Don't Cage The Birdie (Book 2)(rough first draft)

Chapter 18. Tough calls to make

The waiting room was a square box shape, with two blue cushioned couches face each other, a pine wood low coffee table between them housing a tiny plant, a collection of odd books and magazines and pencils and colouring pads. There was a hint of air freshener in the air cutting through the smell of carpet cleaner. A fan spun lazily on the ceiling on a setting too low to do anything other than cut through the air without enough force to move the air around the room. A clock on one side faced the door ticking closer and closer to seven pm.

The door of the waiting room opened and James entered. His jacket was gone and he wore only his blue pants and white paisley shirt which clung to his back with sweat. There were two occupants already in the room, Marjorie Forrest and a officer he didn't recognise. Marjorie looked up briefly as he entered and then returned to the colouring pad she was drawing in.

'Where's Matilda?' he asked.

The officer rose from the couch where she had been reading a book. 'She was summoned downstairs. I believed requested back to Syracuse. I was told to wait in here in replacement.

'Right,' said James, seating himself down on the couch opposite her with a groan. He glanced up at the fan, eyes squinting at the light above it. As the fan completed its circuit, it brushed under the light, causing a flickering motion despite the fact the light was on and definitely not flickering. He could see the flashes when he closed his eyes. It was migraine inducing.

'Can't the fan go any faster?' he asked, looking back at the officer still standing.

She put down her book. 'I can check.' She left the room, leaving James alone with Marjorie. James glanced at her drawing, filling in the pictures in the book with colours. It was a fishing boat on the sea with all manner of sea creatures splashing through the water.

'Nice,' he said. All the fish had been coloured rainbow and all the sea was blue. The boat was red.

'Did you speak with Dad?' asked Marjorie, not looking up from her colouring.

James realised there was actually very little in the room to keep a 14 year old girl occupied. She had probably sat on the couch bored for house before finally accepting there was nothing to do and swallowed her pride to colour in.

'Yes,' he answered a moment later once her question had sunk through his thoughts. 'I did.'

She nodded thoughtfully. 'And Nigel?'

'Yes,' said James. 'I spoke to him as well.'

'Are they both under arrest?'

'No,' said James. At that Marjorie put down her pencil and sat up, pulling her legs in to her chest and wrapping her arms around them as she stared up at James.

'But one of them is?' she questioned curiously.

It was an interesting question to ask. As if she expected one of them would be.

'Nigel?' she asked, uncurling and picking up her drawing. She looked at it intently and then made a mark on the paper with one of the pencils.

'Yes. I have placed Nigel under arrest,' James told her, watching her intently. 'Your dad will be free to go.'

'What happens next?'

James shrugged, 'well that all depends.'

'On what?'

'On what he wants to do and what you want to do. What do you want to do?'

'I have to live with dad.

James nodded and the two of them fell into silence. He could tell she wanted to know more. She was curious but was retaining her questions. There were certain ways people liked to talk. Some liked to talk and talk about themselves and about others, and others didn't like to talk about themselves so they would drive the conversation with an odd question here and there and let the other person talk and explain everything they wanted to know. Marjorie fell into the second category. She didn't want to talk, she wanted others to fill the space. The trouble for her, reflected James, was that he wasn't going to talk and talk and explain everything to her. But something needed to be said to stimulate conversation and there were things he wanted to know.