Theres a common English saying: Give them an inch, and theyll take a mile. I used to think it was just a bit of an exaggeration, but life has a way of showing you the truth behind old proverbs.
About half a year ago, a new neighbour moved into the flat opposite mine. Susan was around forty, always smartly dressed and ready with a bright smile. We bumped into each other at the lift, exchanged the usual polite hellos all perfectly ordinary, civil neighbourly greetings.
The first knock at my door came about a fortnight after she moved in. It was around nine in the evening. I opened the door and there stood Susan, looking apologetic, an empty mug in her hands.
Oh, terribly sorry to bother you, she chirped. Would you believe it, I decided to make pancakes and realised Im completely out of salt! Could I pinch a bit? Ill be sure to give it back tomorrow!
Well, how could I refuse such a small thing? I gave her nearly half my salt cellar, she thanked me and left.
But the second visit was not long in coming. A few days later she appeared at my door againthis time she needed sugar.
Just fancied a cuppa, she sighed, wrapped in her dressing gown. Its raining cats and dogs outside and all the shops are shut Could you lend me a cupful? Ill buy a big bag tomorrow and return it!
I didnt really mind, but a tickle of doubt crept in. Shed been living here for almost a monthsurely, she could have bought the basics by now? Salt, sugar, oil, matchesthings everyone keeps in. Still, I decided not to make a fuss.
A week later, Susan came knocking for eggs. Then it was a bit of cooking oil, then an onion, half a lemon, a teabag, a paracetamol, and even a loo roll.
The same scenario played out with alarming regularity: evenings, the guilty look, the story about forgetting to shop, and the inevitable promise to bring it back tomorrow. But nothing ever came back. Her memory seemed curiously selectiveshe always remembered I was in, but completely forgot her debts once shed closed the door.
One day, I needed a carrot for my soup. I knew Susan was home, so I knocked. She listened to my request, put on a helpless face and said, Oh, I do have one but Ill be using it myself, Im afraid theres not enough to share. Sorry.
And thats when it hit me: my food is apparently up for grabs, but her carrot is some sort of national treasure? That was it. Enough was enough. No more favours.
I opened my notebook and listed everything Susan had borrowed from me: sugar, eggs, coffee, oil, onion, painkiller, lemon, washing powder. In total, it came to about £20, even after giving her a generous discount, judging by average prices.
I placed that list on my hall tableknowing the day would come when Id need it. Sure enough, it didnt take long.
That Saturday, I was all set to bake a cake when I heard the bell. Peering through the spyhole, I saw Susan with a mixing bowl in hand.
I took a deep breath, wore my most polite, frosty smile and opened the door.
Hello! Listen, youd be doing me a real favour! I want to make some drop scones, but Ive run out of flour. Could you spare about 300 grams? I promise Ill return it!
Flour? I repeated. Yes, of course Ive got some.
Oh, wonderful! You know Ill definitely bring it back!
Susan, of course. But before we do this, perhaps we should settle up for everything youve borrowed so far.
I handed her the prepared list. Susan blinked, confusedshe was used to me fetching whatever she needed without a word, not this sudden account.
Look, I said, showing her the notes. This is everything youve had from me over the last two months. Shall we check it together? Fifteen eggs, that right?
Well I didnt keep count she muttered, her smile fading quickly.
Well, I did. Four cups of sugar. Oil, coffee, washing powder, lemon, onions. Agree?
Susan said nothing, a baffled look shifting to irritation in her eyes. How dared I? Wasnt this all just being neighbourly?
Ive added it up at supermarket priceseven gave you a deal. Comes to £19.50, I said, holding out my palm.
As soon as youve settled up, Ill happily weigh out the flour for you. I can even sift it, if you like.
Youre serious? she finally breathed. Youve given me a bill? For salt and matches?! Are you alright?
Perfectly, I nodded. If you borrow something, you return it; if you dont, its a sale. All Im asking is for payment for the goods.
How petty can you get! she spluttered. I thought we were being neighbourly but you youre just a penny-pincher!
Petty is having money for takeaway, but begging toilet rolls off your neighbours, I replied, keeping my cool.
Susans face turned a furious red.
Keep your precious flour! she shouted, slamming the door behind her. I stood there with my list in handfeeling more relieved than upset.
Its been two weeks since then. Susan doesnt greet me anymore. In the lift, she turns away, glued to her phone. I overheard her telling the porter that this building is full of stingy, odd people.
I do sometimes wonderwhat would you have done in my shoes? Would you keep putting up with it?
