The door of a weathered old terraced house in a quiet neighbourhood of Sheffield creaked open almost instantly—like the owner had been expecting company. On the doorstep stood a sprightly old woman in her eighties with sharp, knowing eyes.
“Good afternoon,” the young man said politely, offering a small smile.
“And to you, love,” the old woman nodded. “Come in, don’t let the cold in. You from the council, then? Or somewhere else?”
“No, grandma. I’m with a company that specialises in water purification. We install the latest systems—turns tap water fresh as a mountain spring, like the old days when you could drink straight from the river without a second thought.”
“Well, I never!” The old woman raised her brows. “So you’re a water-sprite, cleaning up rivers? Good on you. Come through.”
The lad wiped his shoes carefully on the worn doormat and stepped inside.
“Mind if I keep my shoes on?” he asked, eyeing the scuffed laminate flooring.
“Course not, don’t fret. My daughter does the mopping. She’s young, see—me, I’m just an old biddy now. Past scrubbing floors.”
“Don’t talk daft, grandma! You’re lively as they come—still got roses in your cheeks!” he chuckled, flashing his usual practiced charm. “Where’s the kitchen? Let me show you what I’ve got.”
“Oh, flatterer—but I like it. Haven’t seen my reflection in years, mind—daughter hung all the mirrors too high for me. Come on then, let’s see your little miracle.”
The kitchen was poky but neat. The kettle gleamed, and on the windowsill sat a couple of geraniums and a dish of mint. The old woman settled in while the lad got to work—unscrewing pipes, fitting gadgets, pouring water into jars, proudly comparing the “dirty” and “clean” samples.
“I’ll take it,” the old woman said suddenly. “But first—let’s have a cuppa. No fun drinking alone, is it? Company’s what makes tea sweet. Five minutes, that’s all.”
The lad hesitated but nodded. The old woman flicked the kettle on—using his filtered water—and brewed a pot of something rich and spiced, with an odd, heady aroma.
“Got a family, love?” she asked as she poured.
“Not yet, no.”
“Good. Too soon for little ones. Tea nice?”
“Lovely. Where’d you get it? I’d buy some myself.”
“Fairies bring it me on my birthday,” she said with a wink.
The lad smirked, playing along.
“Shouldn’t you be careful, letting strangers in? These days, you never know—con artists everywhere.”
“And what’ve I got to fear, duck? My scaring days are long done. At my age, *I’m* the one who ought to frighten folks. Especially ones like you.”
Just then, the lad felt a strange lightness in his head—and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out:
“Who even needs this rubbish? I buy these filters for a tenner, flog ’em for fifty. Sometimes ‘juice up’ the water for effect. Old dears like you pay better. Just going round spinning tales, really…”
He blinked, horrified at his own honesty.
“There we are,” the old woman nodded. “Told you—fairy tea. Can’t lie after a sip.”
The lad shot up.
“What the—what did you do?!”
“Oh, nothing much. You called yourself a water-sprite, didn’t you? Well, now you’ll be one proper. Our river sprite’s overworked—needs a hand cleaning the streams, feeding the fish, tending the weeds. Ten years’ service, might get your human shape back. Till then—welcome to the water.”
Before he could cry out, his body shimmered—first to a drop, then mist, then a wisp of cloud before splashing into the copper sink as a silvery trickle.
“Job sorted,” the old woman mused, tipping the water down the drain. “Dreams do come true. That lad who ‘fixed’ me electric meter? Directs lightning now. Air’s his lot. You’re water. You’ll get along.”
She hummed as she washed the cups, then caught her reflection in the tarnished kitchen cabinet glass.
“Why don’t I show up, why don’t I show up…” she mimicked the vanished ‘salesman.’
“Because I’m older than every mirror in this house. Three hundred years, give or take. Daughter knows—that’s why she hung ’em high. Some truths don’t suit mornings. But I carry on. And I keep things tidy. Elements hate a mess.”
She peered out the window at the gathering clouds and smiled.
“Fair’s fair. Even if it takes brewing in a teapot.”
