Necessary as Blood

regulations to use phones on the ward.‘
    ‘Ward? Why are you on a ward? What‘s happened?‘
    ‘Mum‘s weak. Her white-cell count is down. They‘re going to do a transfusion.‘
    ‘A transfusion? But—‘
    ‘Look, you‘d better just get here, all right?‘ Cyn‘s phone went dead.

    Having left a note for Duncan, Gemma thought furiously as she drove across the city. The Royal London Hospital was in Whitechapel, near where she had been last night. Why was her mum there, and not at Barts in the City, where she‘d been treated before? The two hospitals were part of the same system, administratively linked, so perhaps it had been a matter of the availability of beds on the wards, rather than the need for more advanced treatment.
    Her route took her past Marylebone and Euston, St Pancras and King‘s Cross, then into City Road and down Commercial Street. Hawksmoor‘s church seemed more forbidding in the harsh morning light, offering no comfort.
    Her quick glimpse of Fournier Street, however, had been reassuring. It looked as quiet and ordinary as any street should on a Sunday morning. She thought of ringing Tim, but decided it was still too early. Nor could she cope with speaking to anyone until she had learned what was going on with her mum.
    The congestion increased as she travelled east down Whitechapel Road, which was clogged by the Sunday market. Any other time the array of Asian foods and spices would have tempted her, but by the time she reached the ugly warren of buildings that formed the London, she was fidgeting with impatience. The parking gods were with her, however, and she managed to slip into a metered space on a side street.
    An enquiry at the main desk sent her to a ward in one of the outbuildings. God, she hated hospitals — hated feeling helpless and inadequate, hated not being able to do something, anything, that would help her mother.
    A nurse buzzed her into the ward and directed her to her mother‘s curtained cubicle. The energy that had driven Gemma since waking that morning suddenly evaporated, and her hand shook as she pulled aside the curtain.
    ‘You‘re a sight for sore eyes, love,‘ said her mum. Vi Walters was propped up in a hospital bed, IV lines taped to her arm. She looked pale but alert, and there was no one else in the cubicle.
    With an inward sigh of relief, Gemma kissed her mum‘s cheek. It felt warm to the touch. ‘How are you?‘ Gemma asked, pulling up a chair. ‘Why are you here? And where are Dad and Cyn?‘
    ‘You sound just like your son.‘ Her mother shook an admonishing finger at her.
    ‘I know, I know,‘ Gemma admitted, smiling in spite of her worry. ‘One question at a time,‘ she and her mother repeated in unison. Gemma laughed, then sobered. ‘Seriously, Mum, how are you?‘ She couldn‘t help glancing at the IV. ‘Cyn said a transfusion...‘
    ‘I‘m just a bit rundown,‘ said Vi. ‘They say it‘s the effects of the chemo on my immune system, so I need a little boost. And my veins have gone a bit wonky, so they‘re going to put in a port to make the chemo easier.‘
    Gemma put together the bright spots of colour in her mother‘s cheeks with the warmth of her skin. ‘You‘ve got a temperature.‘
    ‘Well, just a bit.‘ Vi didn‘t meet her eyes. ‘They say it‘s not unusual. Low white-cell count.‘
    ‘Where are Cyn and Dad, then?‘ Gemma asked, not wanting to address quite yet what she suspected was evasion.
    ‘Your sister has taken your father home, thank goodness, so that he can get some rest and I can have a little peace.‘ Vi closed her eyes. ‘That‘s the worst thing, you know, his worrying. I try so hard not to... But yesterday I just couldn‘t go on with things...‘
    ‘Mum.‘ Gemma took her mother‘s hand as she thought about the complexities of her parents‘ relationship. Her view had changed since her mother‘s diagnosis. She‘d always thought her father the dominant partner, and her mother‘s mission in life as catering to his needs at the cost of her own.
    But that had only been the surface, she‘d realized, something she would have seen much more easily if her perceptions hadn‘t been clouded by her own place in the family dynamic.
    The truth was that her mother was the stronger of the two, and that her determination to reassure him was pushing her far beyond her limits.
    ‘Mum,‘ Gemma said again. ‘Maybe... Maybe you should let Dad take care of you. I know you keep trying to take care of him,