You Used to Be Perfect Once Upon a Time

She opens the banking app on her phone and taps the transfer button. Can you spot me fifty pounds? Ive got no cash and the cars empty, a voice note from Liam finishes. In an instant five hundred pounds fly to his account. It happens before she can finish the irritated thought in her head.

Thanks, love, youre a star! a reply ping arrives a minute later.

She puts the phone down and stares at the ceiling of her London flat. A star, right. Who else would send money at eleven at night without asking why? Who else wouldnt remind her of the threepound loan from two weeks ago?

Six months ago things were different. She, Liam, Megan and Kyle all earned roughly the sameabout five hundred pounds a month, give or take. They split the pizza bill evenly, shared café tabs, never kept track of each others cash. Then Daisy (her new name) defended her dissertation, got a promotion and moved to a new department.

Her salary quadrupled. Not by one and a half, not by two, but by four.

At first she doesnt notice the shift. For a couple of months she lives as before, stashing a little for a rainy day, buying groceries on sale, treating every purchase as if it costs a fortune. Its a habit. Her friends, however, spot the change immediately, as if a neon sign had lit up above her head: Im rich now, bring it on.

Daisy sits on her bed, pulling her knees to her chest, and remembers that first celebration after her raise. Megan shows up with a cheap fizzy drink, Kyle with a bag of crisps, and Liam arrives emptyhanded but grinning.

Daisy orders sushi, decent drinks, cheese and fruit. As usual she adds up the total, divides it by four and posts the amount in the group chat. Nobody forwards the money. She waits a day, two, a week. Finally she sends a gentle reminder with a smiling emoji.

Daisy, whats the point? Youve got money to burn, Megan texts back.
Dont worry, well chip in next time, Kyle adds.

The next time never comes. The pattern repeats. Daisy sets the table, the friends come, they eat, they leave, and she pays again.

She finally asks directly while theyre all finishing pasta shes been simmering for two hours in her kitchen.

Guys, how are we going to split the bills? Ive spent about five hundred pounds on this, she says.

Liam chokes on his wine, Megan widens her eyes, and Kyle pretends to study the pattern on the tablecloth.

Daisy, Megan says in that patronising tone adults use with spoiled children, youre rich now. Five hundred pounds for you is like five pounds for us.
Exactly, Liam agrees. You wont go broke. Were already tight as it is.
Dont be stingy, Daisy, Kyle pats her shoulder. Were friends.

Friends. Daisy nods, smiles and drops the subject, not wanting a fight or to appear the miser who counts pennies on a sixfigure salary. After that night she starts to invite them over less often, citing work, fatigue or other plans, sometimes even lying just to avoid feeling used.

Shopping trips with them become a kind of torture. Someone forgets their wallet, cant get cash out, or left the card at home. Two pounds here, three pounds there. Daisy helps out because refusing feels cruel when theres a line of people behind them.

But the money never comes back. Never.

Then New Years Eve arrives. Daisy stands in her living room, looking at the festively set tablesalad, pickled herring, roast chicken, assorted cold cuts, a mountain of mandarins in a crystal vase. All beautiful, all on her tab.

She hadnt planned to spend the night with anyone. She wanted to be alone, watch a silly holiday film and be in bed by two a.m. But the friends show up uninvited.

Daisy, how can you be alone on New Years? Well be there, itll be fun!
Your flat is huge, theres room for everyone!
You wont ditch us, will you?

She agrees, still hoping theyve changed, hoping theyll bring something, chip in, at least say thank you.

The TV murmurs in the background. Daisy adjusts the glittering bauble on the artificial tree in the corner and glances at the clock. Eleven. Theyll be here soon.

The intercom chimes at a quarter to twelve. Megan bursts in first, perfume and sparkle trailing behind her.

Daisy! Happy New Year! I brought you a present!

Liam and Kyle follow close behind.

Wow, nice table! Kyle flops onto the sofa and reaches for the salad. Daisy, youve outdone yourself. I havent eaten since breakfast.

