Necessary as Blood

those fabrics in the corner. She went right to them, burrowed in like a mole, and was out like a light. I took her little trainers off without waking her. Will you look at that?‘
    At first glance, Betty‘s sitting room seemed a chaos of colour and texture. But a closer inspection revealed that the first impression was deceptive, a product of many things occupying a small space. A multitude of clear plastic boxes held collections of buttons, feathers, braiding, sequins and spools of thread. The sewing machine, a new and expensive model, sat on a table at the front window, where Betty could overlook the street as she sewed. As well as her work on costumes for carnival, she made slip-covers, curtains, Roman blinds... Anything that can be stitched together,‘ as she liked to say. Her father had been an upholsterer and had taught Betty to sew as a tot. She‘d left school at sixteen to work for a milliner and had been proudly following the family tradition ever since.
    Looking where Betty pointed, Gemma saw the bolts of cloth stored between the sofa and the window. There were silks and taffetas in rainbow hues, heavy brocades and satins, gauzy nets and one roll of gold lamé.
    Charlotte had indeed burrowed in between the bolts, pulling a fold of the shimmering gold cloth over herself like a blanket. Only her curls showed at one end and her stockinged feet at the other.
    A little princess,‘ said Betty. ‘Going right for the gold.‘
    ‘Oh, I should have realized,‘ whispered Gemma, her chest tightening. ‘It looks like home to her. Her mother‘s an artist who works with textiles. She had her studio in the house.‘
    An artist? Mrs Silverman said the mother went missing?‘
    ‘Yes. In May. And now this. Her dad...‘ Gemma pushed away the image of Naz Malik‘s body, with the flies buzzing round it in the heat. It would be cold now, on a trolley in the mortuary.
    ‘She‘s an odd mix, this little one,‘ said Betty. ‘Striking. Her mother white, her father Pakistani, Mrs Silverman told me, but with that hair, I‘d swear she‘s got more than a drop of West African in her. Wesley will have his camera out, soon as her tears have dried, mark my words.‘
    ‘Where is Wes?‘ asked Gemma.
    ‘Bread-and-butter shoot. Molly Janes, the fishmonger‘s daughter, it was her birthday party this afternoon. I don‘t envy Wesley having to deal with a pack of sweets-fuelled children in this heat.‘
    Although Wesley was taking evening classes at university towards a business degree, he earned his keep working at Otto‘s cafe and helping out with Toby and Kit. But his true love was photography, and he was getting more and more of what he called bread-and-butter jobs — weddings, birthdays, family portraits — through word of mouth in the neighbourhood. He had a particular gift for capturing children, and had given Gemma a beautiful candid portrait of Toby for her birthday.
    Charlotte stirred, disturbed perhaps by the sound of their voices, although they had kept them close to a whisper. Pushing the cloth from her face, she blinked and rubbed her eyes, starting to whimper. Then she caught sight of Gemma and held out her arms.
    Gemma knelt, gathering Charlotte‘s small, warm body into her arms, and it felt to her as if she had always held this child. ‘Hello, pet,‘ she whispered. ‘Did you have a good sleep?‘
    Charlotte rubbed her nose against Gemma‘s shoulder, an indeterminate answer, but at least a response. Gemma eased herself into a sitting position with her back against the sofa, cradling Charlotte in her lap. ‘I‘ll bet you‘re hungry.‘ Tim had told her that Charlotte had barely touched her food last night or that morning. Looking up at Betty, Gemma said, ‘Something smells fabulous. What are you cooking?‘
    ‘Pork roast with achiote rub, black beans and rice. Not anything special.‘
    ‘It would be at my house.‘ Gemma chuckled and ran a soothing hand through Charlotte‘s curls, saying meditatively, ‘I wonder if Charlotte likes beans and rice?‘ Again the nose rub, but this time more of a nod than a shake. ‘I‘ll take that as a yes. Betty‘s the best cook in the whole world,‘ she stage-whispered in Charlotte‘s ear, ‘but don‘t tell her I said so.‘
    Charlotte turned her head just enough to peek at Betty.
    ‘The roast is about done,‘ Betty said. ‘And I might just have some mango rice pudding. Why don‘t I go and see?‘
    Gemma nodded and Betty left the room. After a moment