– Come here, Simon
– Miss, but we havent got the money the boy mumbled, eyes down, glancing nervously at the bag full of things.
After Christmas, the town of Canterbury seemed lonelier than ever. The fairy lights still dangled from lamp posts, but they no longer brought comfort. People hurried by. The shops were nearly empty. Too much food was left sitting cold in kitchen larders, and an uneasy silence lingered in every home.
Our grand old house was no different. Like every year, the tables groaned under the weight of roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, trifle, oranges, and homemade fruit cakefar more than we ever needed.
I found myself slowly gathering plates in the quiet aftermath. I stared at the uneaten feast and felt something tight in my chest. I knew much of it would be thrown away. The thought made me ache.
Without thinking, I walked to the frosted window, my breath fogging the glass.
Thats when I saw him.
Simon.
He was standing outside the iron gate, small and pale, his cap pulled low and his threadbare coat doing little against the cold. He wasnt staring at the house, just sort of lingering, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, so still I thought he might drift away in the wind. He didnt have the courage to knock; I could see it.
I remembered seeing him in town a few days before Christmas. He would press his nose to bakery windows, staring longingly at the carefully arranged mince pies and baskets of bread, but he never begged, never caused troublejust watched, with that same quiet hunger I could never shake from memory.
At that moment, everything became clear.
I abandoned the plates and snatched up a big canvas bag, filling it with crusty bread, slices of fruit cake, roast beef, apples, and sweets. I soon needed a second bag. Then a third. I packed up all the Christmas leftovers.
I opened the front door quietly.
Simon come here, love.
He looked startled, creeping forward in tiny steps, wary and shy.
Take these, take them home, I said softly, holding out the loaded bags.
He froze, the surprise plain on his face.
Miss we dont have any money
I shook my head, smiling gently.
No need for money. Just eat, thats all.
His hands shook as he took the bags, gripping them to his chest as though cradling something fragile, almost sacred.
Thank you he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears.
I stood in the doorway, watching as he walked away, slower than he had come, as if trying to make the moment last a little longer.
That evening, in a little terraced house, a mother wept with gratitude. A boy ate until he was full for the first time in months. And a family felt, perhaps just for that night, a little less alone.
In my big house, the tables were finally cleared, but our hearts felt fuller than they had in ages.
Real wealth isnt in hoarding what you have, I realised. Its in the moments you choose to give, especially when no-one is watching, no-one expects it.
And maybe Christmas isnt just a single day. Maybe it truly begins whenever you open your door and say, come in.
KINDNESS has a way of changing lives in the smallest of ways. And maybe, just maybe, thats what matters most.
