Hedgehog

The Hedgehog

Not again! Helen hurled her phone onto the sofa, her eyes ablaze with frustration as she read yet another message in the nurserys group chat.

What is it, Mum? Molly glanced up from her exercise book, peering at her mother with concern.

Its another competition! Im sick to death of these. Who comes up with these things? And, of course, the deadlines the day after tomorrowand Im working a double tomorrow. When am I bloody meant to do this?

I could do it for you, if youd like? Molly nudged her maths textbook aside, hopeful. Ive only got a bit of algebra leftthough Ill probably copy from Lucy, to be honest. I didnt get the homework at all. Shell explain tomorrow.

Helen shook her head, resolute. No, love, you stick to your own work. Its crucial right now, youre nearly at the end of termand youve got your tests coming up.

But what about Jamiell be really disappointed again. Remember last time, how upset he was when everyone got certificates except him? His little project didnt even get a look-inand hed worked so hard

Thats why! Helens frown deepened. Some of the things on display honestly! Its not the kids, its parents showing off. Its like theyre all the next Henry Moore or Barbara Hepworthand the painting ones! Youd think weve got a room full of Constables. We all know its not the children making these things, yet they still insist its all their own work. Thats what gets on my nerves the most.

Why does no one say anything? Everyone just puts up with it. Remember in Year One, when one of the parents just said enough was enough? Either let the kids do it themselves or scrap it.

That was when your Miss Turner gave up on you all, wasnt it?

Molly grinned. Yep! Everyone was over the moon. Then Mrs Smith announced from now on, wed make things ourselvesand that was that. Poor Nina brought in the toy her mum had knitted for her, and Mrs Smith started out full of praise but then asked us all to bring wool and hooks the next week. Remember how you had to go round to the neighbours that evening?

No wonder I had to knock on half the streets doors for a ball of wool, Helen laughed. Of course I remember.

There we are. Mrs Smith put Nina on the spot, asked her to crochet a circle, andwell, she couldnt. Ended up with a below-average mark. You must remember.

Its all a bit hazy ages ago now.

These competitionsthey really ought to be for the parents, not the kids. Might save some tears. Molly zipped her pens away, stacking her homework. Fancy a cup of tea? I can read Jamie a story too.

Id like that, very much. Helen got up, drawing Molly into a warm, fleeting hug and kissing her temple. Youve grown so tall, I cant just kiss you on the crown like I used to. Looking more like your father every day

Please, Mum. Molly slipped away gently. Lets not talk about him.

We wont. Helen managed a tired smile. Go put the kettle on, and Ill make a quick phone call. Youve given me an idea.

She watched Mollys straight-backed silhouette glide out the room, her posture neat as a pin. Helens thoughts driftedgenetics really were strange. She herself was rounded, curvy, fair-haired; Jamie took after her with his shock of blond hair and stocky build. But Molly cut a slender figure, all angles and grace, her neck long, her wrists delicatejust like her father and his own mother, Helens former mother-in-law: a one-time ballet dancer, swan number eleven at best, but with poise and stamina not easily rivalled. Yet Molly was nothing like her grandmother in temperamentthank God for that.

There was a light to Molly, a warm never-tiring glow that drew people to her, though sometimes at her own expense. People leaned on that kindness and her inability to turn them away. It wasnt always to her advantage, but Molly was unchanginga helper at heart.

Their flat was rarely short on rescue animals, just until theyve found a good home, Molly would always say. Of all the waifs and strays, only the old, enormous cat remained, brought in by Molly on a bitterly cold winters day. The cold was so bad, classes had been cancelled and Jamie, off nursery with a cold, was cocooned in blankets on the sofa. When Helen left for her shift, Molly had started making lunch, only to find not a single onion in the house. The little shop next door was close, so she made Jamie solemnly promise to stay put and dashed out.

On her way back, she slipped on the icy steps and nearly lost her shopping. When she gathered herself, she spotted a pair of honey-coloured eyes watching her intently from the top stepa huge, ragged black tomcat. His fur was matted and patchy and his eyes ran with tears. He looked so defeated that Molly forgot the pain in her side and murmured softly, Are you cold? Want to come in with me?

He didnt answer, just moved his frozen paws in closer, hunkering down.

Molly tried to lift him, then realised he was far too heavy. She pushed open the communal door, beckoning, Come on. Its freezing. Theres milk inside, you know.

He watched her, utterly without hope, and Mollys heart squeezed. She knelt on the icy stone, voice shaking. Dont be scared. Please. Come inI need you, too.

Whether it was the tremor in her voice, or just that hed decided there was nothing left to lose, the cat butted her hand and, with a heavy sigh, stood up.

There you go! Molly coaxed, wincing as she stood, her back still stinging. Dont worry about Jamiehes noisy but harmless and never hurts a fly.

Helen just shook her head when she met the battered cat the next morning. He probably wont last long.

