Rich Neighbour, Poor Neighbour

As it was Thursday, Claude wore a red tie. Picking what suit to wear was the challenge. Should he wear the burgundy suit that he uses for outside wear or his teal suit for when guests come over. In the end he went for his yellow suit. The one that his neighbour’s wife knitted for him, it was warm and comfortable.

Claude flicked through the papers and binned them, when he saw anxiety and mental health for the sixth page in a row. Nothing but laziness, he thought. How unfair it was that these so-called celebs cried wolf whilst the normal folk slaved away and had to pay for them.

The knock on the door was heaven to Claude’s ears. Made a change from moody teenagers. There was the door was his best friend, Oliver Zen in his plain turtleneck and jeans. He stood out from the aqua walls and golden stripes from the corridor.

“Hello Claude!”

“Come in!”

Oliver observed lilac and lines and portraits scattered around the wall. “Ah, you’ve been redecorating again?”

"You'll have to excuse the mess!" Claude moved his girlfriend's shoes under the staircase, so the corridor was no longer a trip hazard. Oliver didn’t mind, but Claude did. He hasn’t had to do housework in thirty years. Now he questioned the salary of his housemaids.

Oliver removed his shoes and slipped on the slippers Claude gave him. "If you want a mess, go in my daughter's room."

"I've had a disastrous week,” Claude explained. “All my staff are off with COVID."

Oliver lifted his head. "Again? Every single one of them?"

Claude squeezed his knuckles as another shoe reached his eye level. He would rather put his hand in a bowl of slugs than touch another shoe. "I'm so glad you're here. I need to vent."

"Is it another paternity test or a lawsuit?"

"SHOES!" Claude crouched over to retrieve the shoe and held it above Oliver's head.

Oliver shrugged his shoulders. "What about them?"

"Ever since my girlfriend moved in my whole life has been nothing but shoes. I've got shoes in the corridor; shoes in the bathroom; shoes in the kitchen; and look!" Claude marched to the fridge and took out some sneakers.

Claude's body relaxed when Oliver's wrinkled nose matched his own. "She's got a lot of shoes ain't she? Why is she putting trainers in the fridge?"

“I don’t know, it dries them out apparently.” Claude slammed the fridge’s door and placed the shoes in a bin amongst many other pairs. He had no idea how many shoes his girlfriend had, but it had to be t least the three figures. “So what brings you here?”

“I was wondering if I could have some butter?”

“Yes of course!” Claude examined the spreads in his fridge. “What kind of butter? We’ve got full fat, dairy-free, sunflower spread, margarine, olive spread and…whatever this blue stuff is.”

Oliver opened his mouth. “Wow, I didn’t know there were so many.”

“I’ll give you this one.” Claude took the blue tub out and placed it in Oliver’s tote bag.”

“Thank you so much!” Oliver admired the tub as if it were an antique. “The kids will love this. We’ll all have bread and butter tonight?”

Claude jumped. Gasping for air, his face soured as he howled out, ”BREAD AND BUTTER?”

Oliver tilted his head, as the butter slipped back into his bag. “Is something wrong?”

Claude had flash backs of a childhood riddled with poverty and sickness. He had lived on bread and butter and watery porridge and he wouldn’t wish it on anybody. “You’re telling me that your tea tonight will be just be bread and butter?”

”Yes, that’s correct.”

“No!” Claude stomped his feet. One would think Oliver had said a horrible word or the worst insult of mankind. Claude placed his heads on his hips. Bread and butter was not a meal! “What are you a peasant. No that won’t do! What do you need?”

"Can I borrow a quid?" Oliver asked.

"Just a quid?” Claude had plenty of quid. He’d be happy to give Oliver twenty of them. “What's a quid going to get you?"

"Oh plenty," Oliver said, rubbing his hands. "Sachets of soup for 24 Penske. Some jam for 34p. A tin of spagaetti hoops which is 16p, and a loaf of bread reduced for 20p, sometimes 10p if I’m lucky. I only buy basic brand stuff or things with a yellow label. Syed sells his curry sandwiches for 10p."

Doing the calculations in his head, Claude could tell Oliver would be over the £1 limit. “If its 10p, it‘s 10p for a reason! No wonder your wife has IBS.” Claude crouched down to reach a bag enough for a month’s worth of shopping. “I’m not letting my neighbour live like a peasant.” Claude marched towards Oliver and passed the bag over. “Come with me, let’s have a look what we’ve got in the walk-in fridge.”

Claude lead Oliver into his walk-in fridge.

Oliver gasped. “It’s like a supermarket in here…”

Claude saw this as the opportunity for a clear out. “I think the girls are doing veganaury, have some chicken.”

Oliver burst into tears of happiness. “Thank you so much!”

“I’m not done yet!” Claude yelled carrying 3 joints of chicken in his hand. “Here! Have all the chickens!”

Oliver almost dropped the bag as the weight of the chicken pushed the bag to his knees.

“Now what else?” Claude reached out for the three tubs of Marmite. Just looking at the black and yellow jar made Claude wince. It was worth getting rid of. “Do you like Marmite?”

“Yes!” Oliver said. “We all love it.”

“Good!” Claude tossed the tubs into Oliver’s bag. “I hate the stuff.”

Claude went through the fridge and his pantry to pick out all the food he disliked; anything green like Brussels sprouts, mushy peas, canned peas and in fact anything with peas in. By the time Claude had finished filling Oliver’s bag, it weighed twice the size of Oliver.

“I’ll help you carry this!” Claude insisted. “You’ll snap in half the if you carry this home.”

True to his word, Claude supported Oliver taking the food back to his house. Claude could not ignore the cracks on the walls and the mould forming on the cielings. He wished he had worn his coat.

Oliver’s house had substantially less possessions than Claude, but the family still seemed happy munching on their bread and butter.

“Thanks for everything,” Oliver said. “We’ll make sure it last.”

“No,” Claude said, reaching for his wallet. “Thank you for being a good friend. Take this…” He presented Oliver with a £20 note. “And I don’t want it back!”