**Diary 12June2026**
It never crossed my mind that I would ever suggest Simon move in with me. Dating is one thing; cohabiting is another entirely.
Saturdaymorning, I was waiting for him outside my flat for our usual walk. I opened the front door and was taken aback: he stood there with two massive suitcases.
Simon, what on earth? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Olivia, may I come in? Ill explain, he replied, and we slipped into the hallway. He set the bags down, then sank onto the sofa.
The landlady of my flat has decided to sell the property, he said, running a hand through his hair. She gave me a weeks notice to vacate.
And now? I prompted.
Now Im homeless. Finding another place on short notice isnt easy, and Im short of cash, he admitted, eyes downcast.
I understood his plight. I own a threebedroom flat in a respectable part of Camden, something Ive saved for all my life. My daughters live on their own, so theres plenty of room.
But even with that space, I hadnt imagined inviting him to move in. Wed been seeing each other for six monthsmeeting at the theatre, wandering through art exhibitions, sharing coffee in quirky cafés, and taking occasional trips to my friends cottage in the Chilterns. The companionship felt light, without any heavy obligations, yet intimate enough to matter.
Hed first asked, Olivia, tell me how you live these days.
Id answered, Quietly. Ive been on my own for five years now; Im used to it.
Dont you get bored? hed pressed.
Sometimes, Id said. But I have friends, my daughters visit, and now theres you.
After his divorce, Simon rented a onebedroom flat in an ageing block. Hed complained that his landlady was capricious, never doing the repairs, and kept raising the rent.
Things happen, hed shrugged. I have no property of my own after the spliteverything went to my exwife. My parents once bought me a place, but the money I spent on DIY fixes never gets acknowledged.
Ever thought of buying something yourself? Id asked.
Where would I find enough for a house? hed laughed bitterly.
Wed both been widowed of our first marriages, our adult children living independently, and we each kept separate homes. The idea of merging lives seemed farfetched.
When Simon finally said, Olivia, Ive been thinking weve been together for half a year, we know each other well. What if we started living together? my heart leapt and sank at the same time.
Together? I echoed, surprised.
Yes. Your flat has plenty of space. Im not a freeloaderI still work and will chip in for groceries and everything else.
Simon, we never talked about this, I whispered.
Why plan ahead? Life itself has given us the cue, he replied, eyes bright with hope.
A wave of confusion washed over me. I wasnt ready for such a sudden turn.
Simon, I need time to think, I said.
Whats there to think about? We love each other. He leaned forward, earnest.
Love and living together are different things, I countered.
Why different? At our age we should decide what we want. He pressed.
Decide what about?
In this relationship. If were dating, shouldnt we be together?
I glanced at the suitcases piled by the hallway. It felt as if hed already decided for me, bringing his belongings and presenting a fait accompli.
What if Im against it? I asked, voice trembling.
Against what? Against happiness?
Against having someone arrive with their stuff without even asking permission.
Dont be angry, Olivia. Im not being cruel. Its just how the circumstances fell out.
The circumstances dont fall; people create them, I replied.
What do you mean? he asked, perplexed.
That you should have spoken to me first, then brought the suitcases.
He fell silent, contemplating.
Fine. Lets discuss it now. I propose we live together.
I refuse, I said firmly.
Why?
Because I enjoy living alone. I cherish our meetings, but I dont want to share a roof.
But why? We get along well, he persisted.
Were compatible for dates, walks, shared hobbies. Not for sharing a domestic routine.
Whats the difference?
Domestic life is daily. Its habits, tidiness, compromise.
And what? We could adjust to each other, he suggested.
Thats the pointI dont want to adjust. Im happy as I am.
Simons face fell.
What if I suggested marriage?
Why?
So everythings proper, by the book.
Simon, marriage wont change anything. I still dont want to cohabit.
Then whats the point of us?
The same as before: we meet, we talk, we spend time together.
And then?
We keep meeting.
But thats not serious!
Its serious enough for me.
I want stability.
Which stability do you need? I asked, leaning across the table.
Normal, familytype stability. Waking up with a partner, planning a future together.
I dont want to share breakfast every day. I dont want to fit my life around someone elses schedule.
But youre alone!
Im not alone. I have my daughters, my friends, and you. Solitude and living alone are different.
I dont see the difference.
The difference is that now I choose when and with whom I interact. If we lived together, my choice would disappear.
Olivia, at sixtyone its time to think about who will be by my side in old age.
Im thinking. It doesnt have to be a man.
Then who?
My daughters, a caregiver, social servicesoptions exist.
But thats not what I want!
It might not be what you want, but it works for me.
Simon rose and paced the room.
So youre saying I should keep renting my flat and see you only on weekends?
Yes, live however you like. And meet when we both feel like it.
What if I cant afford another flat?
Thats your problem, not mine.
Harsh, Olivia.
Honest. Im under no obligation to solve your housing issues.
But were dating!
Were dating. That doesnt make me responsible for your entire life.
Simon sank back onto the sofa, thoughtful.
If I find a place, can we still keep talking?
Of course, if we both want.
And while Im looking, could I stay with you for a while?
No.
Not at all?
Not at all.
He realised I was serious. He grabbed his bags and headed for the door.
So Ill have to look for both a new flat and perhaps new companionship.
Perhaps.
Olivia, will you regret this?
No.
Simon left. He never called again. I returned to the calm rhythm of my life, alone but content. At sixtyone, I value peace more than a relationship, and my freedom outweighs any companionship.
What would I have done? I wonder.
