MEET THE SILVER SHARERS

Finding themselves over 60 and living alone, Andrea Hargreaves and two like-minded friends clubbed together to buy their dream home

Eighteen months ago, I sold my house and moved in with two female friends. Many women, finding themselves alone, talk about one day buying a big house and moving in together. We actually did it.

But when Sally-Mae Joseph, Lyn Sands – both 60-something divorcées – and I, a 71-year-old widow, announced that we were selling our respective homes and pooling our resources to buy a large property, most people said we were bonkers. The naysayers fell over themselves with ‘what if ’ and ‘it will never work’ comments, while the reaction from our families – we have eight children and 13 grandchildren between us – ranged from accepting to incredulous to horrified. They advised us to think very carefully about what we were contemplating – not least the legalities such as inheritance and what would happen if we fell out. I’d known Sally-Mae for five years but I didn’t dare tell my two children that I’d only been friends with Lyn for two years when we decided to embark on our adventure. As my daughter Zoë put it, ‘What if they don’t love you like we do?’

I explained to her that after seven years of widowhood, I sometimes felt very lonely and missed having someone to share my day with. And living with my friends would mean we’d be there to look after each other and share the chores.

It all started when Sally-Mae, our baby at 66, was downsizing and thought that she could make communal living a reality. At that point four of us were up for sharing a house on the Sussex coast. However, after an estate agent came up with a seven-bedroom pile that wasn’t so much tired as comatose, one friend dropped out when she realised she couldn’t see herself sharing a kitchen. Thanking her for her honesty, the rest of us felt keener than ever. ‘I’ve seen a house online,’ said Lyn, 67. ‘It’s got four bedrooms and they’re all en-suite.’

Sitting in a café doing the sums, we were amazed to discover that we could afford it if we put in equal shares of equity from the sales of our modest houses. The next day, standing in the spacious black-and-white tiled hallway, our hardest job was to restrain ourselves from a humongus, ‘Yesssss, we’ll have it!’ and try to assume a little decorum as we were shown a huge living room, a kitchen big enough to seat ten, a room for craft projects and four double bedrooms, one of which has floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the classically landscaped garden and an adjoining room with freestanding bath plus a shower room.

‘Er, how are you going to choose your bedrooms?’ asked the estate agent, sensing bubble-bursting potential. ‘Easy,’ Lyn and I chorused, reasoning that because Sally-Mae loves baths and we’re not bothered (Lyn is our eco-worrier and wouldn’t want to waste water, and I’m too impatient to sit in a bath), she could have it. Lyn would have the other bedroom that overlooks the garden and I liked the smallest one at the front because it had a separate dressing

room – I’ve got far too many clothes. Plus the spare room was big enough for a double bed and bunkbeds so our children and their families could stay. Lyn, a keen vegetable grower, was itching to get into the garden. Standing on an elegant lawn near the kitchen, she exclaimed, ‘I can get four raised beds for veggies in there!’

Enter the naysayers again: you’ll never sell your places and complete together, they said. Well, we got lucky, sold our respective houses immediately and moved into our new home three months later, deeds of trust in our hands that tie us into the property, with financial penalties if we want to leave before three years are up. We celebrated my 70th birthday four days after we moved in with a party for 100 people, having unpacked most of our 250 boxes and even got a few books and pictures up.

And that set the bar, really. In the first few months we renovated the kitchen, had 28 six-metre, light-stealing conifers taken down, installed a wood-burner and a large greenhouse for Lyn’s tomatoes, aubergines and peppers, cut turf to create raised beds for more veg and enlarge the flower borders, and Sally-Mae had a garage converted into a studio where she can paint.

Yes, we disagree from time to time, usually about things such as when we should turn on the central heating or whether we should have another party so soon after the last one, but so far we’ve resolved issues by discussing differences and working around them, while trying to respect wishes that are strongly held. For instance, we all wanted a wood-burner. Sally-Mae and I had fallen in love with a model we dubbed the Teletubby, but Lyn hated it and wanted a more traditional design. However, she was quick to recognise its green credentials, so Teletubby now warms us cosily.

Of course, life doesn’t always go to plan. Take the chickens, which are my responsibility. Almost as soon as my son Paul gave them to me, Fox World must have tweeted that a novice was

IT IS A PRIVILEGE TO GET TO KNOW AND BE SUPPORTED BY TWO AMAZING WOMEN”