Im saying live the way that suits you best. Meet when we both feel like it.
And if I cant afford another flat?
Thats your problem, not mine.
Harsh, Eleanor.
Honest. Im not obliged to solve your housing issues.
But were seeing each other!
Yes, and that doesnt make me responsible for your life.
Stephen sank back onto the sofa, deep in thought.
If I find a flat, will we still talk?
Of course, if we both want to.
And until then, can I stay with you for a while?
No.
Never?
Never.
I realised she meant business. He gathered his suitcases and headed for the door.
So Ill have to look for both a new home and new companionship.
Perhaps.
Eleanor, will you ever regret this?
No.
Stephen left and never called again. I returned to my quiet routine, now without a man at my side. At sixtyone, I value peace more than any relationship, and my freedom outweighs any companionship.
Lesson learned: love does not automatically mean sharing a roof; respecting each others independence is the truest kindness I can offer.