Deborah Crombie - Necessary as Blood

But he would just have to bide his time.

Betty Howard rang just as Gemma was walking into the house. Putting her handbag down, Gemma juggled her mobile while trying to pet the dogs jumping excitedly at her legs. There was no suit jacket tossed carelessly over the coat rack-Duncan wasn’t home yet. Nor was there any immediate sign of the boys, so she guessed they were in the garden.

Betty’s rich voice came distantly until she managed to get the phone to her ear. “-hate to bother you so soon, Gemma, but Wesley’s working at the café tonight and I’ve got a carnival meeting-an emergency costume summit.” Betty chuckled. “Would you mind keeping little Charlotte? It will only be for an hour or two.”

Gemma suddenly found that her heart was beating a bit faster. “No, of course I don’t mind. What time will you bring her? Or do you want me to pick her up?”

“I’ll drop her in half an hour, if that’s all right. She’ll have had her tea.”

“Right. See you then.” Gemma was hanging up when she heard a tread on the front steps and Duncan came in, jacket already thrown over his shoulder, tie off and shirt sleeves rolled up.

“You look positively pink,” he said. She felt the rasp of stubble as he kissed her cheek. She put a hand to his shoulder and held her cheek to his a moment longer. When she let go, he studied her. “Are you sunburned, or are you glad to see me?”

“No. Yes, I mean. Both.” She didn’t know why she felt so flustered. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know how to look after a toddler, although it had begun to seem a long time since Toby was that small. “What I mean is, we’re having company.”

…for home to me was certainly never anything remotely material. It consisted, I have decided, in something I sensed as refuge: an atmosphere of safety in the love between my parents. It came in a tone of voice, in the preparation and eating of meals, in conversations during washing up and being busy in the garden.

– Dennis Severs, 18 Folgate Street: The Tale of a House in Spitalfields

It was rough going at first. Charlotte had come willingly into Gemma’s arms when Betty had dropped her off, but once in the house, the dogs barking and jumping up had frightened her and she had buried her head against Gemma’s shoulder.

“It’s all right, lovey,” Gemma had soothed. “The doggies just want to be friends with you.” But Charlotte had clung even more tightly to Bob, her plush elephant, and watched the dogs with wide, frightened eyes. Naz and Sandra hadn’t had a dog, Gemma thought, so perhaps she wasn’t accustomed to them.

Duncan had changed into T-shirt and jeans and gone out to fetch the boys from the garden. Now, having seen Betty’s little van drive past, they all came trooping in to examine their guest.

“Say hello to Charlotte, boys,” said Gemma.

Toby, already wound up from playing outside and the excitement of Duncan’s homecoming, stomped through the hall shrieking, “I’m Captain Hook, and I’m going to feed you to the crocodile,” and holding up a clawlike hand.

In desperation, they had retired his Pirates of the Caribbean films and replaced them with every version they could find of Peter Pan . Now, Gemma wasn’t sure that had been an improvement.

“Toby, if you can’t behave nicely, you can go to your room,” Gemma told him as Charlotte buried her head still farther.

When Duncan gave him a warning look and said, “Calm down, sport,” Toby subsided a bit, but kept singing under his breath and making little flying motions.

Duncan touched Charlotte’s curls and said gently, “Well, you’re a pretty girl, aren’t you, love?”

Kit, who had been standing back, observing, took charge. “She’s afraid of the dogs,” he whispered, then he turned to Charlotte and said, “Hi, Charlotte. I’m Kit. That’s Tess and that’s Geordie.” He pointed at each dog in turn. “They can do tricks. Would you like to see?”

Charlotte peeped out from Gemma’s shoulder and gave a very small nod.

Kit put the dogs in a sit, then a down. He had Geordie lift a paw to shake hands, and Tess roll over. The little terrier looked so comical with all four legs straight up in the air and her shaggy face upside down that Gemma thought she felt Charlotte begin to giggle. But when Kit asked her if she’d like to shake Geordie’s paw, she shook her head and clutched Gemma more tightly.

“Oh, dear.” Gemma shifted Charlotte a little more securely onto her hip. “Maybe we should put the dogs up for a bit until she gets used to us, at least. And I don’t know what we’ll do for dinner-I never got to the shops. I thought I was going to visit Gran at the hospital, but they sent her home this afternoon.”

“Is she better, then?” asked Kit.

“Yes, she’s feeling much better.” Gemma didn’t mention that Vi had sounded exhausted at the prospect of going home. “We’ll go see her at the weekend.”

“Pizza, pizza for dinner,” Toby chanted, and Duncan groaned. “I’m going to turn into a pizza.”

“Are not,” said Toby.

“Oh, yes I am.” Duncan patted his middle. “Or at least I’ll be round as one.”

“I can make us omelets,” offered Kit. “We have eggs and cheese, and some mushrooms. And I think there’s a tomato. The last time I was at Otto’s, Wes taught me to flip omelets in the pan. I’ve been practicing with dried beans.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Gemma said, laughing, “but delicious. Can we watch?”

Kit grinned. “Only if you say ‘Yes, Chef.’”

“Mushrooms are disgusting .” Toby made a face and stuck out his tongue.

“Pirates eat mushrooms,” Duncan told him, with great seriousness.

“Do not.”

“Do, too. That’s what makes their teeth black.”

Toby’s eyes grew big. “Really? Will they make mine black, too?”

“Only if you eat enough of them.” Duncan tousled his hair. “Give the dogs biscuits and put them in the study for a bit, sport. We’ll see if Miss Charlotte likes cats.”

Gemma sat at the kitchen table with Charlotte in her lap while Kit, with Duncan acting as sous-chef, assembled the ingredients for omelets and salad. Toby, having put the dogs up, ran through the house looking for Sid, who had disappeared with typical feline alacrity when wanted.

After a few minutes, Gemma felt Charlotte begin to relax, then the little girl squirmed round so that she had a better view of Kit.

“You are an absolute rock star in the kitchen, Kit,” Gemma said admiringly as Kit deftly chopped mushrooms and tomato. “You’d better be careful or you’ll set a precedent. You’re a much better cook than I am.”

Kit grinned at her, coloring a little. His cheeks were already flushed from the heat. “I just watch Wes.”

“You could give your dad lessons,” she teased Duncan.

“Hey,” Duncan protested, flicking a tea towel at her. “I’ve made an omelet. I can scramble eggs, and grill things, and, God forbid, order pizza.”

“Lame, very lame,” said Kit cheekily.

But when the first omelet was bubbling in the pan, Kit’s courage failed. “We only have just enough eggs,” he said, frowning. “Maybe I’ll just turn them with a spatula.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Gemma agreed, not wanting him to dent his pride or donate someone’s omelet to the dogs. “We’ll buy extra eggs next time so that you can practice.”

While Kit whisked eggs and swirled them in the omelet pan, Duncan laid the table, tossed the salad, and corralled and scrubbed Toby. As everyone sat down, Gemma still held Charlotte on her knee, but loosely. The child was sitting up, gazing from one boy to the other as if they were the most fascinating creatures she’d ever seen, but she still hadn’t spoken.