At least hell be warm, Mum, for a bit.

I didnt say he couldnt stay, did I? Helen had no fight left. She moved through her days like she was underwatera sluggish, heavy routine, with nothing to hold on to except Molly and Jamie.

Her husband hadnt left immediately. For more than a year hed kept one foot in each camp, unable to choose who wanted him more. Even after Helen stopped caring, he refused to go. Youre not too keen on seeing me, I can tell. But the kidsthey adore me.

Theyd ended up occupying separate rooms. Molly never complained when her mother moved in with her, making space on the little sofa. She was old for her years, their shared silence full of understanding.

Helen knew her soon-to-be-ex-husbands new son was close in age to Jamie. She knew about the new blonde woman too, stylish and always perfectly put together, and couldnt help comparing herself now and thenjust for a moment. Model looks, neat child. Another blonde, Helen thought, wryly.

One evening after work, instead of taking the bus, she walked through the park shed once loved. The autumn had been mild and Helen found the familiar crunch of leaves and cool air soothing, a brief escape from decisions and worries. She even surprised herself by laughing at the bold grey squirrel taunting an elderly mans confused poodle. For a flash, she imagined her former husband in fifty years time: silver-haired, upright, dignifiedwith someone else at his side, not her. No seaside trips, no cottage weekends with grandchildren. That future was lost.

She turned away and, to her shock, saw her husband walking down the lane with his new family. Life wrote its own endings: one random encounter could tip everything on its head. Helen watched him, silent, there with his child, before she turned and strode out of the park, determined to write her new story, at last.

That very evening, she packed a suitcase with his things and when he protested, barely replied. Leave.

If he was about to argue, Mollys quiet echo from the hallway sealed it. Please go.

When the door closed, Helen sank against the wall. Molly hurried over. Mum, are you all right?

Helen took a deep breath, eyes closed, collecting herself. Stick the kettle on, love. I could murder a cuppa.

The children responded differently to their fathers departure. Jamie, still little and full of energy, barely noticedhis father hadnt spent much time with him anyway. But Molly suffered in silence. Though she said nothing, she lay awake at night, tracing the shifting patterns of branches on her ceiling, trying not to cry. It wore her down. Tears came more often than not, and Helen eventually took her to a counsellor, though it brought little relief. Only after the old cat arrivedchristened Arthur by the childrendid things begin to change.

Arthur became their silent guardian. Helen found his presence unsettling at timesthis big, battered beast, always waiting in the kitchen or hall when she prowled the flat in sleepless hours. Cant sleep either? shed mutter, and hed settle near her feet, never seeking affection, but never leaving, either.

Gradually, Helen began to talkquietly, so as not to wake the children. She spoke to Arthur about her fears and regrets, the loss of the family shed tried to hold together. Sometimes she cried, sometimes she raged. Arthur listened with those honey eyes, blinking solemnly, as if he understood.

When Helen noticed Molly becoming more at ease, she knew she wasnt the only one unburdening her feelings to Arthur. When Molly jokingly mentioned re-homing him, Helen surprised them both. No way. He stays.

Arthur flourished with timehis fur thickened, he grew plump and content. Whenever friends asked Helen about dating after her divorce, shed shrug with a grin, Ive already found the ideal manhe listens, hes great with the kids, never complains, and he doesnt even leave socks lying around.

The nursery years with Molly had been easierjust parties and new frocks. With Jamie, it was different. The teachers, and the parent committee, seemed determined to outdo one another. Helens former husband, stung by being cast out, refused maintenance unless a court instructed him, certain Helen wouldnt manage alone. But after tightening the purse strings for two months, she landed a second job. It wore her to the bone, but at least she didnt have to ask him for help. The only trouble was, she now barely had time for everything else.

At first, she managed. How long could it take to build a hedgehog from pinecones or scissors-and-glue a collage? Molly helped when she could, Jamie always insisted on making his project himself. But, one by one, his efforts were ignored or shoved aside. In the end, Helen was hauled into a parents meeting and scolded so severely she couldnt even muster a reply. The other parents were on her side, at least; indignation roared, and Helen silently vowed never to attend another of those meetings.

Now, steady on! Mrs Harrison, the teacher, was trying to calm the parents. Our children are our future, and if we dont give them our time and energy, when will we? A half-hour to help your child with a craftisnt that worth it?

Helen switched offshe thought of Arthur, waiting at home, the quiet kitchen, her two children sharing their day over cheese on toast and mugs of tea. Her time would belong to them, not these endless, pointless projects.

Leaving as soon as the meeting ended, Helen ignored the committees questions, promising herself to mute their calls next time.

A week had passed since that meeting; now, with another competition announced, Helen had finally had enough. If it was for the children, then let them try by themselves. If for the parentswell, that was a different matter. It took just a handful of conversations with other like-minded mums and dads to make a plan.

