Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html by Lisa Read Free Book Online

newscaster was describing the day's events in Brooklyn, where there had been serious trouble between
    Koreans and Dominicans after a fight in a deli. The incident had developed into a major disturbance, and the deli was now surrounded by pickets.
    'Another race row,' said Kerry. 'What a pity humans cannot be like fairies, as you mentioned this morning.'
    'Right,' said Morag, looking at the ceiling.
    Kerry switched off the radio and looked thoughtful.
    'What does "devilish yellow fairies" mean?'
    'Nothing. Nothing at all. Just a pleasant Scots blessing. We often say it on meeting an old friend.'
    Morag hunted out her whisky supply and made for the bed.
    'I think I'll go to sleep now. If anyone calls, tell them I'm not in.'
    'Do you have to sit on my shoulder?' complained Dinnie.
    'Why not? It's a good fat shoulder. Lots of room.'
    'My shoulder is not fat.'
    'Yes, it is.'
    They stopped on the corner to argue. This heated discussion between a violinist and an invisible fairy would have drawn attention in some places. On a corner of East 4th Street, no one took any notice.
    They walked on, Dinnie more grumpy than usual but Heather completely unaffected by the argument. Dinnie was
    on his way to the supermarket on Second Avenue where he could shop cheaply and buy his favourite cookies.
    'Any change?' asked a beggar. Dinnie ignored her. Dinnie's meanness saddened Heather. She did not think it was fitting for a MacKintosh to refuse to help the poor.
    'She doesn't have a home. It is terrible not to have a home.'
    'I couldn't care less. If you're so bothered about it, go and build her one. It'll get you out of my hair.'
    'I've never been in your hair. It is too dirty.'
    Dinnie had thick black hair, bushy and uncombed. Along with his height, this sometimes gave him a wild-man
    look, particularly when he had not shaved — either because he could not be bothered or because he could not get the hot water to work.
    He did not appreciate personal criticism from a fairy and endeavoured to walk on in silence. This was not possible with Heather on his shoulder.
    'Why does steam rise from the pavement?'
    'I've no idea. And they're called sidewalks.'
    'Really? Are we almost there yet?'
    'No.'
    'Fine. I'll tell you a story while we're travelling. I'll tell the sad tale of why I was expelled from the lovely lochs and glens of Scotland. Why I can never go back to see the beautiful heather-covered hills and the snow-tipped peaks of Glencoe. How I am for ever denied the pleasure of heather ale and whisky, as expertly brewed and
    distilled by the MacKintosh fairies, and will never again see the bonnie wee churchyard of Inver.'
    Dinnie gritted his teeth. 'Get on with it.'
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    Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html
    6/5/11 2:11 PM
    'I was just setting the atmosphere. Anyway, one night, dark, stormy and lashing with rain, Morag and I were
    travelling in Skye, which is an island off the west coast of Scotland. We were on our way to the grand MacLeod fairy fiddling competition. Conditions were terrible, but being a MacKintosh I was not too bothered. Morag,
    however, was whining and complaining even more than usual about being cold and wet. The MacPhersons never
    did have any true mettle. She was about to lie down somewhere and give up when I took matters in hand and
    found us a castle to shelter in.'
    'You found a castle? Just like that?'
    'Castles are not uncommon in Scotland. In fact, Scotland is full of castles. We found a room that was nice and dry.
    There wasn't any sign of a bed but there was a comfy-looking casket on the floor so we climbed in. There was
    nothing inside it except a large piece of green cloth.'
    A cab crawled past, blaring its horn at the truck in front, which was blaring its horn at the car in front of it, which was temporarily blocked by another car which had stalled. The vehicles behind the cab joined in, sounding