It was five years past now since Id quietly parted ways with my wife and grown quite used to the comforts and freedoms of bachelorhood. Yet, as the years slipped by, the silence of coming home to an empty flat began to weigh on me more than I cared to admit.
I was fifty-six back then, in fair health, with more energy than most chaps my age. I decided, perhaps with a touch of wistfulness, to try my hand at the new-fangled world of internet dating, hoping I might find a companion to share lifes later chapters. To my surprise, luck seemed to be on my side; in my very first exchanges, I met someone captivating.
Her profile was refreshingly straightforward:
Katherine, 56, widow, seeks a decent gentleman for a serious relationship.
There was a picture of her, unpretentious, with kindly eyes and a gentle smile. We started writing to each other without delay. From the outset, I made it clear I wasnt after endless virtual chatter; I wanted a genuine partner, someone to share daily life and holidays with. Katherine agreed, and we arranged to meet in the heart of London that very weekend.
Our first meeting could hardly have gone better. We wandered through Hyde Park, bathed in golden sunshine. Katherine spoke cheerfully of her work and her grandchildren, while I listened carefully, nodding along. I liked that she was composed and not one for endless talk. Later, I took her to a café, where, in keeping with my old-fashioned ways, I insisted on picking up the billit seemed only proper that a gentleman should take care of his guest.
Thus began our proper English courtship. Flowers and chocolates I provided, but the pleasure of those eveningsthe theatre trips, the Friday dinnerswas mutual. Every Friday and Saturday, we made a ritual of attending plays, exhibitions, or country walks followed by hearty pub lunches. I wont shy away from saying that if I totalled up the pounds spent on such outings over two months, it might give me pause, but I never considered myself stingy.
I aimed to be a gentleman, believing we were drawing ever closer. Shed smile warmly, link her arm with mine as we walked, and say:
John, its delightful spending time with you. Youre a true English gentleman.
Naturally, it pleased me greatly.
Yet, with hindsight, the warning signs were there. For one, she never once invited me to her homenot even for a cup of tea. There was always a reason: Oh, the flats a mess, or My granddaughters staying this week, or Im absolutely done in after worklets meet at the café instead. I thought perhaps she was bashfulsome women on their own grow unaccustomed to a mans presence at home. So I didnt press, and simply waited.
There were other peculiar hints as well, especially when the matter of age came up. If we were discussing a day out, a quick break to Brighton, or dining at a smart restaurant, she was as lively as a thirty-year-old, delighted to plan elaborate weekends away or trips to the leisure centre. But at the faintest suggestion of anything more physical, she suddenly became the stern matronold before her time.
I recall one night at the pictures, wed got the back row nearly to ourselves. I placed my hand softly on her kneejust a hand, nothing untoward. She immediately brushed it off, firm yet civil:
John, people are watching.
Its dark in here, theres no one about, I replied.
All the same, it simply isnt proper. We arent teenagers, after all.
I chalked it up to strict upbringing. Thought perhaps Katherine was a very modest lady, and her boundaries should be respected. Still, a sense of unease quietly grew within me. We werent in our teens; we were in our late fifties. Life is shorthow long did she expect us to dance around one another?
She was fond, too, of delving into her various aches and ills. Fair enough, a sore back or fluctuating blood pressure is common at our time of life, but Katherine described her complaints with a sort of relish, and could easily fill an entire dinner speaking of her cholesterol pills or the latest pain in her hip.
I listened with all the sympathy I could muster, even offered to take her to a decent doctor. Yet, when I mentioned my own routineswimming twice a week to stay fitshe raised her eyebrow at me:
Whatever for? Youll ruin your heart with all that exertion. At our age, youre meant to be stretched out on the sofa with a good book, not splashing about in chlorine.
That was never how I pictured my twilight years. I longed for a bright, full life.
Yesterday, the time came when I decided enough was enough. Two months of seeing each other seemed sufficient to know whether we were truly compatible.
Dinner that evening was at a charming little restaurant serving Cornish pasties and fine burgundy. We relished our meal, laughed over tales of colleagues and neighbours, the atmosphere warm and cheery. I felt, perhaps, that beneath her reserve was someone open-minded, and it was time for an honest conversation.
Afterwards, we sat in my car, the London drizzle tapping at the windscreen, gentle music humming through the speakers. I held her hand softly, and this time, she didnt pull away.
Katherine, would you fancy coming back to mine? Just for a cup of tea, maybe some music.
At once, her entire body stiffened, the warmth drained from her smile, replaced by a stony glare.
John, what exactly are you insinuating?
Im not insinuating, I replied plainly. I enjoy your company very much. Im free, youre free. Weve been together two months. Its only natural to want to take things further.
What followed was a lengthy speech about age, shame, and spiritual connection, enough to leave me quite bewildered.
Do you even realise what youre saying? she said sharply. Thats all very well for young people or those intent on having children. Whats the point now? Imagine how dreadful wed look undressedfolds here, bellies there. Ugh! At our age, its about spiritual kinship, companionship, sturdy friendship. But youyou only think of the base and the primitive.
I was stunned into silence for a moment. Was I some sort of villain simply for desiring closeness after eight weeks of attentive courtship?
Katherine, really now. My health is fine, and you look marvellous for your years. Who decreed that life must finish at fifty-sixthat all thats left is knitting, gardening, and darning socks?
Thats the proper thing! she snapped. Ladies of my age, decent ladies, look after their grandchildren and tend tomatoes. Id be ashamed if my children knew Id taken up with a man in that way.
And so my patience gave way, and I said all that was on my mind.
So, you never truly wanted a partner. For two months, youve dined at my table, sought my company, enjoyed weekends out all courtesy of this so-called base animal. And the moment I seek genuine intimacysuddenly, its all horror.
She flushed, more from anger, I suspect, than from embarrassment.
Do you suppose Im obliged to leap into your arms because you bought supper? she said, voice bristling.
Thats not it at all, I kept calm outwardly, though inside I was boiling. I wanted to court you properly, believing that attentions might develop into a partnership. But you were simply hoping for a companion with a wallet and a motorcar.
With that, she darted out, slamming the door behind her. I didnt go after herthe conclusion was clear. I watched as she marched to her front door, a little ache settling in my chest.
I am fond of good conversation, literature, and history. But I am also an ordinary man with ordinary desires. I have no intention of burying my wishes for the sake of conventions about wrinkled skin or decorum.
I deleted her number and my dating profile. There will be a period of recovery after this whole farce.
Now, Im resolute: on the very first date, Ill ask plainly about her feelings towards intimacy. Should I hear another prose about old age and living only for grandchildren, Ill politely split the bill and bid her good day.
What do you thinkis it truly out of line for a man of fifty-six to seek affection from a respectable lady? And why, I wonder, do women sign up to date at all, if they believe all their meaningful days are in the past?
