After Miklos had left the room out of sheer disgust the girl sat alone, nursing her burnt hand and likely-bruised rib. She had completely forgotten about the busker until his voice was coming from the phone, able to hear it from nearly five feet away. He was shouting, having obviously heard the sound of her body hitting the wall after Mik had shoved her in a burst of anger.
"Hey! Hey, are ye still there?!" he was yelling, and finally she picked it up. She wasn't even aware of the tears rolling from her eyes until the earpiece felt wet when she held it to her ear.
"I'm here," she choked out between small sobs that made her whole body tremble.
"Did he hit you?! I said, did he fucking hit you?!"
"No," she lied immediately, fighting a wince as she moved the wrong way. The busker's voice was hoarse, as if he had been shouting as much as her. He was breathing heavily, obviously terrified of what he couldn't see for himself.
"You…you need to get out of there. Bring Ivanka, bring your ma, I don't care; just get the fuck over here."
"But…" she stammered, not expecting this to happen even as she dared to hope for it. "But…your gerl…the one you write the song for…"
"Are you kidding?! She's long gone!" the busker snapped at her. "I left her two fucking days after we spoke on the phone for the first time!"
In the face of his displaced anger, almost as a reflex, she flung her hand out and landed the phone onto the base with a bang, hanging up on him. For a moment she froze, appalled with herself, and then stepped away.
You can't just go to London, she told herself as she fetched Ivanka from her crib, now crying from all the noise. We haven't enough money. Though, if her mother had saved enough for a telephone, how much had she kept tucked away besides that? But we need that money here. She had been doing well at work cleaning, and the lady who owned the house had been offering her a week's paid vacation. What are you to do when you get there? Hanky-panky with the busker? Play music with him. Secure him a record deal where he could have any backup vocalist he wanted. Maybe hanky-panky.
Call him back. She couldn't. They were both angry or tired or scared, and calling would do no good for at least another few days.
In the meantime, she tended to her hand and spoke to her mother about the possibility of her getting away for a while.