Id never thought of suggesting that Ellen move in with me. Dating is one thing; sharing a roof is quite another.
On a Saturday, Ellen was waiting for me outside the flat shed let me use for a stroll. She opened the door, gave me a hug, and there I was, standing with two hefty suitcases.
Ellen was lounging in an armchair, scrolling through photos on her phone. Here we are feeding the ducks in HydePark, she said, pointing at one. And here were wandering along the Serpentine, and heres that mushroompicking trip we took in the NewForest. Six months of knowing each other had slipped by unnoticed.
Wed met on a dating site. She was sixtyone, I was sixtythree. Both divorced, adult children living independently, each of us renting our own place.
Simon had appealed to her straight awaywellread, witty, and with a dry sense of humour. He wasnt looking for a mother for his kids or a housekeeper; he simply wanted the company of an interesting person.
We met two or three times a week: the theatre, an art gallery, a café, wandering around town, trips to a friends cottage in the Cotswolds. Ellen liked this lowkey companionship, the intimacy without any heavy obligations.
Ellen, tell me how youre getting on, I asked after one of our early meetings.
Fine, quiet, peaceful. Ive been on my own for five years now, so Im used to it.
Dont you get bored?
Sometimes. But I have friends, my daughters visit, and now youre in the picture.
Glad to hear that.
After his divorce, Simon had taken a studio flat in an older block in EastLondon. He complained about a cantankerous landlady who never carried out repairs and kept raising the rent.
Nothing I can do about that, hed say. All the furniture went to my exwife. Her parents bought the place, and the work I did with my own money? No ones going to recognise that.
Ever thought about buying something for yourself?
Where would I find the cash for a house?
Ellen understood. She owned a threebedroom flat in a decent suburb of Croydon, a property shed paid for over a lifetime of work. Her daughters lived elsewhere, so she had plenty of room.
But even with that space, Ellen never imagined asking Simon to move in. Dating was one thing; cohabiting was another matter entirely.
That Saturday, when Ellen opened the door and saw my suitcases, she asked, Simon, whats happened?
Im sorry, can I come in? Ill explain.
We stepped into the hallway. I dropped the bags by the entrance and sat on the sofa.
The landlady has decided to sell the flat, I said. She wants me out within a week.
So what now? she replied.
Now Ive got nowhere to go. Its not easy to find another place at my age, and Im short of cash.
Ellens eyes widened as she began to see where I was heading.
Ellen, Ive been thinkingour relationship is serious. Weve been seeing each other for half a year, we know each other well. How about we try living together?
Living together? she echoed, surprised.
Yes. Your threebedroom flat has plenty of space. Im not a freeloaderI still work, and Ill chip in for food and the bills.
But we never talked about this before.
Why bother planning in advance? Life has already shown us the answer.
Ellen felt flustered. She wasnt ready for such a turn.
I need to think about it.
Whats there to think about? We love each other.
Love and living together arent the same.
Why not? At our age, its time to decide.
Decide what?
Where this is going. If were meeting, then we should be together.
She glanced at the suitcases in the hallway. It was clear Id already made my mind up, brought my things, and was laying down the facts.
What if Im against it?
Against what? Against happiness?
Against someone arriving with their belongings without even asking permission.
Ellen, dont be angry. Im not doing this out of spite. The circumstances just turned out that way.
The circumstances dont happen themselves, people create them.
What do you mean?
That you should have spoken to me first, then hauled the suitcases.
I fell silent, weighing my options.
Fine, lets talk now. Im proposing we live together.
I refuse.
Why?
Because I enjoy living alone. I like our current arrangement, but I dont want to share a roof.
But why? We get along wonderfully.
Were great for dates, walks, shared hobbies. Not for shared domestic life.
Whats the difference?
Domestic life is daytoday. Its habits, routines, compromises.
So?
You could try to adjust to each other, but I dont want to. Im comfortable as I am.
I looked down, a hint of disappointment in my eyes.
What if I suggested we get married?
Why would we?
Because it would make everything proper, civilised.
Simon, marriage wont change anything. I still dont want to live with you.
But then whats the point of us?
Its the same as before. We meet, we talk, we spend time together.
And then?
We keep meeting.
But thats not serious!
Its serious enough for me.
I want stability.
What kind of stability are you after? I asked, sitting opposite her.
The ordinary kind. A family life. Waking up with a partner, making plans together.
I dont want to share breakfast every day. 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 solo are different.
I dont see the difference.
The difference is that now I choose when and with whom I interact. If we lived together, Id lose that choice.
Ellen, at sixty you should be thinking about who will be by your side in old age.
Im thinking, but it doesnt have to be a man.
Then who?
My daughters, a carer, social services. There are options.
But thats not what I want!
It may not be what you expected, but it works for me.
I got up and paced the room.
So youre saying I should keep renting my flat and see you only on weekends?
Im saying you live however you like, and we meet when we both feel like it.
What if I cant afford to rent a place?
Thats your problem, not mine.
Thats harsh, Ellen.
Its honest. Im not obligated to solve your housing issue.
But were together!
Were together. And what? That doesnt make me responsible for your entire life.
I sank back onto the sofa, thinking.
If I find a flat, will we still talk?
Sure, if we both want to.
Until then, can I crash at your place for a bit?
No.
Not at all?
No, not at all.
I realised she was serious. I gathered my suitcases and headed for the door.
So Ill have to look for a new home and perhaps a new relationship.
Perhaps.
Ellen, will you ever regret this?
No.
I walked out and never called again. Ellen slipped back into her quiet life without a partner. At sixty, she valued peace above romance and cherished her independence more than any companionship.
What would you have done in her shoes? Share your thoughts in the comments, and give a like if you agree.
