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in alarm. ‘I don‘t want - I didn‘t mean to get Mr Naz into any sort of trouble.‘
    ‘I‘m just here as a friend, Alia,‘ Gemma said quickly. ‘To see if I can help.‘ She slipped into the chair beside Alia‘s at the table. ‘Why don‘t you tell me about your day.‘
    ‘My day?‘ From Alia‘s expression, Gemma might have asked her the square root of pi.
    ‘Yes.‘ Gemma smiled, trying to put the girl at ease. She gave Hazel and Tim a glance that they interpreted correctly, taking seats at either end of the sofa. Timing back to Alia, Gemma asked, ‘Do you usually look after Charlotte on a Saturday?‘
    ‘No. Mr Naz likes to spend as much time with her as he can at the weekend. But he rang this morning and asked if I could come in for a couple of hours. I thought he had to go to the office, but when he left he didn‘t have any papers or nothing. Mr Naz is a solicitor. But then Dr Cavendish will have told you,‘ she added uncertainly.
    ‘And Mr Naz didn‘t say where he was going?‘
    ‘No. Just that he‘d be back in time to take Charlotte with him to visit Dr Cavendish.‘ She looked from Tim to Hazel, obviously confused by the two Dr Cavendishes, but this wasn‘t the moment to enlighten her.
    ‘Was there anything else different in what he said, or how be looked?‘ Gemma asked.
    Alia‘s broad brow creased as she thought. ‘He only gave Charlotte a kiss. Usually he picks her up and swings her round.‘ At the sound of her name, Charlotte put her thumb in her mouth.
    Perhaps he had been distracted, Gemma thought, but she went on matter-of-factly. ‘Then what did you and Charlotte do? Did you go out?‘ She smiled at the child, but got no response.
    ‘Just in the garden.‘ Alia glanced at the back doors. ‘Charlotte has a sandpit, and it was nice outside. Then Mr Naz had got mangoes, so we made a lassi in the blender. Mr Naz had said he‘d be back by three, so I had everything tidied up by then. But he didn‘t come home.‘
    Gemma took in the neat kitchen. One of the worktops held the baking sheet Alia had used to heat the samosas, and a Tupperware container. The fridge, a retro Smeg, was adorned with magnets and bright crayon drawings, an ordinary scene in a household with a child. But something here was not ordinary at all. Thinking that Toby, now almost six, had not stopped talking since he‘d learned how to form words, she smiled again at Charlotte and said, ‘Hi, Charlotte. I‘m Gemma. Did you make those nice pictures?‘
    Charlotte merely gazed back at her, expressionless. Wondering if the child was developmentally delayed, she said softly to Alia, ‘Is she very shy?‘
    ‘Shy?‘ Alia sounded startled. ‘Oh, no, I wouldn‘t say that. It‘s just that... since her mum... she doesn‘t talk much, especially round strangers.‘
    ‘She doesn‘t see her mum?‘
    Alia stared at her, the finger she had been twining in Charlotte‘s curls suddenly still. ‘You don‘t know about Sandra?‘ she whispered.
    Gemma shot an accusing glance at Tim, who shrugged, mouthing ‘No time.‘
    ‘No. I‘m afraid I don‘t.‘
    Tim sat forward, hands on his knees as if holding himself down. ‘It was in May,‘ he said. ‘I saw an appeal Naz put in the papers afterwards. That‘s why I got in touch.‘ He glanced at Charlotte, then seemed to choose his words even more carefully. ‘She — Sandra — left the baby with a friend at Columbia Road. It was a Sunday, just as the market was winding down. She said she had an errand and she‘d only be gone a few minutes. She never returned.‘

Chapter Four

A domestic dream, with a low crooked ceiling and large dresser stacked to its full height; a table of scrubbed pine covered with wooden bowls and baskets, all spilling over with green vegetables, white turnips, brown onions and bright orange carrots. This is undoubtedly the house‘s kitchen...

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

    Gemma and Hazel both gaped at Tim,