It never occurred to Eleanor Thompson to suggest that George Wallace move in with her. Dating was one thing; sharing a roof was something altogether different.
On a Saturday, Eleanor waited at the front door for their usual walk. She turned the knob, opened the door, and was met by the sight of him standing in the hallway, two massive suitcases at his feet.
Inside, Eleanor sank into an overstuffed armchair and thumbed through the photos on her phone. There were pictures of them feeding ducks in HydePark, strolling along the Serpentine, and a snapshot of a mushroompicking outing in the NewForest. Six months of acquaintance had slipped by unnoticed.
They had met on a dating site. She was sixtyone, he sixtythree. Both were divorced, their adult children living independently, each keeping a separate flat.
George had appealed to her immediatelycultured, wellread, with a dry wit. He wasnt looking for a mother for his grownup kids or a housekeeper for a home; he simply wanted conversation with an interesting person.
They saw each other two or three times a weeksometimes a matinee at the National Theatre, sometimes an opening at the Tate, a café in CoventGarden, a walk through the city, a weekend trip to a friends cottage in the Cotswolds. Eleanor liked this loosely bound intimacy, the closeness without the weight of obligations.
Eleanor, tell me how you live, George had asked after one of their early meetings.
Quietly, peacefully. 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 part of the picture.
Thats nice to hear.
After his divorce, George had rented a studio in an ageing block in Peckham. He complained about the landlords caprice, the lack of repairs, and the everrising rent.
But what can you do? he would sigh. I have no home of my own. Everything went to my exwife after the split. Her parents bought her a flat once, and the work I did on it with my own money is now invisible.
Ever thought of buying something?
Where would I find the money for a house?
Eleanor understood. She owned a threebedroom flat in a respectable part of Hampsteada property shed paid for throughout her working life. Her daughters lived elsewhere, so there was plenty of space.
Yet she had never imagined asking George to move in. Dating was one thing; cohabitation was another.
That Saturday, Eleanor waited, opened the door, and saw George with his suitcases.
George, whats happened? she asked.
Eleanor, may I come in? Ill explain.
They stepped into the living room. George set the suitcases down in the hallway and collapsed onto the sofa.
The landlady of my flat has decided to sell it. She gave me a week to vacate.
What now?
I have nowhere to go. You cant just find another flat instantly, and Im short of cash.
Eleanor began to see where this was heading.
George, Ive been thinkingour relationship is serious. Six months of seeing each other, we know each other well. What if we tried living together?
Together? she repeated, startled.
Yes. Your threebedroom flat has plenty of room. Im not a freeloaderI still work, and Ill contribute to groceries and the bills.
But we never talked about this.
Why discuss it beforehand? Life has already spoken for us.
Eleanor felt a wave of bewilderment. She wasnt prepared for such a turn.
I need to think about it.
Whats there to think about? We love each other.
love and cohabitation are not the same.
Why are they different? At our age, its time to decide.
Decide what?
Decide the nature of our relationship. If we meet, shouldnt we be together?
She glanced at the suitcases. It seemed George had already packed his life and placed it at her doorstep, demanding a decision.
What if Im against it?
Against what? Against happiness?
Against someone arriving with their belongings without even asking permission.
Eleanor, dont be angry. Im not doing this out of malice. The circumstances just fell that way.
The circumstances dont just fall. People create them.
What do you mean?
That you should have spoken to me first, then brought the suitcases.
George fell silent, weighing his thoughts.
Alright, lets talk now. I propose we live together.
I refuse.
Why?
Because I enjoy living alone. I like our contact, but I dont want to share a home.
But why? Were compatible.
Were compatible for meetings, walks, shared hobbies. Not for daily domestic life.
Whats the difference?
Domestic life is daytoday. Its habits, routines, compromises.
So?
I cant keep adjusting myself. Im comfortable as I am.
Georges face grew downcast.
What if I suggest we marry, officially?
Why?
Because then it would be proper, by the book.
George, marriage wont change anything. I still dont want to live together.
So whats the point of us?
The same as before. We meet, we talk, we spend time together.
What then?
We keep meeting.
But thats not serious!
Why isnt it? This arrangement suits me.
It doesnt suit me. I want stability.
Which stability are you after? Eleanor asked, sitting opposite him.
The ordinary kind. A family life. Waking up with a loved one, making plans together.
I dont want to share breakfast every day. I dont want to bend to someone elses schedule.
But youre alone!
Im not alone. I have my daughters, my friends, you. Loneliness and solitary living 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.
Eleanor, at sixty you should think about who will be by your side in old age.
I do think about it. It doesnt have to be a man.
Then who?
My daughters, a carer, social servicesthere are options.
But thats not what I want!
It may not be what you want, but it works for me.
George rose and paced the room.
So youre saying I should keep renting my flat and meet you on weekends?
Im saying live however you wish. Meet when we both feel like it.
What if I cant afford a new flat?
Thats your problem, not mine.
Thats harsh, Eleanor.
Its honest. Im not obliged to solve your housing issues.
But were together!
Were together, and that doesnt make me responsible for your life.
George sank back onto the sofa, thoughtful.
If I find a place, will we still talk?
Sure, if we both want to.
And until I find one, can I stay with you for a while?
No.
Not at all?
Not at all.
George sensed she meant business. He gathered the suitcases and headed for the door.
So Ill have to look for both a new home and new companionship.
Perhaps.
Eleanor, will you ever regret this?
No.
George left and never called again. Eleanor returned to her tranquil life, unaccompanied. At sixty, she valued peace more than a relationship, and cherished freedom above any companionship.
What would you do in her shoes? Share your thoughts in the comments and give a like if you agree.
