Helen never once considered asking Steven to move in with her. Dating was one thing; sharing a home was entirely different. That Saturday, she waited for him to arrive for their usual stroll. When she opened the door, her breath caughtthere he stood, clutching two enormous suitcases.
Helen settled into her armchair, scrolling through photos on her phone. Here they were in Hyde Park, feeding the ducks. Another of them strolling through Kew Gardens. And there, their weekend foraging for mushrooms in the New Forest. Six months had slipped by unnoticed.
Theyd met on a dating site. She was sixty-one, he sixty-three. Both divorced, their grown children living independently. Steven had charmed her instantlycultured, well-read, with a dry wit. He wasnt looking for a mother to his children or a housekeeper. Just companionship with someone interesting.
They met twice, sometimes three times a weektheatre trips, gallery visits, cosy cafés, walks through London, weekends at her friends cottage in the Cotswolds. Helen relished the ease of it, the closeness without obligation.
“Tell me about your life,” Steven had asked early on, after a concert at the Royal Albert Hall.
“Quiet, peaceful,” she replied. “Ive lived alone five years now. Im used to it.”
“Dont you get lonely?”
“Sometimes. But I have friends. My daughters visit. And now theres you.”
“Good to hear,” hed smiled.
After his divorce, Steven rented a cramped flat in an ageing building. He often grumbled about his fussy landlady, the peeling wallpaper, the relentless rent hikes.
“What can you do?” he sighed. “No place of my own. The ex-wife kept everythingeven the flat her parents bought us. No proving I paid for the renovations.”
“Ever thought of buying somewhere?”
“Where would I get that kind of money?”
Helen understood. Her three-bedroom house in Chelsea had taken a lifetime of work. With her daughters long moved out, space wasnt an issue.
Yet it never crossed her mind to invite Steven in. Dating was one thing. Living together? Another.
That Saturday, as she waited, the doorbell rang. When she opened it, there he stood, suitcases in hand.
“Stevenwhats happened?”
“Can I come in? Ill explain.”
He left the cases in the hall and sank onto the sofa.
“The landlords selling up. Gave me a week to clear out.”
“And now?”
“Nowhere to go. Cant find another flat straight away, and savings wont stretch far.”
Helen saw where this was heading.
“Helen, Ive been thinkingweve had six good months. We know each other. Maybe its time we tried living together?”
“Together?” she echoed.
“Your place has room. Im not asking for a free rideIll contribute, do my share.”
“Steven, weve never even discussed this.”
“Why discuss what lifes already decided?”
She felt a ripple of unease. This wasnt a conversation. It was a fait accompli.
“I need time to think.”
“Think about what? We love each other.”
“Love and cohabitation arent the same.”
“Why not? At our age, its time to commit.”
“Commit to what?”
“To us. If were dating, we should be together.”
Her gaze flicked to the suitcases. Hed already decided.
“And if I say no?”
“No to happiness?”
“No to someone turning up uninvited with luggage.”
“Helen, dont be angry. I didnt plan this.”
“Plans are made by people, not circumstances.”
“Whats that supposed to mean?”
“It means you shouldve asked before packing your life into two cases.”
Silence. Then: “Fine. Lets talk now. Im askingmove in with me.”
“I refuse.”
“Why?”
“Because I like my space. I enjoy our time, not the idea of sharing a home.”
“But we suit each other.”
“For outings, walks, weekends away. Not for daily life.”
“Whats the difference?”
“The difference is routine. Habits. Compromises.”
“So? We adapt.”
“Thats just it. I dont want to adapt. Im happy as I am.”
His face fell. “What if I proposed? Made it official?”
“Why?”
“Because its the right thing. Proper.”
“Marriage changes nothing. I still wouldnt want to live together.”
“Then whats the point of us?”
“The same as before. We meet. We talk. We enjoy each other.”
“And then?”
“We keep doing that.”
“Thats not serious!”
“It is to me.”
“I need stability.”
“What kind?” she asked, sitting opposite him.
“The usual kind. A home. Breakfast together. Plans for the future.”
“I dont want daily breakfasts. Or someone elses plans.”
“But youre alone!”
“Im not. I have my daughters, my friends, you. Solitude and loneliness arent the same.”
“I dont see the difference.”
“The difference is choice. Right now, I choose when and with whom I share my time. Living together takes that choice away.”
“Helen, at our age, we should think about wholl be there in old age.”
“I have. It doesnt have to be a husband.”
“Who then?”
“My daughters. A carer. Social services. There are options.”
“Thats not the same!”
“Maybe not for you. It is for me.”
Steven stood, pacing the room.
“So youd rather I keep renting, seeing you on weekends?”
“Id rather you live as you choose. We meet when we both want to.”
“And if I cant afford rent?”
“That isnt my problem.”
“Thats harsh.”
“Its honest. Your housing crisis isnt my responsibility.”
“But were together!”
“Dating. So?”
“It means something.”
“It means we enjoy each others company. Not that Im accountable for your life.”
He sat heavily.
“If I find a place will we still see each other?”
“Of course. If we want to.”
“Until then could I stay here awhile?”
“No.”
“At all?”
“At all.”
The finality in her voice was clear. He picked up his cases and turned to the door.
“So Ill need a new home. And a new relationship.”
“Perhaps.”
“Wont you regret this?”
“No.”
He left. The calls stopped. Helen returned to her quiet, solitary rhythmno less full for being alone. At sixty, she valued peace over partnership, freedom over compromise.
Some questions have no right answersonly choices that fit the life youve built. Hers was clarity. What would yours be?
