Necessary as Blood

you both, just some things I picked up at the market yesterday.‘ From a shelf she fished an antique double-decker bus for Toby, and for Kit, a book, its cover stained and musty. Looking over Kit‘s shoulder as he opened it, Gemma saw that it was filled with beautifully detailed, coloured zoological drawings. Kit exclaimed in delight and leaned down to kiss Erika‘s cheek.
    ‘It‘s brilliant,‘ he said. ‘Where did you find it?‘
    ‘One of the stalls on Portobello Road itself. Lucky this one didn‘t fall into the hands of the print dealers,‘ Erika added, touching a finger to the book. Many old, and sometimes rare, editions containing botanical or zoological drawings were bought in job lots by the print dealers, who cut them from the books and mounted them to sell individually.
    ‘These are lovely, Erika,‘ said Gemma, ‘but you‘re spoiling the boys.‘ For a moment she regretted leaving them, even for the few minutes it would take her to visit Charlotte at Betty Howard‘s — she had little enough time with Kit and Toby as it was. But she couldn‘t get little Charlotte Malik‘s face out of her mind, and she had made Charlotte a promise that she had to keep.
    ‘And who better to do that?‘ Erika countered with a twinkle. ‘When I get fish-gutting in return?‘
    ‘You‘re very cheerful today.‘ Gemma eyed her affectionately. ‘You said your menu had to be French — would your guest by any chance be French, as well?‘
    ‘A little something for my friend Henri, yes,‘ Erika admitted, smiling. ‘Now, if you will run your errand, I‘ll make tea in the garden when you come back. And I think you promised ice cream? Perhaps you could pick some up.‘
    Leaving the boys in the kitchen, she walked Gemma to the door. ‘This is very sad, about the little girl,‘ she said quietly. Gemma had told her a bit of Charlotte‘s story over the phone. ‘But children are very resilient, and she is in good hands.‘
    ‘Erika...‘ Gemma paused on the threshold. ‘Do you think a child that young understands what death means? If she should ask me...‘
    ‘Yes, that might be difficult. You don‘t know her references. Were her parents religious?‘
    ‘I don‘t know.‘ Gemma considered what she‘d been told about Naz and Sandra, and what she‘d seen in their house. ‘I‘m inclined to think not.‘
    ‘Then, I think I would wait and see how she makes sense of it. She might surprise you.‘

    Gemma turned into Portobello Road at Elgin Crescent, stopping a moment to look up the hill. The street, baking in the late-afternoon heat, seemed alien in its Sunday-afternoon emptiness. The arcades were shuttered, the stalls down, and the pubs seemed to be doing only desultory business. Even her friend Otto‘s venerable cafe in Elgin Crescent was closed, it being his rule that Sunday afternoons were reserved for time with his daughters.
    There was something about the deserted landscape that appealed to Gemma; for a moment she felt as if she owned the street, in all its cheerful and slightly Mediterranean tattiness.
    She turned and walked north, down the hill, and turned into Westbourne Park Road. Betty Howard and her son, Wesley, lived in the same flat Betty‘s parents had first occupied in 1959, fresh off the boat from Trinidad. Betty and her husband, Colin, had bought it from the slum landlords who had once owned it, and had brought up their six children in it. But Colin had passed away a few years ago from an early heart attack, and Wesley‘s five older sisters were grown and gone.
    Wesley liked to tease his mother, saying that he only stayed because he couldn‘t afford the rent on his own place. But while that was as true for Wes as it was for any young person in London, Gemma knew that he worried about his mum and didn‘t like the idea of leaving her on her own.
    Reaching Betty‘s building, she pressed the buzzer for the top-floor flat, and when the door released, she climbed the stairs. Betty opened the door just as Gemma reached it, holding her finger to her lips.
    ‘She‘s asleep, poor love,‘ Betty said quietly, giving Gemma a quick hug. She wore her usual bright headscarf, today in turquoise, with just a little greying hair showing against her dark skin. ‘It was the oddest thing,‘ she went on as she led Gemma into the sitting room. ‘When Mrs Silverman left, the little thing, she cried and cried. Not even Wesley could comfort her. Maybe she‘s not used to our dark faces. Then, she spied