It’s a shit truth universally acknowledged that, no matter how much you earn, you’ll mysteriously have spent it at the end of the month. What makes it all the more baffling is that it’s also a truth universally acknowledged that living with someone who earns twice as much as you will start to impact your friendship regardless of the fact you're both broke by the 20th of every month.
The 'argh I’m so broke' comments my housemate and I both shared while I smoked JPs and he smoked Marlboro Reds on our balcony overlooking some bins kept it hidden for a while. We bonded over wanting to find the cheapest flat possible, moaned about the price of London transportand – most sneakily – he eats (and still does eat) Supernoodles for a week before payday, while I go without lunch. I thought we were the same. So when he got drunk one night and mentioned his salary, it surprised me – but I rationalised that it would affect things as much as it did.
At first, I thought neither of us minded having mismatched cutlery, a mop from Argos and loo roll of such poor quality that the sales assistant pretty much paid me to take it out of the shop because I’m on London Living Wage and he was broke, too. Any disposable income I get, I like to spend on trying to forget I’m on London Living Wagerather than designer plates. I have a glass of wine at the expense of good glassware, which I’m fine with. It started to become obvious, though, that my housemate (let’s call him Dag, because Dag is a hilarious name) wanted the nicer things, such as forks that were all the same size. And a non-stick wok.
The first time I couldn’t go halves on something (an expensive toaster from John Lewis that was purple and looks a bit like an egg) Dag was cool with it. I set up an 'Anna’s Debt' list and promised to pay him back, but the list soon became way too expansive for me to keep up with. I didn’t want a TV, because we both had laptops, but we got one anyway when he'd spotted a cheap deal in Currys. I didn’t need a record player in the living room but he bought one anyway, with the fatal words, 'It was only £150!'
I didn’t want a TV, because we both had laptops, but we got one anyway when he'd spotted a cheap deal in Currys
When we mysteriously ran out of spoons, I came home with some miscellaneous, slightly mad cutlery I’d lifted from the kitchen at work and, while he didn’t really say anything, I noticed he’d replaced them good ones a few weeks later. Or, at least, ones that matched. Then a toastie machine. Then a new fridge. Out of respect, I didn’t use any of the things he bought at first that I couldn't afford to pay for, but it started to get difficult when all the glassware, plates, cutlery and pans had come out of his wages. What was I supposed to eat? Smash? He’d bought the kettle, so boiling water for instant potato flakes wasn’t even an option.
Thing is, he seemed happy enough to do all this stuff but I constantly felt guilty. And like a slob – happy to live like a student if it meant I could occasionally see friends in a pub. Every time I spent money – on make-up, friends, cold and flu medicine, you name it – I'd think about what I owed him and it'd be like a weight pressing down on me. And my bank balance.
'We’re never in at the same time, I reckon we should totally get a cleaner,' he said last month, to which I made a non-descript noise in the back of my throat which could have been either yes or no. 'It won’t be expensive, just like £20 each or something.'
That was the last straw, really. When you’re living hand to mouth, spending four days feeling guilty whenever you snap and buy a Pret salad (£4.50 guys! NEARLY A FIVER), you need to claw back everything you can. I'd joined the cheapest gym in the world as my one monthly luxury (nudging ‘Spotify Premium Account’ off the top spot) but that would have to go if we got a cleaner. But, months after he originally brought it up, I caved and we did get a cleaner. And I now no longer go to the gym.
Every month I come in and a woman hoovers the floor for £20 that I don’t have, and for literally no other reason than my housemate can afford it
Every month I come in and a woman hoovers the floor for £20 that I don’t have, and for literally no other reason than my housemate can afford it. On top of that, I’m horribly bitter because I really liked the cross-trainer at the shit gym I used to be a member of. I don’t like running in the park (there’s no park anywhere near us, either) and I don’t like not exercising because I get all sad and mopey – so the result is me being sad and mopey. But our floor is looking quite nice.
It came to a head last weekend when I made some comment about the fact he’d left a light on (we split the bills, I pay electricity and council tax, he pays gas and internet and some other stuff). He said, 'It’s just a light' and I said, 'Yeah, if you can afford it' and stalked off dramatically into my room.
A few seconds later, there was a knock at the door, and before he’d even said, 'So, what’s eating you?' it all sort of came out in a jumble of self-pity, guilt and not being able to use the fridge because he'd bought the fridge.
There was a pause, and he asked me if that was why I went through a phase of reading books by candlelight in winter and I admitted that yeah, it wasn’t because I liked the atmosphere. And whether that had anything to do with the reason I kept turning the heating off whenever he turned it on. As anyone who’s been a pauper will know, being faced by your own tight-fistedness when you’re five years out of uni (and thought you’d own a house and have a husband and a kid and a picket fence and be totally, v nearly a CEO by now) is pretty horrible. I felt like an ungrateful, twisted, bitter oak tree of a person and my only coping mechanism when I feel like this is to either surreptitiously leave the conversation or attempt to melt into the crowd, which is difficult considering it’s only us two in the flat and he was in my room.
Being faced by your own tight-fistedness when you’re five years out of uni (and thought you’d own a house and have a husband and a kid and a picket fence and be totally, v nearly a CEO by now) is pretty horrible
And it wasn’t really resolved, either. He said he wouldn't take half the money for the stuff he’d bought, and I refused his offer of paying less bills. I said I’d always feel guilty about having less money, because it’s not fair that he should have to live with someone who can’t help out with basic household stuff and he shrugged and wandered out of the room with his hands on his head.
I guess I should just learn to live with it – if he's genuinely OK paying for all this stuff, then I should be happy I've found a flatmate who's so understanding. But I can't help but feel there must be SOME resentment. Or some sense of, 'Oh c'mon mate, it's just £20'.
We'll have to have a proper chat about it soon, but I'm putting it off because I'm worried I'll just blurt out that I should move out and find another housemate. One who’s really poor and always working and doesn’t mind freezing their tits off in winter to save money on the heating bill. But then I wouldn’t have a nice Smeg fridge and a record player.
Swings and (guilt) roundabouts, I suppose.
Picture: Eylul Aslan
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.