Deborah Crombie - Necessary as Blood

“Melody,” Gemma broke in, “did it not occur to you that by leaking this story, your father might have been trying to sabotage your career? That he might have guessed you’d try to resign? I mean, really, this doesn’t amount to all that much, except that it caused some ruffled feathers, and it humiliated you.”

Melody stared at her. “No. But-Oh, God. I was even more stupid than I thought. He’s never wanted me to do this…He considers police work a waste of my very expensive education, and my intelligence, not to mention the fact that he thinks I should want to take over what he’s worked so hard to build. And he’s a persistent bastard, my dad, or he wouldn’t be where he is.” She frowned. “I just handed him the opportunity on a plate, didn’t I?”

“Are you tempted?” Gemma asked, wondering what it would be like to be offered the kind of life Melody’s father must lead. “To take over from him, eventually, I mean? I think most people would be. Power, position-and money. Your dad must be richer than-well, I don’t imagine he worries about the mortgage or the grocery bill, to put it mildly.”

“It’s all on a relative scale,” Melody answered with a bitter smile. “He has to worry about keeping up with his friends’ private jets. But it’s not really about the money for my dad. It’s about what he can do, how much influence he has, how far he’s come from snotty-nosed little Ivan Talbot who scrapped his way out of a Newcastle Council estate.”

Gemma stared at Melody, bemused. She felt as if she was trying to fit together two photographic negatives, one over the other, that didn’t quite match. “Talbot’s a common enough name. I’d never have thought…But why on earth is your dad called Ivan? ”

“My nan was reading Russian history at school when she got pregnant. She was a bright girl who raised a bright child, in spite of the obstacles. But”-Melody leaned forward-“I don’t want to be him. I don’t want his job or his newspaper. I would never be more than Ivan’s daughter, no matter what I accomplished. Can you understand that?”

Gemma thought about her own father, about his constant disapproval of her choices, and his bitter disappointment that she had failed to fit into his mold. What might he do to scupper her career, if he had the power?

“And besides,” Melody went on raggedly, “all I ever wanted for as long as I can remember was to be in the police. I grew up watching every cop show, reading books on how to be a detective…Dad thought if he sent me to the best schools, and university…that I would eventually grow out of it, that I’d learn to be ‘normal.’ But I didn’t.”

“And you’re telling me that you would even consider letting him get away with this? I don’t believe it.” A desire to tell Ivan Talbot what she thought of him was making Gemma’s head pound. “You are good at this, and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want the force to lose you. I am not going to accept your resignation. And you-you’re going to be much more careful from now on. No more research at the paper. No hints to your father about any cases, no matter how innocently given. Is that settled?”

“But-but how can you possibly trust me after this-”

“Because I know you.” And in spite of Melody’s dissembling, Gemma felt sure that she did. “What your father does is really no one else’s business. And there is nothing that links you to this story”-Gemma tapped the paper-“other than your word and mine. And we’re not going to discuss it again. With anyone.”

There was a long moment in which Gemma and Melody looked at each other, and Gemma wondered if she had made the right judgment call.

Then Melody stood, giving Gemma a crisp nod. “Thank you, ma’am. I won’t disappoint you.” Her round face was set with resolution. “And I can promise you something else. My father is going to pay for this, one way or another.”

The rest of Friday passed uneventfully, but Gemma was still thinking about her conversation with Melody as she drove to Betty Howard’s late on Saturday morning. She wondered how much her new knowledge would change her perception of Melody. Already she better understood both Melody’s doggedness in pursuing an investigation and her personal reticence. And although she sympathized with Melody’s desire to stand on her own merits, she thought it unlikely she would be able to keep her identity secret indefinitely. Gemma had kept her word, however, and had not told Duncan, but the omission niggled uncomfortably at her. She didn’t like his taking the fall for something that had been her fault. It had been she who had taken Melody to Lucas Ritchie’s club, starting the chain of events that had led to the story, but she couldn’t see any other alternative.

It was already hot, and she hadn’t felt like walking, although driving meant negotiating the jam on Portobello Road on market day. The boys had fussed about wanting to see Charlotte-Toby, in particular, was still coveting Charlotte’s pencils-but they’d had their own activities.

Duncan had taken Toby to his Saturday football match, whispering as he left that there was nothing he’d rather do than sit in the sun in the park and watch a bunch of uncoordinated six-year-olds chase a ball, and Kit was meeting some school friends at Starbucks to discuss an out-of-term project. Or so he said-she suspected there would be good bit more gossip and music swapping than discussion, but she was glad to see him getting out a bit more socially.

She had just found a parking spot near Betty’s flat when her mobile rang. Her heart skipped a bit when she saw it was her sister, although she had just talked to her mum that morning and Vi had said she was feeling fine.

“Hi, Cyn,” she said, hoping as always that if she started the conversation on an upbeat note, it might stay that way.

“Mum said you’re not coming to Leyton.”

“I’m not coming today,” Gemma clarified. “I told her I’d bring the boys tomorrow. They’ve got things on today, and I promised to see Charlotte-”

“Charlotte? That’s this little girl Mum says you’ve taken in?”

“I haven’t taken her in.” Exasperation was beginning to make Gemma’s head pound. “I arranged for her to stay with Wesley’s mother, and I feel responsible-”

“You feel responsible for someone else’s child and not your own mother?” Cyn’s voice had risen over the sound of her kids, Brendan and Tiffani, squabbling in the background. “Will you two just shut it?” she shouted without covering the phone, nearly splitting Gemma’s eardrum, and the noise level dropped momentarily.

Wincing, Gemma said, “Cyn, whatever is the matter with you? That’s ridiculous. Of course I feel responsible for Mum-”

“Do you? You haven’t seen her since she came home from hospital. She’s so-so frail, and I don’t-She seems old, Gemma, and I don’t know what I would do-” To Gemma’s horror, her ruthlessly unflappable sister sounded near tears.

“They’ve said it’s the chemo, Cyn,” Gemma hastened to reassure her. “Try not to worry-”

“And she asked me this morning about the wedding.” Cyn’s indignation had come back in full force. “What am I supposed to tell her? Have you done anything at all about making the arrangements?”

“I-I just haven’t had a chance. I’ve been busy at work, and-”

“Right. It’s always something, Gemma.” Cynthia’s voice had gone cold. “You don’t care who you disappoint. I’m surprised Duncan puts up with you. And you know how much Mum is counting on this. You’ll be the death of her if you keep on like this, you mark my words.” The connection went dead in Gemma’s ear.

“Cyn?” Gemma said. “Cyn?” Then, when it sank in that her sister had really hung up on her, she shouted, “Harpy,” at the hapless mobile and threw it onto the passenger seat. It didn’t make her feel any better.