Apart from her hair, which was smoothed round big, fat rollers in an attempt to straighten its tight natural curl, she was made-up and dressed, ready for the evening’s work ahead. She tipped her head towards Ginny, who was sitting in the far corner of the dressing-room by the sink putting on her make-up. Rather than sharing one of the big communal looking-glasses that were propped up on the junk-covered tables, Ginny was doing her best to use a small handbag mirror. ‘What’s up with her?’ Carmen asked Yvette. Yvette flashed her eyes, shook her head and flapped her hand, in a pantomime signal for her not to ask, but Carmen was never one for subtlety. ‘What’s up with you then, Ginny girl?’ she asked, flicking her cigarette into an already full ashtray. ‘Penny for those dirty thoughts of yours.’ Ginny raised her eyes slowly; beneath them were dark mauve smudges like fading bruises, but they weren’t marks of violence, they were marks of exhaustion and lack of sleep. ‘Sorry, Carmen?
