The Fairy Godmother Part 13

“The Fairy Council?” he muttered. “What’s it got to do with them.”

“I go where they send me,” I explained. “They sent me here with instructions on cleaning up your life and and giving you some direction. Asking why isn’t a good idea.”

“But,” he muttered.

“Are you happy with your life?” I asked. “Do you enjoy having a kitchen that looks and smells like the bin wagon has made a delivery here instead of taking the stuff to the tip.”

“They wouldn’t be able to get the wagon up here,” he replied. “The lift’s broken again.”

“And how long has it been broken for?” I asked.

“Not sure,” he said. “I think it was summer, I remember the weather being very hot.”

“Right, and we are in the first week of December,” I said.

“Doesn’t look like it’s going to happen this year then,” he said filling the kettle. “Do Fairies drink tea?”

“Not from that tea pot,” I said, taking a look inside it.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked, trying to empty the tea bags out.

“You mean apart from the fact that it’s beginning to develop it’s own ecosystem in there and that the old tea bags seem to be well and truly stuck to the bottom of the pot?” I asked.

“OK, it is a bit gross,” he agreed looking round for a mug and rapidly coming to the conclusion that there wasn’t one clean mug in the place.

“A bit gross,” I said.

“OK, it’s totally gross,” he said. “And I know it’s all my own fault, that all I have to do is wash the dishes and put out the rubbish, but I look at this lot and just feel like going back to bed again. I don’t know where to start and I don’t know if I have the energy to finish the job.” He sat down with a thump and looked all in. My thoughts of telling him to get his act together and start cleaning the place up vanished as I looked at him.”

“Where are the bins?” I asked.

“There used to be a rubbish shoot, but they got sealed up because they kept getting the wrong things put down them,” he replied.

“Wrong things?” I asked.

“Things that were on fire, dead people, people who weren’t dead when they got dumped, but were after a few days,” he explained.

“I see,” I replied. “So what happens now?”

“There are some bins round the back of the flat, you take the rubbish there,” he said. “Problem with that is, you get some odd people hanging round there.”

“So, it’s a lot of effort taking the rubbish to the bin, with the lifts being out, and you don’t feel safe when you do?” I asked.

“That about sums it up,” he said, looking at the milk in the fridge, there were bits floating about in it and a rather ripe smell of cheese came out when he took the lid off. “Do you think that’s OK?” he looked hopefully.

“Only if you are planning a slow suicide by food poisoning,” I replied. “When did you last go to the shops?”

“It’s not easy,” he said. “There are 15 floors to go down and come up added to that, the nearest shop is about five miles away and I haven’t got any money left to buy anything with.”

“So, what were you planning on doing?” I asked.

“I wasn’t planning, I just sort of hoped someone would wave a wand and sort it out?” he looked hopeful.

“Sorry, my wand is out of bounds,” I said. “But I suspect this is a problem for more than just you. There will be other people in this block who can’t get out.”

“I’m sure there are,” he said. “But I don’t know what we can do about it.”

“First we need to contact the person in charge of the flat,” I said. “They need to be made aware of the fact that the lift isn’t working and it is impinging on the lives of the residents. Did you report the lift when it broke down?”

“I didn’t specifically, but I’m pretty sure someone must have,” he said, shaking the milk. “Perhaps I could sieve the lumps out.”

I shot the milk bottle with my laser cannon, it seemed preferable to throwing up on him.

“I suppose you want me to clean the floor again,” he said adding what was left of the milk bottle to the over flowing bin.

“It’s either that or report the lift,” I said.

“So, I ring up and report the lift and you’ll clean up the milk bottle?” he asked.

“I’ll also take that bin load to the bin,” I replied.

“OK,” he said tapping on his mobile phone.

“Hello,” he said when someone finally answered. “I’d like to report that the lift is out of action.”

“Could you give me your post code,” he was asked.

“Certainly,” he said, checking the post code on one of the many envelopes lying around.

“I have sent a message to the repair people, they have just finished work on the block next door and will be there in about five minutes,” he was told.

“Thank-you,” he said, hanging up.

“If you don’t tell them, they wont fix it,” I said.

“I just thought that someone else might,” he said.

“And they probably all thought the same and so no one did,” I replied. “Don’t expect other people to do things for you. Also, they are more likely to move if lots of people tell them about something.”

“Do you have all the answers?” he asked.

“No, but I have a lot of the questions,” I smiled. “And that has to be a start,” I added, cleaning up the floor before the milk spread any further. “I am going to take this lot to the bin, I expect you to be dressed by the time I get back.”

“You were little a minute ago, now you are about five foot six,” he said looking confused.

“It would take me forever cleaning that spill up if I was only six inches tall,” I replied looking at the bin, picking it up seemed to be a good way of wearing a lot of the rather messy stuff sitting on the top and I suspected it would be hard to find any bin bags to empty it into. I decided on levitation of the bin, assuming the contents would come up with it. The contents and the bottom of the bin stayed put, the sides moved up and everything started to descend towards the floor. I changed to levitating the lot, opened a window and flew with it to the bins. The bin lid didn’t look too choice so I levitated that as well, a small crowd of people in dark clothes took one look at the bin lid and the rubbish making it’s way into the bin, in a nice orderly line, followed by the bin lid.

“I’m quitting,” said one changing his mind about buying something and dashing off down an alley. He was followed rather rapidly by several others who seemed to be of the same opinion.

“You’ve frightened all my customers away,” he said glaring at me.

“Not much of a business, hanging round bins,” I replied. “Perhaps you need a change of career,” I added floating into the air, with a flap of my wings I was back at the 15^th floor.

“Perhaps I do,” he muttered to himself walking down the alley the others had run down.

“No problems down the bins?” he asked as I flew back in through the kitchen window.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” I smiled.

“I suppose not,” he muttered.

By Janice Nye © 2019