The lodger

Our lodger is moving out. He’s been in our house for a few years now, but that’s all set to change, because he's found somewhere else to live, given the regulation four weeks' notice, and goes on Friday. We'll miss him, although in what format it's hard to say as he's not been hugely present.
Well, you know how it is with lodgers. Some of them are always sitting at your kitchen table chatting away. Others are like transient night trolls, pottering around after dark. You’ll catch a glimpse of them framed in a doorway or disappearing down the hall. Sometimes you'll hear the slam of a door having not even realised they’ve been in. Some folk prefer their own company, I guess.
We gave him the second and smallest bedroom, right next to the kitchen. That worked out well, because he tended to make his meals in the small hours between midnight and 7am. We never knew the exact time but that's when empty plates appeared on our kitchen counter, or got left on the top of the piano, or – once –tucked into a shelf in his wardrobe, growing mould. I mentioned something at the time, but he wasn't too bothered.
I suppose we’ll also miss the steady stream of friends, politely introducing themselves as they squeezed past us in the hall clutching corner shop bags of vodka and Red Bull. On such occasions the lodger would command use of our communal living space and we decamped to our bedroom. It was fine, we’d finished work and eaten, and it was super easy to take our laptop upstairs and watch things on the tiny screen while they spread out all over the ground floor.
And they weren’t too noisy, only a few times if they gathered in the alley making loud phone calls and waiting for cabs. Or you might get a run of Deliveroo drivers pinging the bell on a Friday night: often a few times, if one of the group forgot to add fries to an order. And then wanted to add a burger on top of that.
Sometimes beer went missing from the fridge. Once, a freshly laundered tablecloth became a bedsheet. For a few weeks all the towels went missing and ended up in the lodger’s room. We got the smell out when he went off to stay with a friend for the weekend, and we could get across to the window and open it for a bit. We’ve collected some hoodies and T-shirts over the years, and a few socks. Giant bear-sized sports tubes, just one at a time, and always stuffed under the bed far out of reach. I just wonder how the owners ever get home with half their clothing missing but that’s up to them.
Snacks have been an issue. The lodger would open a packet, eat half, then put it back in the snack cupboard unsealed. He'd open another an hour later and leave it on the couch, and we'd find a third one the next day in a random place like the shower shelf.
We had a few financial issues too. He often asked for cash, yet paid no rent. I always thought having a lodger was a business transaction, because we had lodgers when I was a small child, and they always paid rent. At such times, I'd share a room with my sister, and we'd revert to separate bedrooms when the lodger moved out. So I do know how it works financially, at least, I thought I did, but it definitely hasn't been like that here.
Anyway, he's leaving, and despite all of the above we'll miss him. He's packed up his bedroom and I've given him a few bits to take. I think it's the least I can do, as a thank you for allowing us to host him for – gosh – is it really 18 years now? I'll probably have a little cry when he leaves, I've grown to love him very much. He says he'll be busy but we've put in a request to have him back here at Christmas. If you see him on your travels, please buy him a pint and a snack, and check his wardrobe for plates.