The following weeks party provided the perfect opportunity. Helen strolled into nursery with purpose. If it didnt work, so be it, but she was done letting herself be treated as a failure. No more, not ever.

Jamies hedgehog, as always, sat hidden on the highest shelf, out of sight. Helen reached up, moved a few too-perfect models, and set his proudly on display.

Mrs Fletcher, what are you doing? Mrs Harrison protested, startled.

I just want everyone to see the hedgehog Jamie madeby himself, I might add. I thought Id straighten up his label. Setting it front and centre, Helen watched a blush rise on the teachers cheeks, but she didnt dare move it again.

Jamies eyes grew wide with glee as he spotted his hedgehog front and centre, swelling with pride when he overheard a parent praising it.

The room filled up: costumes, laughter, last-minute hairsprays. At last, they drifted into the hall for the assembly. As Helen left, she caught the eye of Gregorys father and exchanged a conspiratorial wink.

Jamies recital was flawless; he danced the waltz with Clara, and Helen marvelled at his poiseperhaps those genes ought to be encouraged?

Then came the contest results. Certificates and chocolates, and of course Jamies name wasnt callednor were those of the few children whod made their efforts unaided.

And now Mrs Harrison reached the end of the ceremony. Helen stood, interrupting.

Now, some of our parents would like to say a word, if we may? Some parents grinned, in on the plan; others just looked baffled.

Helen walked up and accepted a folder from another mum, signing to Mrs Taylor who carried a box of treats.

Firstly, lets all thank our teachers for the wonderful event! For their creativity, their care, and their energylets have a round of applause.

The hall clapped and cheered.

And secondly, wed like to give certificates to every child who entered but didnt receive an award. You all gave it your best and should be proud! Please, a big hand for themall of them!

Childrens faces brightened as hands and treats were handed out, the sting of being excluded easing as they tucked into chocolates with their friends.

And finallyits not just the children putting in hard work! Time to recognise those with the er most creative grown-up-made crafts! Helen started passing out great lollipops and certificates, the adults sheepish but amused.

No parent with a flair for glue guns and glitter left empty-handed.

Helen later heard the uproar her little exhibition caused. When everyone filed back in, a new shelf had appearedfilled with only those projects made by little hands. Mollys banner hung above: I Did It Myself.

That afternoon, Helen gathered Jamie, bundled him into his shoes and coat, and they hurried home to Mollywho was waiting to hear all about it.

Mum?

Yes, love? Helen looked down at Jamie clutching his certificate.

If I got a certificate, does that mean my project was good?

Of course! You heard everyoneyours is the best because you did it all yourself. Not even Molly helped this time!

But my hedgehogs a bit wonky.

So what? Its yours.

Jamie walked alongside, taking quick steps to keep up, then looked up.

Mum, are you proud of me?

Helen stopped abruptly. Jamie nearly ran past her, and she steadied him. Kneeling, she turned him to face her.

Im so very proud of you. Proud that youre becoming independent, that you didnt whinge for help with your hedgehog, that you understand when Im stretched for time and you try to help. I noticed who did the washing up last nightit wasnt Molly! Thank you, my boy. Im proud youre growing into a fine young man.

Whats a fine young man?

Helen pondered. Someone who solves his own problems, but always says thank you for help. Who doesnt think some jobs are just for men, or just for women. Who helps those he loveslike when Molly was revising for her chemistry test and you did her share of the chores. You gave her the time she needed. And thats what mattersgiving time and using it wisely.

How?

Helen laughed. Thats a lesson for another day. But Ill tell you whatwe all deserve a little celebration, dont we?

Definitely!

Cake, then?

Absolutely!

That evening, with a steaming mug of her favourite Earl Grey, Helen watched her children giggling at the table, while Arthur curled up, content, in the corner. It struck her then how easily happiness can bloom in ordinary moments: simply being told you matter, that what you do is important.

Shed mute the nursery chat, bury her phone, and pass any real news through Mrs Taylor. One day theyd chuckle fondly about that wild look on the committees faces.

Two years later, Jamie would join the local cadet school, and the slightly wobbly hedgehog would still be there, perched beside Helens beloved teapotright where Molly would place it every holiday, home from university in London.

Helen, when the nest grew quiet at last, would find herself unsureuntil she met someone utterly unlike her ex-husband. Short, round, good-natured, Mr William Green would give her everything shed hoped forcompanionship, laughter, and calm years filled with affection. Thered be barbecues and roses at the allotment, old holidays by the sea, and, best of all, Mr Green got on with the childrensomething Helen had believed was impossible. When Molly returned home, shed watch her mother and Mr Green stroll through the autumn leaves, hand in hand like giddy youngsters, and wish one day for her own life to be filled with as much simple joy: to have someone to walk beside, to kick through crispy leaves, to feed squirrels togetherand then, back at home, to settle with a strong cup of tea and companionable silence. Because, in the end, you dont always need to speak if someone truly hears you with their heart.