Fairy Godmother Daytime Drinking

20250917

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Even running a small pub in a small town, Ian had seen all sorts. But he’d never had anyone storm in sporting full evening wear at lunchtime. And them being four feet tall with glowing butterfly-esk wings was also novel.
The pub was empty except for the elderly bridge club, who like him could only stare in baffled concern as the fairy walked to the bar, hopped up on a stool, and shakily declared “Whatever today’s special is, and the biggest thing of wine I can get, please.”
Oh dear. While he’d never talked to a fairy before, much less served one, that sort of order set alarm bells ringing. A sign someone’d had a terrible time of it and was liable to break down, one way or another, at any moment.
Ian kept his tone polite and gentle. “Special today is gammon and chips. That alright?”
“Sure.”
“Would you like pineapple? Apple sauce?”
The prospect of decisions crumpled the fairy’s tenuous hold on dignity and she started sniffling in earnest.
“Tell you what.” Ian moved a rack of paper napkins closer and tentatively patted her hand. “We’ll make it all plain and we can add stuff later if you want. How’s that?”
“P-Please.”
So Ian nodded to Patty, who vanished into the kitchen. “For wine… do you have a preference?”
“Boozy.”
Well, yes. He’d gathered.
“Let me open you a bottle of pinot noir.”
“Thank you.” The fairy managed a watery smile. “I’m sorry, I must look such a mess…”
“You look like you’ve had a horrible day.” Ian said sympathetically. “Now, it’s none of my business, but if there’s anything we can do…”
“No.” The word was confident. Disconsolate. “It’s just…” She sighed, pulling off her fancy little hat and fidgeting with it. “I’m a fairy godmother.”
With no idea what that actually meant, or why it would drive one to daytime drinking, Ian nodded encouragingly.
“A-And I just… I got into it to help people. And I am, so maybe I should be happy, but…” Her shoulders were trembling with barely-constrained emotion. “Would it kill people to be grateful??”
Oh. Ahh.
“I get this girl tickets to the match of the century, right next to her heartthrob, they hit it off and a couple of years later get married - which I found out on social media, she didn’t bother telling me! Another two years pass without even a bloody Christmas card and out of nowhere I get invited to a party, I go ‘oh lovely glad she remembered me at last’ and show up looking my best-” she waved a hand at herself “-only to find out when I arrive that it’s a bloody christening!”
“Oh no.” Ian cringed, as did the surreptitious bridge club. “How did the invite not-”
“What a good question!” The fairy fumed. “They make a big deal out of ‘oh, we didn’t want you to feel you had to bring a gift’. So tell me it’s a christening and I don’t have to bring a gift, you fucking twatwaffles!!”
“Sounds like they were putting you on the spot.” Opined Linda, an expert on juicy interactions. “Were they hoping you’d bless the baby?”
“Oh, definitely.” The fairy said bitterly. “Which is, you know, standard fairy godmother service, but the cheek…”
“Damn right!” Phil grumbled. “The nerve! People these days, I never…”
As one the bridge club decamped from their table and descended on the bar, pulling in chairs as needed. Ian and Patty deftly navigated the flurry of orders as everyone comforted the fairy (whose name turned out to be Tiffany).
By the time her food was ready she’d spilled the entire story, warts and all, to her sympathetic audience, and was cheered by their earnest reactions. The bottle of pinot ended up split across five people, to Ian’s quiet relief, and instead Tiffany indulged in far too much treacle pudding, on Lisa’s sage advice that it was miles better than wine for a broken heart.
“I just, sometimes it feels like I can’t trust anyone.” Tiffany sighed, idly scraping at her plate with the spoon. “I’m always on guard for them wanting favours.”
“I know what you mean.” Phil leant over to pat her shoulder. “I was a handyman for fifty years, and the number of people who’ll invite you round all of a sudden and then make a thing of ‘Oh dear, me water’s not working, can’t make you a cup of tea, so sorry!’. They always get well pissy if you reply ‘Then let’s go cafe’ or ‘You oughta call someone about that’.”
“It’s the underhandedness, isn’t it?” Christine said sagely. “It’s one thing if a friend - a proper friend, one who’s there for you when you need it - asks for friend’s rates or a trade or something. I never minded people trading, say, updating my website for me doing their birthday cake.”
“Exactly!!” Tiffany beamed, her shoulders relaxing. “I’ve had a friend ask for a good luck spell for an interview and I didn’t mind at all because he’s given me so many lifts…”
“Oo,” Linda pursed her lips, “I bet people make jabs about ‘can’t you find a pumpkin’, don’t they?”
“All. The. Time.” Tiffany grumbled. “Taxis are the worst.”
The group tsked and shook their heads.
“I suppose I just…” Tiffany took a sip of soda, her brows furrowed. “I’m getting to the point where I see all these people I’ve helped, the lives they have now, and a bitter part of me is going ‘But where’s MY happiness?’. Which really isn’t who I want to be.”
“Yeah, there’s no happiness that way.” Ian said soberly. “Don’t you have union reps, or something?”
“I wish. We’re classed as charity workers.”
“There must be someone. Or they can’t act surprised when people start throwing curses.”
“If you’re charity workers, you’re under the charity commission.” Linda said confidently. “So I know just the person to talk to…”
She waved for another round of drinks, and Ian readily complied.

Prompt was “Write a piece where a character says the line ‘…but where is my happiness?’.”