The Lonely Janitor’s Kindness Rewarded and Cursed
Dawn spilled over Manchester’s bus depot, painting the concrete in watery gold. Jeremy hummed along to the tinny radio in his headphones as he swept, same as he had for twelve years. The rhythm of his broom was his lullaby.
Then—a voice, cracked and desperate. “Please…”
Jeremy turned. A woman stood there, no older than thirty-five, cheeks streaked with salt. A baby drowsed in her arms; two wide-eyed children clutched her coat. Her knuckles were white around the handle of a battered suitcase.
“Everything alright?” Jeremy tugged off his headphones.
“I—I need to reach London,” she stammered. “My sister’s there. My husband… he isn’t safe. I’ve no money left.”
Jeremy didn’t hesitate. He handed over his last twenty quid for the fare.
“God bless you,” she whispered, pressing a scrap of paper into his palm. “Your address—I’ll repay you.”
He gave it, though he expected nothing.
That evening, in their cramped Coventry flat, Jeremy’s daughter Eloise—eleven, sharp as a tack—stirred a pot of beans on toast. Her mother had vanished years ago, leaving behind only a dent in the sofa and a girl who’d learned to mend her own socks.
Morning came too soon. “Dad!” Eloise shook him awake. “There’s—boxes. Everywhere.”
On the doorstep, a mountain of crates loomed. A note fluttered from one:
*Dear Jeremy,
These were meant for London. Sell them. Keep the money.
—Grateful*
Eloise, ever curious, pried open a crate. A porcelain figurine shattered—and amid the shards, something glinted. Jeremy held it to the light. A diamond. Real.
“We’re rich!” he gasped.
Eloise frowned. “It’s stolen, Dad. We have to give it back.”
But greed flickered in Jeremy. At Thornton’s Antiques, the appraiser’s monocle gleamed. “A beauty,” murmured Mr. Huxley. “Worth £80,000. Where’d you find it?”
“Family heirloom,” Jeremy lied.
Huxley made a call. “My associate will buy it. £8,000.”
Jeremy balked—but then the man “dropped” the gem. A sleight of hand. The swap was done.
At home, silence. No Eloise. Only a note:
*Want her alive? Bring the diamond. No police.*
Jeremy’s blood turned to ice. The shipping address matched the note. A derelict house in Birmingham awaited.
The door creaked open. A man with a jagged scar levelled a pistol. “Where is it?”
Jeremy handed over the fake. The man roared. “This is glass!”
“Your partner switched it,” Jeremy bluffed. “He’s got the real one. And he’s dead.” He showed a photo of Huxley, bound and unconscious.
The kidnapper cursed, stormed out—straight into a police ambush Jeremy had arranged.
“You didn’t… kill him?” Eloise asked, trembling as he untied her.
“Never,” Jeremy said. “But they’ll lock him away.”
As sirens wailed, he hugged her tight—knowing his own reckoning for the diamond’s theft would come. But for now, dawn broke clean over Coventry, and his girl was safe.
