Necessary as Blood

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 equalled Toby‘s, book in hand. He curled up again on the foot of the bed and flipped through the 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 bal" — 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 her by. 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 Road Market.‘
    ‘Why is he Charlotte‘s friend? Could he be my friend, too?‘
    Sometimes Gemma wondered about the convolutions of Toby‘s mind, but she 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.‘
    Toby, however, was indefatigable. ‘Where‘s Charlotte‘s mum, then?‘
    Wide awake now, Gemma glanced at Charlotte and said quickly, ‘Toby, we discussed this...‘
    Charlotte looked up and said, very clearly, ‘My mummy went away. My daddy went to find her.‘
    ‘Did he — ow!‘
    Kit had pinched Toby, and now they got into a scuffle. Kit wrestled Toby into an arm-hold, still managing to grip the book in his other hand. ‘I think you need to go downstairs now, sport. I can hear the dogs calling you.‘
    ‘They don‘t talk.‘
    ‘Yes, they do. I‘ll prove it to you.‘ Setting the book down, Kit wrapped an arm round Toby and, casting a conspiratorial glance back at Gemma, frog-marched him from the room. Gemma settled back, hoping that Charlotte hadn‘t been upset by the mention of her parents. But she had gone back to playing with Bob, seemingly unperturbed by Toby‘s questions.
    Gemma wrapped one of Charlotte‘s curls round her finger, frowning as she remembered something. Charlotte had said exactly the same thing once before, that day at Tim‘s when Janice Silverman had told her that her father was dead. At the time, Gemma had assumed it was a child‘s way of dealing with the idea of her father‘s death. But what if Charlotte hadn‘t meant it metaphorically, but quite literally?
    What if Naz had told Charlotte that day that he was going to find her mother?
    As Gemma mulled it over, Charlotte‘s breathing slowed and the plush elephant fell from her relaxed fingers. Very gently, Gemma tucked it back under Charlotte‘s arm and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. She eased herself down a bit into the pillows, taking care not to disturb the sleeping child, and closed her eyes. The late-afternoon light coming in the west windows seemed uncomfortably