She had gone to prepare herself some beans on toast, but when she arrived Angie was already sitting at the tiny Formica table. She too had chosen beans for lunch and had a tall glass of milk at her elbow. It wasn’t until Maggie noticed the distinctive blue pattern on the plate that she was using that she became concerned. It wasn’t that she was mean, but this was her plate, and cutlery too for that matter, and she would rather not have to share, particularly when others’ standard of washing up did not always match her own.
‘I’d really rather you didn’t use my stuff,’ she said to Angie, trying to hit a note of friendly authority.
Angie looked at her blankly.
‘That plate. And that pan,’ Maggie clarified. ‘They’re both mine.’
‘Oh,’ replied Angie. ‘I thought they were for everyone to use. You know, communal.’
‘No,’ said Maggie. ‘They’re mine. I brought them from home.’
‘Sorry. Didn’t realise,’ Angie said.
Well, that was easy enough, thought Maggie. Hopefully she had made her point and there would be no repetition.
‘It’s just a plate, though,’ continued Angie. ‘I can’t see how it matters much.’
Maggie bridled a little. ‘Well, it’s just that when people use other people’s stuff, it means it’s not there when they want to use it themselves,’ she said. She was using her most balanced tone of voice, and what she was saying was so reasonable and obvious that she couldn’t quite understand how Angie could object.
‘Can’t you just use one of the others?’ Angie asked. ‘There are plenty in the cupboard.’
‘But then I’ll annoy someone else by taking their things. It just works best if everyone sticks to their own.’
‘Well, I don’t have any so that doesn’t work very well for me,’ Angie replied.
‘That’s hardly my fault,’ said Maggie under her breath.
It was all right though. Maggie wasn’t petty-minded. On this one occasion, she would use somebody else’s things herself and then, when there was nobody looking, she would gather up all her items and take them out of harm’s way.
She opened her cupboard to get her last tin of beans, but it wasn’t there. In fact, her tuna, pasta and a tin of rice pudding that she had been saving for a special occasion all seemed to have disappeared too. Maggie opened the fridge. Her loaf of bread was down to the crusts and someone had put her milk bottle back in even though there was nothing but the last dregs left in the bottom.
‘Are you eating my food?’ she asked, outraged.
‘Dunno,’ said Angie. ‘It was in that cupboard. I’ll get you some more when I get a minute.’
‘And what am I supposed to do now?’
‘The shop’s open until five. You could get something there.’
The cheek of her. Maggie could hardly believe what she was hearing. The idea of taking someone else’s food without permission was so alien to her that she couldn’t quite get her head around it. And did Angie really expect her to replace her own stuff?
‘I can’t believe you!’ she said. ‘You eat my food and then, instead of offering to replace it, you suggest that I go out and get it myself!’
Angie put the last forkful of food in her mouth and then sat back and stared at Maggie, as if it was her who was being unreasonable. ‘I don’t know why you’re getting your knickers in such a twist. It’s only a tin of beans.’
‘And bread. And half a pint of milk! You can’t just take what you want, you know. It doesn’t work like that.’
Angie shrugged. Then she stood up, dropped her dirty plate into the sink on top of the pan and left the kitchen. Maggie just stood there open-mouthed, for a moment too flabbergasted to speak.
Then her full fury filled her. She stormed after Angie and shouted up the corridor at her retreating back. ‘You can’t just leave it like that. Get back here and wash my stuff up!’
But Angie had reached her room, opened her door and let it close behind her without even turning round.
‘And I want my food all replaced by the end of tomorrow,’ Maggie continued, although there was no point at all. Angie wasn’t listening.
Indignation fanned the flames of her anger as she took all the dishes out of the sink and ran hot water into it. She accidentally squirted in more washing-up liquid than was necessary as her fingers squeezed tightly around the bottle. The waste also made her curse Angie under her breath. How dare she? And to be so blatant. And with absolutely no hint of an apology. It beggared belief. Maggie fumed away under her breath as she washed all her things and dried them on her neatly pressed tea towel. She was still muttering to herself as she carried all her possessions from the communal kitchen back to the safety of her room.