I work as a chef in a cosy little café in the heart of Manchester. At the end of my shift, just as I was about to grab my coat and switch off the lights behind the bar, I happened to spot a man sitting on the pavement outside, right in the bleak drizzle.
He was perched on the kerb, shivering miserably. Next to him, sprawled out on the concrete and snuggled up against his knees, was a big scruffy dog. Both looked equally wretchedhungry, exhausted, and dreadfully lonely.
The sight made my heart ache. I suddenly remembered there was still a pot of hot leek and potato soup in the kitchenenough for one, really, and what a shame to chuck it away. So I reheated the soup, found a sausage roll that would do for the dog, packed everything into takeaway tubs, and, gathering up my courage, ventured outside.
When I handed the soup to the man, he looked up at me with the sort of eyes you see on charity adverts at Christmasutterly knackered but brimming with gratitude.
He thanked me more times than was strictly necessary, telling me he hadnt eaten in over a day. The dog gave his tail a polite little wag, as if to say cheers. The man tucked in slowly, carefully, as though he thought the soup might vanish if he blinked too long. Watching him, a lovely warmth spread through me, like having a cup of tea on a cold morning.
That evening, as I rode the bus home, I felt a rare bout of optimism. Sometimes it really does only take a small kind act to make you feel the whole day hasnt been a complete waste.
But then, morning arrived with a rude knock at my door.
You know, you try to help a homeless man by giving him a hot meal, and the very next day the police are at your doorstep: “Youve poisoned someone, were going to have to detain you.”
Two officers in regulation blue strode into my hallway.
Youre being accused of poisoning and causing harm to another person. Please come with us, one said, flashing his badge with all the drama of a TV detective.
I couldnt breathe.
Poisoning? Who? What? I justwell, I only gave the chap some soup!
Not that it matteredthey were already convinced. CCTV had caught me handing over the soup outside the café, and, as they explained, it was the only meal the poor man had all day after which hed fallen horrendously ill.
Later, I discovered the man had been rushed unconscious to A&E that very night, in critical condition with acute poisoning.
So there I was, cowering in a police station in Salford, running over every possibility. Had I somehow botched the soup? Was the bread off? Did he eat something else before mine? But noI was certain, it was an ordinary, boring, perfectly safe soup.
Finally, after a few days and a lot of cold cups of tea, the detectives uncovered what had really happenedand it turned out to be far more sinister than some wonky soup (See the next bit in the comments )
It turned out, a mobile outreach van from a local charity was out that same night, handing out meals in containers that looked exactly like mine. Someone, for reasons I can only describe as psychopathic, had poisoned all of the foodintending to quietly clean up the streets.
Soon, reports were pouring in: dozens of homeless people across the district had been poisoned in the same way. Hospital after hospital received patients with exactly the same symptoms.
Someone decided to “help” the community by getting rid of the homeless with poison, like a particularly twisted take on spring cleaning.
As luck would have it, the man and his dog by my café only ate my (perfectly wholesome) food. But he later snagged a poisoned meal from the outreach van.
The police realised their mistake, dropped the charges, and sent me home with a sheepish apology. But honestly, the damage was donemy nerves were shot.
Because somewhere, close by, there was a monster who decided starving people werent worth the bother of empathy. And no one had a clue who it was.
