‘They won’t let you keep it,’ Marta told her.
Rosa was sitting on her bed, her arms around her stomach, her face paler than usual. She stared at Marta. ‘I can’t do that,’ Rosa said.
Marta folded her arms. You might not have any choice, she thought.
‘No,’ Rosa said, her mouth set hard. ‘No.’ Flint in her eyes.
Marta left it a day or two, waiting to find a good time to talk again. But it was Rosa who had spoken first, as she spread margarine on toast, her back to her friend who sat at the kitchen table. ‘I’m going to keep the baby, Marta. I’m going to go home.’
‘You can’t! You still owe money.’
‘I don’t care.’
Marta had stood up, gone round beside her, and touched her shoulder, forcing her to look. ‘Rosa, see sense. They won’t let you. And what would you be going back to, stinking nappies in that crowded flat? What sort of life is that?’
‘It’s my baby.’
‘They’ll never let you go, Rosa. Don’t be stupid. Don’t even think about it.’
Tears had sprung in Rosa’s eyes and she had caught the side of her lip between her teeth. She had pushed away from the counter angrily and walked out, leaving her toast uneaten.
*****
Shap was having another go at Andrea. He had enough experience of joints like Topcat to know there was always the chance of something a little more intimate if you asked in the right quarters. And he reckoned if Rosa had been doing more than dancing they needed to find out who she had been playing out with.
Andrea was doing her make-up in the cramped room that served as a changing area for the girls.
‘What if a punter wants something extra?’
‘Won’t get it here,’ she said flatly.
‘Come on, Andrea. You’ve got someone hassling you, he wants the full English… French… Polish?’
‘I dance, that’s all.’
Shap was getting brassed off with this. ‘And the other girls? Some of them would want the extra cash.’ He watched her apply lip-liner. ‘Did Rosa ever make special arrangements?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t think so.’
‘What if someone won’t take no for an answer?’
‘Like you?’ she snapped.
He sighed. He wasn’t convinced by her; he’d keep digging, talking to people round the place and have another go at Andrea later. Turned out it happened sooner rather than later.
He struck lucky with a drunk he met in the urinals. One of those blokes who get all mushy and genial after a few whisky chasers. Shap was trying the indirect approach. Playing up as one of the lads, having a grumble about the petty rules they had at places like this. ‘Honest,’ he told the soak, ‘place in town, my mate gives her a little squeeze and next thing they sling us all out. Sometimes you want more than just a look, don’t you?’
