Theres a well-known English saying: A fool and his goods are soon parted. I never truly appreciated its meaning until life hammered it home in the most practical manner.
Roughly six months ago, a new neighbour moved in across the hall from me. Her name was Margaret Baker, a woman around fortywith meticulously coiffed hair, always beaming a polite smile. We crossed paths by the lift, exchanged pleasantriesthe very picture of neighbourly civility.
Her first knock on my door came a fortnight after she moved in. It was just after nine in the evening. Opening the door, I found Margaret standing with an apologetic look and an empty teacup in hand.
Oh, Im terribly sorry to bother you, she chirped, twisting the cup in her fingers. I decided to make pancakes but, would you believe, Ive run out of salt! Could I please borrow a pinch? Ill return it first thing tomorrow, promise!
How could anyone say no to such a small favour? I poured her a generous heapnearly half the cellarand off she went, all gratitude and pleasantries.
The second call came only days later. Margaret needed sugar.
Just fancied a sweet cup of tea, she explained, bundled in her dressing gown. Its raining cats and dogs and rather late Might I borrow a cup? Ill pop over with a bigger bag tomorrow to make up for it!
Though it didnt trouble me, a niggle of doubt crept in. Shed been living here nearly a monthhad she really not managed to pick up the basics? Salt, sugar, butter, matches; staples in every kitchen. But I let it go.
Then, a week onit was eggs. After thatcooking oil, then an onion, half a lemon, a tea bag, a headache tablet, even a roll of loo paper.
The pattern grew unmistakable: evening, apologetic smile, a tale of forgetting something, the eternal Ill bring it back tomorrow. Yet, not a single thing was ever returned. Margarets memory worked with curious selectivity: she never forgot I was usually home, but her debts vanished with the closing of my door.
One day, I needed a carrot for soup. I knew she was in and knocked. She opened the door, listened, then put on a guileless expression.
Oh, I have one, but I need it myself for supper. I really cant spare it, sorry.
And with that, she shut the door.
I was infuriated. Suddenly, my groceries were communal, but her carrot was sacred? That was it. No more handouts.
I grabbed a notepad and, from memory, jotted down everything Margaret had borrowed: sugar, eggs, coffee, butter, onion, paracetamol, lemon, washing powderthe lot. By my reckoning, it all came to about £25.
I left the list on the hall table, knowing the moment would soon come again. I wasnt wrong.
That Saturdayjust as I was about to bake a piethe buzzer rang. Through the spyhole I saw Margaret, bowl in hand.
I drew in a breath, fixed a chilly smile on my face, and opened up.
Hello! she began, chipper as ever. Do help me out! I wanted to make some drop scones, but Ive run out of flour. Could you spare about 300 grams? Ill make it up to you, promise!
Flour? I repeated. Yes, I have some.
Oh, marvellous! You know me, Ill pay you back soon as I can!
Yes, Margaret, of course. But first, shall we settle up the accounts for our previous grocery cooperation?
I handed her the prepared list. She blinked, confusedperhaps expecting me to empty my pantry on demand, not produce an audit.
Look here, I said, gesturing down the list. Ive jotted down everything youve borrowed these past two months. Lets see if Ive missed anything. Fifteen eggssound right?
Er I didnt count she murmured, the smile slipping from her face.
Well, I did. Sugarfour mugs worth. Butter, coffee, powder, lemon, onionsdoes that ring true?
Margaret was silent, her confusion hardening into irritation. How dare I? This wasnt the neighbourly way!
Ive priced it at the usual Tesco rates, I went on. I even cut you a discount. Comes to £23.50, all in.
I extended my hand, palm up.
Once were settled, Ill hand you the flourfreshly sifted, if you like.
Youre serious? she sputtered at last. Youre giving me a bill? For some salt and matches? Are you quite alright?!
Perfectly, I said, calm as you like. If somethings borrowed, it must be returned. If not, its a purchase, and Im just asking to be paid.
How petty can you be! she cried. I thought we were neighboursI had you down as one of the good ones! Miser!
Petty is treating yourself to sushi, but coming to your neighbour hat-in-hand for a roll of loo paper, I replied evenly.
Margarets face flushed scarlet.
Keep your rotten flour then! she snapped. Ill never ask you for anything again!
She spun round and slammed the door behind her. I was left clutching my listno anger, just relief.
Its been a fortnight since. Margaret doesnt greet me. In the lift, she busies herself with her phone, eyes averted. I heard her griping to the concierge about stingy and peculiar people in the building.
What would you have done in my shoes? Kept putting up with it?
