Deborah Crombie - Necessary as Blood

“I’ll start the car.” Kit scooped the keys off the floor, where Gemma must have dropped them. She caught a flash of his face, white and frightened, as he went out the door.

“Kit, I’m fine,” she tried to say, but it came out a thread of sound, and as Duncan started to walk her towards the door, the world began to go white and fuzzy again.

After that, she let Duncan fold her gently into the car, but she managed a smile at Kit as they drove away.

Then it was a blur of glass doors and gurneys and long, ugly corridors. Duncan stayed with her, holding her hand. At last they were through with scans and exams, and a young, female doctor came into the curtained cubicle to speak to them.

“The bad news is that you do have a concussion, Mrs. James,” she said, and Gemma didn’t correct her on the name or the marital state. “The good news is that there’s no sign of subdural hematoma,” the doctor went on. “But you should have come in sooner. Head injuries can be quite dangerous. Now, you’re going to need to stay quiet for three or four days”-she must have seen Gemma start to protest because she said more firmly-“and that means bed rest. We don’t want to see you back here. We’ll give you something for the headache that will help the pain and reduce the swelling as well.”

“But I can’t-”

“I’ll see that she stays in bed.” Duncan’s tone brooked no argument. He took down the doctor’s final instructions, then rang Kit as she was being checked out.

Gemma made one last feeble attempt at resistance when he brought a wheelchair. “I don’t need-”

“Hospital rules. It’s the only way you’re getting out of here.”

She shuddered and let him help her into the wheelchair and then into the car. When he had climbed in beside her, she said, “I hate that place,” and was mortified to find that her voice was shaky. “And I’m sorry you’re angry with me.”

He turned to look at her in surprise. “Angry with you? Don’t be daft, Gemma. It’s myself I’m angry with. I should never have let you go round with that lump on your head without having it checked out. You have an excuse because you weren’t thinking clearly. I have none but stupidity. And believe me”-he gave her a dark look-“I’m going to make sure you do what the doctor said.”

“But I promised I’d take the boys to see Mum tomorrow-”

“I’ll take them, as long as you get someone to come and stay with you. Maybe Hazel or Melody. Or Betty.” His voice had softened, and she saw the glint of a smile. “Otherwise”-he paused while he eased the car out into Ladbroke Grove-“you’ll be running laps.”

“Hazel’s working. I’ll ring Melody.” She’d said it so quickly that Duncan gave her a suspicious glance. Gemma settled back in her seat, deciding she’d just have to make the call when he’d left her alone. Fuzzy headed she might be, but she wasn’t about to tell him she had an ulterior motive. Not yet.

Melody arrived about ten on Sunday morning. Earlier, Gemma had got up, made the bed, put on shorts and a T-shirt, then been ordered back to bed by Duncan. She’d compromised by staying dressed and propping herself up on the bed with just a throw for a cover. To tell the truth, she didn’t feel up to much, and had dozed off again when she heard the bell and voices in the hall.

Duncan called out, “Melody’s here, and we’re off,” and a few moments later Melody came into the bedroom.

“Wow,” she said. “This is lovely,” and Gemma realized Melody had never been upstairs. Nor did she ever remember seeing Melody in anything as casual as the jeans and cotton print top she wore today, with her dark hair tousled and her cheeks pink from heat and sun. Even when Melody had come to their dinner party in the spring, she’d worn a white silk blouse and black trousers, an outfit that had seemed an extension of her uniformlike work clothes.

“It is, isn’t it?” Gemma agreed. “I suppose there are worse places to be confined.” She nodded towards the slipper chair in the corner. “Sit, please.” Suddenly, she felt a little awkward in such intimate circumstances with this unleashed Melody who seemed so different from the woman she had thought she’d known.

But Melody pulled the slipper chair closer to the bed and perched on it, showing no hint of discomfort. “Columbia Road was brilliant,” she said. “I want a garden. Or at least a patio or a balcony with room to plant things.”

“But surely you’ve had a garden.” Gemma, whose only previous experience with a garden had been a scraggly square of lawn at the house she’d owned in Leyton with her ex-husband, Rob, tended the terrace and patio garden of the Notting Hill house with much trepidation, and with considerable help from Duncan and boys.

“I grew up in a Kensington town house. With topiaries. My grandparents-my mum’s parents-have a very formal garden in Buckinghamshire, strictly the province of the gardener, and my nan, my dad’s mum, still lives in her council flat in Newcastle. She refused to move, no matter how much Dad bullied her.” Melody grinned. “I always wanted to be like her when I grew up.”

The words seemed to spill from Melody, and Gemma wondered how long it had been since she had really talked to anyone.

“I want a riotous garden,” Melody added with a grin, “and now I know where to get things. I just have to figure out the how to manage the garden bit. And I apologize”-the smile faded-“for never having had you round, when you’ve been so kind to me, but there’s not much to see in my flat.”

“Well, I’ll come whenever you like. But in the meantime, tell me about Roy. Did you speak to him?”

“Yes. He was a bit leery at first, but when I assured him I knew you, and I told him that Sandra’s brothers were responsible for the attack on Azad’s restaurant, he was furious.

“He said Sandra didn’t tell him that she knew what they’d done, but he thinks it was the Sunday a week before she disappeared that he saw bruises on her arms.”

Gemma sat up so fast it made her head pound. “Bruises? And he didn’t tell me?”

“I’ve checked the dates. That would have been a week after the firebombing of Azad’s restaurant. I’d guess either they bragged to her or she heard it from someone else and confronted them.”

“Bloody hell,” said Gemma, sinking back into the pillows. “That gives them a second motive for wanting Sandra out of the way. Maybe she threatened to shop them for that, instead of the drugs. Or as well as the drugs.”

“Are you going to tell Duncan?”

Gemma rubbed her head. “I don’t know. He’ll be livid, but his hands are tied as far as the Gilles brothers are concerned. I don’t think he could pull them in, even if he had hard evidence.” She could see that Melody wanted to ask more, but she didn’t.

Instead, she said, “Well, you’d better tell him, nonetheless.”

“He won’t be best pleased with me either, but I suppose you’re right.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Melody reached for her handbag and pulled out a small bakery box. “Roy sent this, for Charlotte. It’s a lemon cupcake from a shop near his stall, called Treacle. He said it was her favorite.”

Melody had excused herself before Duncan and the boys returned from Leyton. “Sunday lunch at my parents’ in Kensington,” she’d said with a grimace. “And my mum is famous for inviting unsuitable blind dates for me to her Sunday soirees.” Her face settled into the expression Gemma had seen on Friday. “We’ll hope she hasn’t asked anyone else today, because I can tell you, it is not going to be pleasant.”

For just a moment, Gemma felt sorry for Ivan Talbot.

When Melody had left, Gemma rang Betty and asked if Charlotte could come for a visit that afternoon, as an old friend had sent a treat for her. “And besides,” she added, “I miss her.”