Necessary as Blood

wardrobe, like her connection with Naz Malik, would earn her any points here. At least she probably didn‘t look like a rent collector.
    The door swung open, and Gemma stared at the woman who must be Sandra Gilles‘s mother. She saw a busty figure gone to plumpness, blonde hair — perhaps once the same burnished straw colour as Sandra‘s, but now bleached to platinum and piled high on her head. On her bare feet Gail Gilles sported gold toenails, a fitting accompaniment to the tight black capri pants, the clingy leopard-print top, the overabundant make-up and the immediately apparent attitude.
    Hand on hip, she said, ‘I told you already. They‘ve gone. You got no call to come back like the frigging police.‘
    ‘Mrs Gilles?‘ Gemma hoped her baffled expression was good enough to hide her jolt of shock at the word police. It had taken her a second to realize she hadn‘t given herself away — Gail Gilles obviously thought she was a social worker, checking on her sons‘ removal.
    ‘Whose business is it?‘ Gail asked, still sounding hostile, but not quite so certain of her ground.
    ‘Um, my name‘s Gemma. I thought you must be Charlotte‘s grandmother, but you don‘t look old enough...‘
    Gail‘s expression softened at the bald-faced flattery. ‘I might be. Not old enough to be anyone‘s grandma, but I was just a baby myself, wasn‘t I, when I ‘ad my daughter.‘ She looked more closely at Gemma and frowned. At least Gemma thought it was a frown — her mouth turned down, but her brow didn‘t wrinkle. ‘But I don‘t know you, do I?‘
    Gemma rushed into an explanation, babbling a bit, but thinking that if nerves made her sound like a nitwit, all the better. ‘I‘m so sorry about your son-in-law. It must be a terrible shock. I‘m a friend of your son-in-law‘s — your late son-in-law‘s — friend, the one who reported him missing. I helped out with Charlotte until social services came. I don‘t know why they didn‘t call you straight away. She‘s a cute kid, and I thought, well, she should be with her family, shouldn‘t she? And I thought, well, I happened to be in the neighbourhood, and I wanted to say that I was sorry for your loss, and ask if there was anything I could do, but...‘ She trailed off, as if unsure of what came next, which was certainly the case, and praying that Gail didn‘t ask how she‘d come by her address.
    But Gail Gilles seemed unable to resist the temptation of a sympathetic ear, however unlikely its appearance on her doorstep. Pulling the door wide, she said, ‘That‘s the truth, innit? I always say as kids should be with family. It ain‘t natural otherwise. Why don‘t you come in and ‘ave a cuppa? What did you say your name was?‘

    ‘The kettle just boiled,‘ said Gail. ‘Should still be ‘ot enough. Have a seat and I‘ll bring something in.‘ Glancing in the kitchen, Gemma saw on the worktop an open takeaway pizza box, a shiny new espresso machine and, beyond that, an old plastic electric kettle. The flat smelled faintly of bad drains, or perhaps rotting garbage.
    As directed, she sat down gingerly on the edge of a new, overstuffed, cream-coloured leather sofa, taking advantage of the opportunity to check out her surroundings. Her first impression was that the flat was the centre of an ongoing jumble sale. The sofa had both matching chair and love-seat, all squeezed together like puffy cream mushrooms, and every bit of space left in the room seemed to be crammed with something. Odd bits of furniture, some of it broken. Children‘s toys. Piles of clothing. Even a rug, rolled up and standing on end in a corner.
    The yellowed walls held a motley collection of cheap prints, Princess Diana portraits, and a few family photos depicting two chunky boys and a girl who slightly resembled Sandra. Her face was prettier than Sandra‘s, but less interesting and less intelligent. Sandra‘s younger sister, Donna? In another photo, the same young woman appeared older, with three unnaturally stiff-looking little boys clustered round her. There were no photos that Gemma could see of Sandra — or of Charlotte.
    ‘That‘s my Donna,‘ said Gail, startling Gemma as she came back into the room. She carried two mugs of what Gemma soon discovered was tepid instant coffee. It had obviously been made with water from the old kettle, as bits of scale floated on the top.
    ‘Urn, thanks.‘ Gemma smiled and set the mug on the coffee table, trying to keep up a