A ginger haired young man clucked at Phoebe as she walked into the waiting room. He was moving his arms as if they were wings.
Phoebe looked down at the stained red carpet as she hurried to a spare seat. The room was busy and everyone was trying not to watch – but really they were. She could see them peering out from behind their magazines, glasses and iPhones.
The man kept fiddling with the zip on his jacket. Phoebe put her bag on the chair and picked up a glossy magazine. She wondered whether the jacket wouldn’t zip up, or if it was stuck and he couldn’t undo it. The waiting room was hot; she’d taken off her coat as soon as she’d come in. There were no windows, just a skylight through which you could watch the clouds roll past.
The man stood up, arms and legs jerking.
‘Bloody bastard zip.’ He looked over and she quickly looked down at the double page spread of Jordan in a swimming pool.