**Diary Entry 12th December 2023**
“Please, just ten pounds,” the boy begged, kneeling to polish the CEOs shoeswhen he explained it was to save his mum.
Edward Whitmore wasnt a man easily interrupted. His days ran with Swiss precision: meetings, mergers, marble offices filled with polished laughter and expensive coffee. That frosty winter morning, hed taken refuge in his favourite café to scan emails before the board meeting that would decide whether his firm swallowed another rival.
He never saw the boy comingnot until a small shadow fell across his gleaming black shoes.
“Excuse me, sir,” piped a voice, nearly lost in the wind and swirling snow. Edward glanced up from his phone, irritated, and saw a boy no older than eight or nine, swamped in a coat two sizes too big, gloves mismatched.
“Whatever youre selling, I dont want it,” Edward snapped, turning back to his screen.
But the boy didnt move. He knelt right there on the icy pavement, pulling out a worn shoebox from under his arm.
“Please, sir. Just ten pounds. Ill make em shine proper. Please.”
Edward arched a brow. London was full of beggars, but this one was persistentand oddly polite.
“Why ten pounds?” he asked, almost against his will.
The boy lifted his head, and Edward saw raw desperation in eyes too large for his thin face. His cheeks were red and chapped, lips cracked from the cold.
“Its for my mum, sir,” he whispered. “Shes poorly. Needs medicine, and I aint got enough.”
Edwards throat tighteneda reaction he despised. Hed trained himself not to feel those tugs. Pity was for those who couldnt manage their wallets.
“There are shelters. Charities. Go find one,” he muttered, waving him off.
But the boy pressed on. He pulled out a cloth, fingers stiff and red.
“Please, sir, Im not beggin. I work. Lookyour shoes got dust. Ill make em so shiny your posh matesll be jealous. Please.”
A cold laugh escaped Edward. Ridiculous. He glanced around; other patrons sipped lattes inside, pretending not to see this pitiful scene. A woman in a threadbare coat sat against the wall nearby, head bowed, arms wrapped tight.
“Whats your name?” Edward asked, annoyed at his own curiosity.
“Alfie,” the boy said.
Edward exhaled. Checked his watch. Five minutes wouldnt hurt. Maybe the boy would leave if he got his way.
“Fine. Ten pounds. But do it right.”
Alfies eyes lit up like Christmas lights. He set to work at once, buffing the leather with surprising skill. The cloth moved in quick, precise circles. He hummed softly, maybe to keep his numb fingers moving. Edward studied the boys tousled hair, an odd ache in his chest.
“You do this often?” he asked, gruff.
Alfie nodded without looking up.
“Every day, sir. After school too, if I can. Mum used to work, but she got real bad. Cant stand long now. I gotta get her medicine today or or” His voice trailed off.
Edward glanced at the woman by the wallher coat thin, hair tangled, gaze fixed. She hadnt moved, hadnt asked for a penny. Just sat there like the cold had turned her to stone.
“That your mum?” Edward asked.
Alfies cloth stilled. He nodded.
“Yeah, sir. But dont talk to er. She dont like askin for help.”
When he finished, Alfie sat back. Edward inspected his shoesthey gleamed so bright he could see his own tired reflection.
“Not bad. Good job,” Edward said, pulling out his wallet. He hesitated, then added another note.
Alfie shook his head. “Just ten, sir. Thats what you said.”
Edward frowned. “Take the twenty.”
Alfie refused again, firmer. “Mum says we dont take what we aint earned.”
For a moment, Edward just staredthis tiny boy in the snow, bones rattling in that coat, yet standing tall as a man twice his size.
“Keep it,” he said finally, tucking the notes into Alfies gloved hand. “Consider it an advance.”
Alfies face split into a grin so wide it hurt to see. He dashed to the womanhis motherknelt beside her, and showed her the money. She looked up, eyes weary but wet with unshed tears.
Edward felt a knot in his chest. Guilt, maybe. Or shame.
He gathered his things, but as he stood, Alfie came running back.
“Thank you, sir! Tomorrow Ill find youfree polish, promise!”
Before Edward could reply, the boy raced off, wrapping his arms around his mother. The snow fell heavier, swallowing the city in silence.
Edward lingered, staring at his polished shoes, wondering when the world had grown so cold.
And for the first time in years, the man who had everything wondered if he had anything at all.
That night, Edward couldnt sleep in his penthouse overlooking the city. His bed was warm. His dinner, prepared by a chef; his wine, poured in crystal. He shouldve been contentbut Alfies wide eyes haunted him every time he closed his own.
By dawn, the boardroom shouldve been all that mattered. A billion-pound deal. His legacy. Yet when the lift doors opened the next morning, Edward found himself back at that café.
The snow still fell in soft swirls. The street was quiettoo early for a boy to be polishing shoes. But there he was: Alfie, kneeling beside his mother, coaxing her to sip weak tea from a paper cup.
Edward approached. Alfie spotted him first, face lighting up.
“Sir! Got fresh polishbest in town! Need another shine? On me!”
Edward glanced at his shoes. They didnt need itstill gleaming from yesterday. But Alfies hopeful look twisted something inside him.
He studied the woman. She looked frailer today, shoulders shaking under that same coat.
“Whats her name?” Edward asked quietly.
Alfie fidgeted. “Mum? Shes Rose.”
Edward crouched in the snow, eye-level with the boy.
“Alfie what happens if she doesnt get better?”
Alfie swallowed. “Theyll take me away,” he whispered. “Put me somewhere but I gotta stay with er. Shes all I got.”
It was the same desperate logic Edward had clung to as a boywhen hed learned the world didnt care how good you were if you were poor.
“Where dyou live?” Edward asked.
Alfie pointed to a battered shelter round the corneran old warehouse behind a crumbling church.
“Sometimes there. Sometimes other places. They dont like kids stayin long.”
The cold seeped through Edwards gloves. He looked back at Rose, her eyes barely open. She met his gazeashamed but proud.
“I dont want charity,” she rasped. “Dont you dare feel sorry for me.”
“I dont,” Edward said softly. “I feel angry.”
That day, Edward skipped the meetingthe first time in fifteen years hed kept investors waiting. He found a private clinic, arranged an ambulance, and helped carry Rose when she nearly collapsed on the kerb. Alfie clung to her hand, a shadow.
The doctors did what they could. Pneumonia. Malnutrition. Things no mother should suffer in a city of skyscrapers and billionaires.
Edward didnt leave the hospital till past midnight. He sat with Alfie in the corridor, the boy bundled in a borrowed blanket, eyes red from fighting sleep.
“You dont have to stay,” Alfie mumbled. “Youre busy. Mum says men like you got big things to do.”
Edward studied Alfies messy hair, the way he clutched his polish cloth like a lifeline.
“There are bigger things,” Edward said. “Like you.”
Roses recovery was slow. Edward paid for every test, every pill. Hired nurses to watch her day and night. When she finally woke, she tried to riseto argue, to refuse. But when Edward handed her the hospital papers, she broke into tears shed held for years.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why us?”
Edward had no good answer. He only knew that in Alfies stubborn pride, he saw the boy hed once been. In Roses fierce love, he saw his own late mother, her hands rough from scrubbing floors that never stayed clean.
He found them a flat near the hospitalwarm beds, a stocked pantry, a school for Alfie. The first night they slept there, Edward arrived with groceries. He found Alfie curled on the new sofa, shoes off for the first time in days.
“Your shoes need a polish,” Alfie teased, sleepy.
Edward laugheda sound that surprised them both
