Helen never imagined asking Serge to move in. Dating is one thing, living together another. On Saturday, Helen waited for Serge’s usual walk, opened the door, gave him a hug, and saw him standing there with two huge suitcases.

Dear Diary,

It never occurred to me that I should suggest Eleanor move in with me. Dating is one thing; cohabiting is quite another. On Saturday, Eleanor waited for me outside the flat for our usual walk. She opened the door, gave me a hug, and I arrived clutching two large suitcases.

She was sitting in an armchair, scrolling through photographs on her phone. There were pictures of us feeding ducks in HydePark, strolling along the Serpentine, and a snapshot from our mushroompicking outing in the NewForest. Six months of acquaintance had flown by unnoticed.

We met on a dating website. Shes sixtyone, Im sixtythree. Both of us are divorced, our children are grown and live elsewhere.

I liked Eleanor instantlywellread, witty, and with a dry sense of humour. I wasnt looking for a mother for my kids or a housekeeper; I simply wanted the company of an interesting person.

We saw each other two or three times a week: the theatre, an art gallery, a café, a wander through the city, weekend trips to a friends cottage in the Cotswolds. Eleanor enjoyed this lowcommitment companionship that still felt intimate.

Eleanor, tell me how you live, I asked after one of our early meetings.

Quietly, peacefully. Ive been on my own for five years now, so Im used to it, she replied.

Dont you get bored?

Sometimes. I have friends, my daughters visit, and now youre part of the picture.

Thats nice to hear.

After my divorce, I rented a onebedroom flat in a rundown block. The landlady was cantankerous, never carried out repairs, and kept raising the rent.

But what can I do? I would mutter. I have no property of my own. Everything went to my exwife when we split. Her parents bought her a house years ago, and the modest upgrades I made to my flat are now a loss.

Ever thought about buying something? Eleanor asked once.

Where would I find the money for a house at my age?

Eleanor owned a spacious threebedroom flat in a respectable area of South Kensington, a place shed worked for all her life to afford. Her daughters had long since moved out, leaving plenty of room.

Yet the idea of asking me to move in never crossed her mind. Dating is one thing; sharing a roof is another.

On that Saturday, after I entered with my suitcases, Eleanor asked, Simon, whats happened?

Eleanor, may I come in? Ill explain, I said, stepping into the hallway, dropping the bags, and sinking onto the sofa.

The landlady has given notice; she wants the flat sold and us out within a week, I told her.

So what now?

Im homeless. Its hard to find another place at my age, and Im short of cash.

Eleanor began to understand where I was heading.

Ive been thinking, Eleanor. Weve been seeing each other seriously for six months, we know each other well. What if we tried living together?

Together? she repeated, startled.

Your flat has three bedrooms, plenty of space. Im not a freeloaderI still work, and Ill chip in for groceries and the like.

But we never discussed this before.

Why talk about it in advance? Life itself has been pointing us in that direction.

A wave of uncertainty washed over her. She wasnt ready for such a sudden shift.

I need to think about it, she said.

Whats there to think about? We love each other.

Love and cohabitation are different matters.

Why are they different? At our age we should decide what we want.

Decide what?

In our relationship. If were dating, doesnt that mean we should be together?

She glanced at the suitcases by the hall. It seemed I had already taken it upon myself to move my belongings in.

What if Im opposed?

Opposed to what? To happiness?

Opposed to someone showing up with their stuff without even asking for permission.

Eleanor, dont be angry. Im not doing this out of spite; circumstances just turned out this way.

Circumstances dont just happen; people create them.

What do you mean?

That it would have been proper to speak to me first, then bring the suitcases.

I fell silent, weighing my words.

Alright, lets talk now. I propose we live together.

I refuse, she answered firmly.

Why?

Because I enjoy living alone. I cherish our companionship, but I dont want to share a home.

But why? We get along well.

We match for dates, walks, shared hobbiesbut not for daily domestic life.

Whats the difference?

Domestic life is everydayhabits, order, compromises.

So what? We could adjust to each other.

Thats the pointI dont want to adapt. Im happy as I am.

I looked dejected.

What if I suggested we get married?

Why would that help?

Because it would make everything proper, socially acceptable.

Simon, marriage wont change anything. I still dont want to share a roof.

So whats the point of our relationship then?

The same as before. We meet, we talk, we spend time together.

And after that?

We keep meeting.

Thats not serious!

Why isnt it? This arrangement suits me.

It doesnt suit me. I want stability.

Simon, what kind of stability do you need? Eleanor asked, sitting opposite me.

Ordinary, familytype stability. Living with the one you love, having breakfast together, making plans.

I dont want to share daily breakfasts. I dont want to fit into anyones schedule.

But youre single!

Im not alone. I have my daughters, my friends, and you. Loneliness and living solo are different things.

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.

At sixty, shouldnt we think about who will be by our side in old age?

I do think about it, but it doesnt have to be a husband.

Then who?

My daughters, a caregiver, maybe social services. There are options.

Thats not what I imagined!

Perhaps not for you, but it works for me.

I rose and paced the room.

So youre saying I should continue renting my flat and see you only on weekends?

Live however you like. Meet when we both feel like it.

What if I cant afford another flat?

Thats your problem, not mine.

Thats harsh, Eleanor.

Its honest. Im not obliged to solve your housing issues.

But were seeing each other!

Yes, we are. And that doesnt make me responsible for your entire life.

I sank back onto the sofa, contemplating.

If I find a new flat, will we still talk?

Of course, if we both want to.

In the meantime, could I stay at yours for a while?

No.

Not at all?

Not at all.

It became clear she was serious. I grabbed my suitcases and headed for the door.

So Ill have to look for both a new home and perhaps new companionship.

Maybe.

Eleanor, will you regret this?

No.

Simon Clarke, 63

P.S. Ive learned that love may flourish without the need for shared walls; respecting each others boundaries is the truest form of care.