Theres a well-known English saying: Give them an inch and theyll take a mile. It always seemed a touch harsh, but life has a way of proving clichés to be true.
Half a year ago, a new neighbour moved in across the hall. Caroline was in her early forties, always immaculately dressed and wore a charming, ever-ready smile. We exchanged the odd greeting in the liftjust your typical, cordial neighbourly civility.
The first knock on my door came about two weeks after she moved in. It was nearly nine in the evening. I opened the door to see Caroline with a sheepish smile, holding an empty mug.
So sorry to bother you, she chirped. Just as I fancied making some pancakes, I realised Id run out of salt! Could you spare a pinch? Ill definitely bring some round tomorrow!
It seemed so trivialwho could refuse? I poured her a generous heap and she thanked me profusely.
But soon, her requests became a recurring event. A few days later, she was back, this time in need of sugar.
Craving a cuppa, she sighed, wrapped in a snuggly dressing gown. Its miserable out, and so late Might I borrow a cupful? Ill bring a big bag round soon!
I handed her what she needed though a tiny doubt crept in. How was it that shed lived here nearly a month without buying the basicssalt, sugar, oil, matches? Still, I said nothing.
A week later, it was eggs. Then a splash of cooking oil, an onion, half a lemon, a teabag, a paracetamol, even a toilet roll.
The pattern repeated worryingly often: a knock after dusk, an apologetic look, a tale about forgetting the shops, and a bright promise to return what was borrowed. But nothing ever found its way back. Her recollection was oddly selectiveshe always remembered when I was home, but consistently forgot about her debts the moment her door closed.
One day, I needed a carrot for soup. Knowing Caroline was in, I knocked. She opened, listened, then put on a regretful expression.
Oh, I do have one, but I need it for my own tea. Not enough to share, sorry.
And promptly shut her door.
That was the final straw. So, my cupboard is self-service, but her carrot is national treasure? It was time for a change.
I reached for my notebook and, from memory, jotted everything Caroline had borrowed: sugar, eggs, coffee, oil, onion, paracetamol, lemon, powder. Totalling it up, it came to around £30.
I left the list on the hall table, certain it would soon prove useful. And I was right.
That Saturday, Id planned to bake a pie. Sure enough: the bell rang. Peeking out, I spotted Caroline, bowl in hand.
Deep breath, tight polite smile, I opened the door.
Hi there! she chirped brightly. Would you be a star and lend me some flour? Im all out and the shops are closed. About 300 grams? Ill absolutely replace it!
Flour? I echoed. Yes, Ive got some.
Brilliant! You know I always return what I borrow!
I gave her a knowing look. Caroline, of course. But before that, lets settle up our previous food-share arrangement.
I handed her the list. She blinked, confuseda strange change from my usual ready hospitality.
See here, I said, showing her the details. Ive listed everything you borrowed over the last two months. Eggsfifteen. That right?
Well I wasnt keeping count she trailed off as her smile faded.
I was. Sugarfour times, mugs each. Oil, coffee, soap powder, lemon, onion. Is that correct?
Caroline was silent, confusion turning to irritation. How dare I bring this up? Neighbours are supposed to share, arent they?
Ive used average prices, even given you a discount, I added. Thats £28. As soon as we settle up, I can measure you out the flour. Ill even sift it.
Youre joking? she breathed, incredulous. Giving me a bill? For salt and a couple of matches? Are you for real?
Absolutely, I nodded. If you borrow, you return. If you dont, it becomes a purchaseIm simply asking for whats owed.
Youre so petty! she protested, throwing her hands up. I thought neighbours helped each other But yousuch a penny-pincher!
Being petty, I returned calmly, is having enough for takeaway but asking your neighbour for toilet roll.
Caroline turned bright red.
Keep your rotten flour! she snapped. Ill never ask you for a thing again!
She stormed off, slamming her door behind her. I stood there holding the list, a sense of relief rather than anger washing over me.
Its been a fortnight since. Caroline purposely avoids me, staring at her phone in the lift, refusing even the briefest greeting. I overheard her complaining to the concierge about miserly, peculiar people in the building.
What would you have done? Would you have kept lending?
Sometimes, standing up for your own boundaries is more important than avoiding awkwardness. True kindness doesnt mean being taken advantage ofmutual respect is far more valuable than a borrowed cup of sugar.
