Chapter Twenty-Two Just before two Saturday, Linda and I strolled into an Irish pub decorated with dozens of leprechauns. Rey had had to beg off as she’d had to stop by the agency to discuss a potential voice-over for a tourist company called Happee Hoppin’ Choppers. The gig could last for years, as it had for the late Sunnie Ho-Lee, who’d been flattened by a steamroller when -- after six Bloody Marys -- she’d raced a mongoose across a road under repair.
Cardboard cut-outs of the little bearded fairies decorated brick walls while stuffed ones hugged pewter ceiling lamps. One even sat behind a grate in an unused fireplace; considering its hideous gnarled face, the recess seemed an appropriate pen. Wooden benches and settle-seats, timber beams and a polished hardwood floor lent a cottage