Daisy pours drinks, hands out glasses. They clink, toast the past year, the new one, friendship. She smiles, says the right things. Inside something aches, but she holds it back. Not now. Not ten minutes before midnight.

When the clock strikes, Daisy makes a silent wish: that the next year be fairer.

Presents! Megan shrieks. Lets open them!

Daisy hands the parcels to them.

Here you go, Daisy! Megan hands her a small bag.

Inside is a watermelonscented shower gel.

Oh, thank you, Daisy says, turning the bottle over. Watermelon. Cute.
From me! Kyle adds his bag.

Red socks with reindeer on them, price tag still attached£1.20.

Lovely, she sets the socks aside.
And from me! Liam solemnly presents a tiny box.

Three cheap plastic baubles, paint flaking off.

Daisy looks at her giftsgel, socks, baubles. Roughly three pounds in total. She nods to herself. Right. All good.

Now you all open mine, she says.

Megan tears hers first: a diary, some sweets and a pair of reindeer socks, but these look fresher.

Kyle gets a shaving kit and candy. Liam finds a thermos and a scarf.

Their faces stretch in unison, as if rehearsed.

Um is that all? Megan asks, holding up the diary. This the whole gift?
What do you mean? Daisy replies.
Megan waves the diary. Just a diary? Thats it?

Daisy leans back, crosses her legs.

Yes. Anything wrong?
Daisy, Liam interjects, we thought youd… you know, splurge a bit. You can afford it.
Im giving you what you gave me, roughly the same price range. Thats fair.
Unfair! Megan snaps. You earn a hundred times more than us!
I earn four times more. That doesnt mean I have to spend more on you than you do on me.
You should! Were friends! Friends share!

Daisy looks up at her flushed face, glitter in her hair, trembling lips.

Share? she repeats. Ive been footing the bill for six months. Every meetup costs me. You never repay. You show up emptyhanded and eat my food. And now you expect me to give?

Youre greedy, Kyle says. Just greedy. Youve got plenty of cash but act like youre broke.
Im acting like someone fed up with being used, Daisy stands. You owe me a lot this year. Not a penny returned. Tonights dinner cost me fifteen hundred pounds. Did you chip in? No. Did you even offer? No. You just sat and ate.
Because youre rich! Megan shouts. Its peanuts to you!
It doesnt matter if its pennies or pounds. Its my money. I earned it. I dont have to waste it on people who treat me as a walking wallet.

Silence falls. Kyle lets out a noisy sigh. Liam looks out the window. Megans cheeks are red, the diary still clutched in her hand.

Youve changed, she says quietly. You used to be normal.

Megan hurls the diary onto the couch.

Lets go, guys. Nothing left for us here.

They gather their coats, slip on shoes, stare past her. Liam finally turns at the doorway.

Dont be like that, Daisy. Weve been friends for years.
We were, she replies. Then you decided I should fund you.

The door slams. Footsteps fade up the stairs. Daisy is alone in a flat that smells of salad and burnt sparklers.

She returns to the table, fills her glass, eats a spoonful of the homemade mayodressed salad, then picks up a mandarin, then another. The TV plays Love Actually. She smirks, pulls out her phone, blocks Megan, then Liam, then Kyle, removes them from every social platform, wipes the chats clean.

The friendship didnt survive the money test. She had believed friends would stay friends regardless of the zeros in her paycheck. No. Money turned out to be a litmus test, showing who stays for you and who stays for your wallet.

She finishes the salad, wraps herself in a blanket, changes the channel. Outside, fireworks explode, painting the sky above the rooftops. She watches them and smilesnot a forced grin, but a genuine one.

This isnt the end. She will find new people, those who value her for who she is, with or without a salary. Those who wont calculate her worth or count how much they can get from her.

Mandarins taste of festivity and childhood. Daisy peels another, separates the segments, pops one into her mouth. Sweet, juicy, perfect.

Happy New Year, Daisy. To a new life, she whispers to herself.