little bird // r.keene

ii. growing up.

4th September 2018.

Wren left the train station with her bag slung over her left shoulder and took her phone from her back pocket.

She sent her mum a text.

Arrived, off the train.

It was a futile gesture, she knew her mum wouldn't see the message but she liked to think she would. Her mum was a journalist and always up to her neck in work, she travelled from city to city, going where ever the news was fresh and there was a story to follow. She was a focused and dedicated woman, much like her daughter but unlike her mother, Wren was tired.

Wren had been moving around with her since early 2017, after Will left, she had needed to get out of LA, but since her mum's company was shipping her out to England in a week for another big piece. Wren went back to her roots and back to live with her dad.

Well, not live exactly.

Wren trailed down the familiar streets, her earbuds dangling from their wires in front of her. Most things had changed but in her mind it was all the same. Most places had just had some new paint and a few extensions but the streets of LA were exactly how she remembered them.

Especially the little shop right on the corner of main street.

The Bookshelf.

She pushed open the door and stepped in, out of the chill bitten air outside, and the bell above her head jingled which caused a head to pop up from behind the counter.

"Little Bird!"

"Mr. James!" Wren laughed and the old man made his way from behind the desk and hugged her. He hadn't changed a bit, he wore a formal dress shirt and dark trousers, the top button of his collar was undone, showing a piece of black cord around his neck, which Wren knew held a wooden pendant close to his heart. He still clutched his walking stick in his left hand, and when he hugged her she was washed over with the strong scent of tobacco and lavender soap.

"Little Bird, how you've grown!" The man chuckled and Wren smiled up at him, "How beautiful you've become." He chuckled and she did with him, it had been months since she had smiled this much.

"You haven't changed a bit, Mr. James." She said and he shrugged.

"You flatter me, little bird, it's so good to see you. Are you visiting your father?"

"Moving back, mum's going to England next week- I err, did she leave you the keys for upstairs?" Wren asked, her palms suddenly sweaty but Mr James only smiled. Wren remembered when she was a child, asking Mrs James if he knew any other expression.

"Of course, I've kept them just for you." Mr James bent down and plucked a small set of keys off of a hook under the desk and handed them to her as they clinked together. She thanked him and turned towards the stairs. "Oh, Little bird, here." He chimed and she turned back to face him, Mr James leaned his walking stick beside a large leather arm chair beside the desk and used both hands to hand her a small pile of books.

"I picked these out with you in mind." He grinned and she gladly accepted them. She wondered how long they had been kept aside since she didn't even know she was coming back until a couple of days ago and had been gone for two years.

"Thank you, Mr. James, they're wonderful."

Wren made her way up the small set of stairs at the back of the book shop and opened the door with the click of the lock. It hadn't changed a bit. The same small single bed, the same worn dresser, a wardrobe, a small square table. The small tiny bathroom and the small tiny kitchen.

Mr. James had been good friends with Wren's mum and she had bought the cozy flat above the book shop just after Wren was born. Wren's father, who lived a 3-minute walk from the flat, was a difficult man to live with, nursing troubles at work with a large bottle of liquor. So when she was younger she had lived between the two places, his house and her flat. But now it was all hers.

Visiting her father was far from the top of Wren's to-do list. Even when she was young, he had never really bonded with his daughter, he had always got home from work late and argued with her mother all hours of the day and sometimes night. She often thought he had wanted a boy. He had wanted a son instead of a daughter, or at least that was her mothers argument to why he was so cold towards Wren the night her father hit her mother for the first time. It all seemed like such a long time ago.

She would visit him eventually, after all, there were some things she needed to pick up from his house. Just- just not yet... She'd wait until she settled into school properly and she wanted to see Will first. Wren needed to talk to him, let him know she was back in town. Apologise to him.

Wren opened the small window by the bedside and climbed out. She lay on the roof

and smoked

until

2

in the morning.

After all, she had school tomorrow.