Olivia Bennett never once thought of asking Simon Clarke to move in with her. Dating was one thing; cohabiting was another entirely.
On Saturday, Olivia waited for Simon outside the flat for their usual stroll. She opened the door, gave him a hug, and stared at the two massive suitcases hed hauled up the hallway.
Inside, Olivia sank into her armchair, scrolling through photos on her phone. There they were, feeding ducks in HydePark, wandering the paths of RegentsPark, and on a mushroompicking weekend in the NewForest. Six months of knowing each other had slipped by in a blink.
Theyd met on an online dating site. She was sixtyone, he sixtythree. Both divorced, adult children living independently, each with his or her own roof over their heads.
Simon had immediately appealed to Olivia cultured, wellread, and with a dry sense of humour. He wasnt hunting for a mother for his kids or a housekeeper for his flat; he simply wanted a witty companion.
They met two or three times a week: a matinee at the WestEnd, an exhibition at the Tate, coffee in a little café on BrickLane, walks through the city, and occasional trips to a friends cottage in the Cotswolds. Olivia liked this easygoing companionship no strings, but with genuine affection.
Olivia, tell me, hows life treating you? Simon asked after one of their early meetups.
Fine, quiet, peaceful. Ive been living alone for five years now; Im used to it.
Dont you get bored?
Sometimes. I have friends, my daughters drop by, and now youre in the mix.
Glad to hear it.
After his divorce, Simon had rented a onebedroom flat in a dated Victorian block. He complained that the landlady was whimsical, never doing repairs, and kept nudging up the rent.
But what can you do? hed sigh. I have no property of my own. Everything went to my exwife. Her parents bought the flat years ago, and the cheap DIY I did on my own dime wont get me any credit.
Ever thought about buying something for yourself? Olivia had asked once.
Where would I find enough pounds for a house? hed shrug.
Olivia understood. She owned a threebedroom maisonette in a respectable SouthLondon borough a place shed paid for all her life. Her daughters had long left the nest, so there was plenty of space.
Still, she never entertained the idea of inviting Simon to move in. Dating was one thing; sharing a roof was another.
That Saturday, Olivia met Simon at the door, arms outstretched, only to see the two hulking suitcases again.
Simon, whats this about? she asked.
Olivia, can I come in? Ill explain.
He set the bags down in the hallway and plonked himself on the sofa.
The landladys sold the flat and told me to vacate in a week.
And now?
Now Im homeless. Finding another flat isnt easy, and Im short on cash.
Olivias eyes widened as the implication sank in.
Olivia, Ive been thinking weve been together for six months, we really know each other. How about we try living together?
Together? she echoed.
Yes. Your threebedroom place has plenty of room. Im not a freeloader I still work and will chip in for groceries and bills.
Simon, we never discussed this.
Why bother planning ahead? Lifes already nudged us in that direction.
Olivia felt a wave of bewilderment. She wasnt prepared for such a sudden turn.
I need to think about it.
Whats there to think about? We love each other.
Love and cohabitation arent the same thing.
Why not? At our age, its time to sort things out.
Sort out what?
The relationship. If were dating, shouldnt we be together?
She glanced at the suitcases, realizing Simon had already decided for her, bringing his belongings and setting the terms.
What if Im against it?
Against what? Against happiness?
Against someone moving into my home with their stuff without even asking.
Olivia, Im not being malicious. The circumstances just fell that way.
The circumstances dont just fall; people create them.
What do you mean?
That you shouldve talked to me first, not hauled your luggage in the hallway.
Simon fell silent, chewing over her words.
Fine. Lets talk now. I propose we live together.
Im declining.
Why?
Because I enjoy living on my own. I like our chats, but I dont want to share a flat.
But why? We get along great.
Were great for dates, walks, hobbies. Not for daily domestic life.
Whats the difference?
Living together means constant routines, habits, compromises.
And thats a problem?
Its my choice not to adjust. Im happy as I am.
Simons face fell.
What if I suggested we get married?
Why would we?
Because it would make everything proper, respectable.
Simon, marriage wont change a thing. I still dont want to live with you.
So whats the point of us?
The same as before. We meet, we talk, we spend time together.
Whats next?
We keep meeting.
Thats not serious!
Why isnt it? This arrangement works for me.
It doesnt for me. I want stability.
Which kind of stability do you need? Olivia asked, sitting across from him.
The usual familytype stability. Eating breakfast together, building plans.
I dont want a daily breakfast partner. I dont want to bend to anyones schedule.
But youre alone!
Im not alone. I have my daughters, my friends, and you. Solitude and solo living are different.
I dont get the difference.
The difference is that now I choose when and with whom Im social. If we lived together, Id lose that choice.
Olivia, at sixty you should be thinking about who will be by your side in old age.
I do think about it. It doesnt have to be a husband.
Then who?
My daughters, a caregiver, maybe council services. There are options.
Thats not what I had in mind!
It might not be what you expected, but its fine for me.
Simon rose, pacing 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. Meet when we both feel like it.
What if I cant afford another flat?
Thats your problem, not mine.
Thats harsh, Olivia.
Its honest. Im not obliged to solve your housing woes.
But were together!
Were together, and that doesnt make me responsible for your life.
Simon sank back onto the sofa, thoughtful.
If I find a new place, will we still talk?
Of course, if we both want to.
And while Im looking, can I crash at yours for a bit?
No.
Never?
Never.
Simon finally read the room: Olivia was serious. He gathered his suitcases and headed for the door.
So Ill have to hunt for a new flat and perhaps a new relationship.
Maybe.
Olivia, will you regret this?
No.
He left, and the phone stopped ringing. Olivia returned to her tranquil routine, content with the peace shed cultivated over six decades. At sixty, she prized quiet over companionship and cherished her independence above all else.
How would you have handled this? Share your thoughts in the comments and give a like if you enjoyed the tale.
