Eleanor Whitby never once thought of asking Thomas Harper to move in with her. Seeing each other was one thing; sharing a home was quite another.
It was a Saturday when Eleanor waited on the doorstep for their regular walk. She opened the front door, took a breath, and there stood Thomas, lugging two hefty suitcases.
Eleanor sank into an armchair, scrolling through photographs on her phone. There were pictures of them feeding ducks in HydePark, strolling along the Serpentine, and a snapshot from their joint mushroomforaging trek in the NewForest. Six months of acquaintance had slipped by unnoticed.
They had met on an online dating site. She was sixtyone, he sixtythree. Both divorced, their adult children living independently, each keeping to separate residences.
Thomas had appealed to Eleanor straight awaycultured, wellread, with a dry wit. He wasnt hunting for a mother for his children nor a housekeeper. He simply wanted conversation with an engaging mind.
They met two or three times a week, sometimes at the WestEnd theatre, other times at the Tate Modern, over tea in a cosy café, or on walks through the city. Occasionally Thomas would visit a friends cottage in the countryside. Eleanor cherished this companionshipintimate yet free of obligations.
Eleanor, tell me how you live, Thomas had asked after one of their early meetings.
Its peaceful, quiet. Ive been alone for five years now, and Im used to it.
Dont you get bored?
Sometimes, but I have friends, my daughters visit, and now theres you.
Thats nice to hear.
After his divorce, Thomas had rented a onebedroom flat in an ageing Victorian block. He complained that the landlady was capricious, never carried out repairs, and kept raising the rent.
But what can I do? he would sigh. Theres no home of my own. Everything went to my exwife after the split. My parents bought her the flat once, and the renovations I paid for out of my own pocket are now hers to keep.
Ever thought of buying something? Eleanor had asked once.
How could I muster enough for a house?
Eleanor understood. She owned a threebedroom semidetached in a respectable suburb, the product of a lifetimes earnings. Her daughters had long moved out, leaving plenty of space.
Yet she never imagined proposing that Thomas move in. Seeing each other was one thing; living together was wholly another.
That Saturday, after she let Thomas in, she asked, Thomas, whats happened?
Eleanor, may I come in? Ill explain.
He set the suitcases down in the hallway and sat on the sofa.
The landlady has decided to sell the flat, he said. Shes given me a week to vacate.
And now? she prompted.
Im left without a roof. A new place doesnt appear overnight, and I have no money.
Eleanor began to see where his thoughts were heading.
Eleanor, Ive been thinkingour relationship is serious. Weve been seeing each other for half a year, we know each other well. Perhaps we should try living together?
Together? she echoed.
Yes. Your threebedroom flat has plenty of room. Im not a freeloaderI still work and will chip in for food and other expenses.
But Thomas, we never discussed this.
Why should we have? Life itself has given us the hint.
Eleanor felt a surge of bewilderment. She wasnt prepared for such a turn.
Thomas, I need to think.
Whats there to think about? We love each other.
Love and cohabitation are different matters.
Why different? At our age, its time to decide.
Decide what?
In how we relate. If we meet, doesnt that imply we should be together?
She glanced at the suitcases in the hallway. It seemed Thomas had already decided for her, bringing his belongings and presenting a fait accompli.
What if Im against it? she asked.
Against what? Against happiness?
Against someone arriving at my door with their things without even asking permission.
Eleanor, Im not being cruel. Its just how circumstances have fallen.
Circumstances dont falltheyre created by people.
What do you mean?
That you should have spoken with me first, then brought the suitcases.
Thomas fell silent, weighing his words.
Alright, lets talk then. I propose we live together.
I refuse.
Why?
Because I like living alone. I enjoy our companionship, but I dont want a shared home.
But why? We suit each other.
We suit each other for meetings, walks, shared hobbies. Not for shared everyday life.
Whats the difference?
Everyday life means habits, routines, compromises.
So what? We could adapt to one another.
Thats the pointI dont want to adapt. Im content as I am.
Thomas looked dejected.
What if I suggest we marry?
Why?
Just to make it proper, by the book.
Thomas, marriage wont change anything. I still dont want to live together.
So whats the point of our relationship?
The same as beforemeeting, talking, spending time together.
And then?
We keep meeting.
But thats not serious!
Why isnt it? This arrangement suits me.
It doesnt suit me. I crave stability.
What kind of stability do you want? Eleanor asked, settling opposite him.
Ordinary, familytype stability. To live with someone I love, share breakfasts, make plans together.
I dont want to share a daily breakfast with anyone. I dont want to fit my life around someone elses schedule.
But youre single!
Im not alone. I have my daughters, my friends, and you. Loneliness and living alone are different.
I dont see the difference.
The difference is that now I choose when and with whom I converse. If we lived together, Id lose that choice.
Eleanor, at sixty you should be thinking about who will be by your side in old age.
I am thinking. It doesnt have to be a man.
Then who?
My daughters, a carer, the councils servicesthere are options.
Thats not what I had in mind!
It may not be what you imagined, but its fine for me.
Thomas rose and paced the room.
So youre saying I should keep renting my flat and meet you only on weekends?
Im saying live as you wish. Meet when we both feel like it.
And if I cant afford another flat?
Thats your problem, not mine.
Thats harsh, Eleanor.
Honest, at least. Im not obliged to solve your housing issues.
But were together!
Were together, and that doesnt make me responsible for your whole life.
Thomas sank back onto the sofa, thoughtful.
If I find a flat, will we still talk?
Of course, if we both want.
And until then, could I stay with you for a spell?
No.
Not at all?
Not at all.
He realised she was serious. He gathered his suitcases and headed for the door.
So I must look for both a new home and perhaps new company.
Perhaps.
Eleanor, will you regret this?
No.
Thomas left and never called again. Eleanor returned to her tranquil routine, free of any partner. At sixtyone, she valued her peace more than any relationship, and cherished her independence above all companionship.
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