Necessary as Blood

formal garden in Buckinghamshire, strictly the province of the gardener, and my nan, my dad’s mum, still lives in her council flat in Newcastle. She refused to move, no matter how much Dad bullied her.” Melody grinned. “I always wanted to be like her when I grew up.”

The words seemed to spill from Melody, and Gemma wondered how long it had been since she had really talked to anyone.

“I want a riotous garden,” Melody added with a grin, “and now I know where to get things. I just have to figure out the how to manage the garden bit. And I apologize”-the smile faded-“for never having had you round, when you’ve been so kind to me, but there’s not much to see in my flat.”

“Well, I’ll come whenever you like. But in the meantime, tell me about Roy. Did you speak to him?”

“Yes. He was a bit leery at first, but when I assured him I knew you, and I told him that Sandra’s brothers were responsible for the attack on Azad’s restaurant, he was furious.

“He said Sandra didn’t tell him that she knew what they’d done, but he thinks it was the Sunday a week before she disappeared that he saw bruises on her arms.”

Gemma sat up so fast it made her head pound. “Bruises? And he didn’t tell me?”

“I’ve checked the dates. That would have been a week after the firebombing of Azad’s restaurant. I’d guess either they bragged to her or she heard it from someone else and confronted them.”

“Bloody hell,” said Gemma, sinking back into the pillows. “That gives them a second motive for wanting Sandra out of the way. Maybe she threatened to shop them for that, instead of the drugs. Or as well as the drugs.”

“Are you going to tell Duncan?”

Gemma rubbed her head. “I don’t know. He’ll be livid, but his hands are tied as far as the Gilles brothers are concerned. I don’t think he could pull them in, even if he had hard evidence.” She could see that Melody wanted to ask more, but she didn’t.

Instead, she said, “Well, you’d better tell him, nonetheless.”

“He won’t be best pleased with me either, but I suppose you’re right.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Melody reached for her handbag and pulled out a small bakery box. “Roy sent this, for Charlotte. It’s a lemon cupcake from a shop near his stall, called Treacle. He said it was her favorite.”

Melody had excused herself before Duncan and the boys returned from Leyton. “Sunday lunch at my parents’ in Kensington,” she’d said with a grimace. “And my mum is famous for inviting unsuitable blind dates for me to her Sunday soirees.” Her face settled into the expression Gemma had seen on Friday. “We’ll hope she hasn’t asked anyone else today, because I can tell you, it is not going to be pleasant.”

For just a moment, Gemma felt sorry for Ivan Talbot.

When Melody had left, Gemma rang Betty and asked if Charlotte could come for a visit that afternoon, as an old friend had sent a treat for her. “And besides,” she added, “I miss her.”

She then had to explain why she hadn’t come round herself, reluctantly relating the previous day’s trip to hospital and the doctor’s orders to take it easy.

She hadn’t admitted to anyone how much that hospital visit had unsettled her. The memories of pain and loss associated with the last time she had been there were still too close, too shatteringly clear.

“Oh, I blame myself for not making sure you got that head looked at,” said Betty, clucking a bit. “I could tell you were not fee-lin’ yourself yesterday.”

“I’m fine now, Betty, really.”

“Well.” Betty didn’t sound entirely convinced. “I’ll bring the little one round for an early tea, if you’re certain, but only if Duncan and the boys are back to help look after you.”

Kit had insisted on carrying her tea, giving Toby the task of bearing Charlotte’s cupcake, carefully enthroned on a plate. What neither Roy nor Melody had foreseen, however, was that there were now three children and one treat.

“Why don’t we get one?” demanded Toby. “Me and Kit should have a cupcake, too.”

“Kit and I,” Gemma corrected automatically. “And the cupcake was a special gift to Charlotte from a friend. You’ve had plenty of treats of your own.”

“Don’t be greedy,” seconded Kit, handing Gemma her mug and settling on the end of the bed.

Charlotte had climbed up next to Gemma. “Wanna share,” she said unexpectedly, and when Toby handed her the plate, she thrust it back.

When Toby reached for the cupcake, Gemma smacked his hand. “Go downstairs and get a knife, then. You’ll divide it properly. And don’t run,” she called after him.

Toby returned, holding a table knife point-down as instructed, and, Kit having declined, the cupcake was ceremoniously divided in two.

“You’re a good girl, Charlotte,” said Gemma. “Toby should take lessons.”

“You eat some, too,” said Charlotte, holding her half up to Gemma, so Gemma cut off a tiny corner and nibbled it, then sipped her tea.

“I feel like the queen, being waited on in bed.”

“The queen never stays in bed.” Toby had dispensed with his half in two bites. “She’s always out with her dogs and waving at people and stuff.”

“I’ll bet someone brings her tea in bed every morning,” said Gemma.

“I wouldn’t want to be queen,” Toby declared. “It would be really boring.”

“Well, there’s not much chance of that, dopey,” Kit told him. “And stop bouncing. You’ll make Gemma’s head hurt.”

“Don’t call your brother names,” Gemma scolded, although she was touched by Kit’s solicitousness.

But Toby was undeterred by Kit’s teasing. “Charlotte could be queen, then, couldn’t she?”

“She could,” Gemma said, snuggling Charlotte a little closer. “But the job is highly overrated. I suspect she could do something much more fun.”

“What’s ‘overrated’ mean?” asked Toby.

Gemma sighed. “Never mind.” It amazed her how quickly she got tired. “Let’s read a story. Something for Charlotte.”

“No. I want pirates,” said Toby.

Kit rolled his eyes. “How about I read The Count of Monte Cristo? It has pirates, sort of.” He had discovered an old copy of Duncan’s on the bookshelf. The thin pages were almost translucent, and the smell of mildew that wafted from the book was so strong it made Gemma’s nose itch. But Kit had developed an attachment to it, and Toby loved it, although Gemma doubted he understood much.

“I want the ships, then.”

Kit nipped out and came back with a bounce of enthusiasm that almost equaled Toby’s, book in hand. He curled up again on the foot of the bed and flipped through pages. “Okay. Here’s a bit. ‘Look out there! All ready to drop anchor!’” he intoned, then glanced up at them to make sure he had their attention. Satisfied, he went on. “All hands obeyed. At that moment eight or ten seamen, who composed the crew, sprung some to the mainsheets, other to the braces, others to the ball’”-Kit struggled a bit with the word-“‘the balliards’-”

“What’s a ball-y-yard?” piped up Toby.

“I’ve no idea,” said Kit.

Gemma’s eyelids were starting to droop, and the discussion of sails and jibs passed by her. Charlotte’s head was against her shoulder, and the child was humming to Bob, the plush elephant, and poking his black button eyes with cupcake-sticky fingers.

Then Toby, who had climbed up on the other end of the bed, said, “Who’s Charlotte’s friend?”

Gemma’s eyes flew open. “Which friend?”

“The one who sent her the cupcake.”

“Oh. His name is Roy, and he sells flowers at Columbia Market.”

“Why is he Charlotte’s friend? Could he be my friend, too?”

Sometimes Gemma wondered about the convolutions of Toby’s mind, but did her best to come up with an answer that would satisfy him. “He was Charlotte’s mum’s friend, but I’m sure he’d be your friend if you met him.”