What’s Going On with Men These Days? I Invited One Over to My Place, Thought It Would Turn into a Relationship

For reasons lost in the fog, many women seem to think that once theyve passed forty, and especially after a divorce or two, they ought to simply hang up hope, as if life were a wool coat and the peg were waiting. I find myself in just such a peculiar place. Married twice: the first time in my bright and restless youth, from which I have a daughter named Harriet. The second marriage came in my thirties. Yet neither union endured beyond two fleeting yearssomething always felt slightly askew with the men, as though wed all wandered into the wrong play.

After my second divorce, I did meet men from time to time, but these encounters never ripened into marriage. Now I stand at 45, and even with all the odd twists my life has taken, I cant shake the bone-deep belief that happiness can still find me, that somewhere, wandering the misty roads of this world, my soulmate is searching too.

One curious month ago, I met a man on the street. His name was Charles, and he was 49close enough to feel familiar, distant enough to seem mysterious. I was wandering aimlessly through Hyde Park, feeling every bit the refined and collected woman, and I decided the day called for coffee, for no reason other than it seemed necessary.

Charles approached meintroduced himself with a sort of bashful bravado. Not exactly the knight of my daydreams, but tidy and put together, with hair that refused to obey the wind. He offered to buy another coffee. Out of habit, I asked point-blank if he had a wife or anyone waiting at home. His answer slipped around my question like mist, neither here nor there; it was clear he wasnt entirely unentangled.

Still, for some inexplicable dream-logic reason, I invited him round to my flat for tea and a Victoria sponge Id baked only the night before. People often say its madness to invite a near-stranger into your home, but wed been seen together by a few familiar faces, so I didnt feel quite so reckless. Besides, Charles exuded an air of hazy harmlessness, as if he might evaporate at any moment.

Once home, we stepped into my hallway. Charles glanced around, then let out a quiet snicker, Youve quite a spacious place. Looks like its not seen fresh paint since Tony Blair. I pretended not to catch his meaning. In truth, Id redone the flat ten years before. But I rather liked it. My thinking is, why spend all my pounds on skimming ceilings and touching up dado rails when I could spend them on improving myself? Is that so wrong?

I carried in a battered teapot and two china plates loaded with cake. While we savoured our tea, Charles picked up the thread of grumbling about my flat, as if drawn to it by magnetism. So I told him straight up: Why does my flat matter so much? Why dont you have me round to yours? He suddenly fell silent, as if hed just remembered an important engagement. Conversation drifted, then he left, promising to ring me up next week.

A week floated by in that strange, elastic way time has in dreamsnothing from Charles. No calls, not even the soft tap of a message. Then, well past midnight on Saturday, my phone hummed: Charles was on his way to visit. I replied, Come by all means, but this time youll need to roll up your sleeveswell be putting up new wallpaper. Suddenly, he recalled a pressing appointment, something urgent hed completely overlooked, and assured me he would call next week.

It dawned on me that Charles was most likely a married man, searching for a little excitement with a lady of supposed means. Im not interested in such a muddled arrangement. What matters isnt the distraction of his company, but that gentle sense of companionship we shared, brief though it was. As for love, I have no doubt it will stumble across my path one soft English morning.

If I could offer my fellow women any advice, Id say this: If a man wont lift a finger for you, why on earth would you want him in your life at all?