Hedgehog
Again! I read the latest message in the school group chat and tossed my phone onto the sofa. Why do they keep coming up with these competitions? And always, they want everything done at a moments notice. Now its due the day after tomorrow, and Im on a night shift. When on earth am I supposed to find the time?
Mum, what is it? Emma looked up from her workbook, brushing her brown hair out of her eyes.
Another contest. Its driving me mad, honestly. Whats the point? No one even cares, and its just more work for us. Besides, Im working all tomorrow. I sounded tired, even to myself.
Emma closed her algebra book with a snap. Want me to do it for you? Ive almost finished my homeworkjust algebra left, and I can crib that off Sophie tomorrow anyway. She understands what the questions about, unlike me. Shell explain.
I waved my hand at her. No, darling, stick to your own work. End of terms on us, and youve got all those big tests coming up.
But David will be disappointed again, Mum. Do you remember how upset he was last time? All the kids got certificates, but they didnt even look at his craft project. He made it all himself, you know.
Well, thats probably exactly why! I sighed, trying not to frown too much. ‘Apparently, everyone elses kids are mini Michelangelos. Or if they paint, young Constables! Except its not the children making them, is it? Its their parents. A kid couldnt possibly produce the things that show up at these competitions. But the staff insists its all the childrens workwhich is what infuriates me most.
But why does everyone just go along with it, Mum? Emma asked. No one ever says anything. They just do it. Remember in Year One, when someone finally said enough is enough? Either we stop, or the kids actually have to make things themselves.
Oh, when your class teacher, Mrs Richardson, gave up on you all? I chuckled, remembering.
Exactly! Emma laughed too. Everyone was so relieved. After that, Mrs Scott insisted it was just the children doing the projects. She even gave Nina a telling-off because her toy was clearly knitted by her mum! Oh, do you remember, you were traipsing round to the neighbours that night, hunting for spare wool and a crochet hook?
Ah! So thats why I was pestering folk at nine oclock!’ I smiled, recalling.
She sat Nina down and asked her to crochet a circleof course, she couldn’t. Instant needs improvement on her work. Did you forget?
I suppose I had. Feels like ages ago now.
Emma tidied her biology notes away and stretched. Honestly, they should give the certificates to the parents, not the kids. At least then the kids wouldnt get so upset.
Would you like a tea? Ill make you one and read David his story, if you like.
I let the tiredness drop away and kissed her on the forehead. Yes, I would. My, youve shot up. I can hardly give you a peck on the top of your head anymorejust like your father
Dont, Mum. Emma shrank away a little. Id rather not talk about him.
We wont, dont worry. Put the kettle on, darling. I just need to make a callyouve given me a good idea.
Emma walked off towards the kitchen, and I watched her straight back, so elegantlike shed been drawn with a ruler. Genes are an odd thing, I thought to myself. I was always a curvy, fair-haired woman, and David was the absolute image of me: sturdy, blond, and rosy. But Emma got all the trim lines, the poise, the delicate wrists, the dancers neck. She was life and energy, through and throughthat must have come from her fathers side. His mother, my former mother-in-law, had been a ballet dancer, not a principal, but graceful nonetheless. Emma had her posture, her will, and work ethic, but, thankfully, not her temper.
Emma always glowed with warmthit drew people in, though sometimes they took her kindness for granted. Still, Emma was stubborn in her compassion; there was always some animal to look after, a sparrow with a broken wing or abandoned kittens. She was forever bringing them in from the streets, nursing them back, and finding them good homes.
The only one who ended up staying with us was Oscar, the ageing, enormous black tomcat Emma had found on a freezing January day. That winter had been so bitter the local school even closed for frost. Emma was home with David, who was off sick, and after seeing me off for hospital duty, shed started cooking lunch, only to find we had no onions in the house. The little grocery shop was next door, so she strictly told David to stay on the sofa and not budge, switched off the cooker, and dashed out.
On the way back she slipped, landing with a thud by the steps, just as she caught a pair of amber eyes watching her. The cat perched at the top step looked defeated. Huge, once-fluffy, now ragged and patchy, eyes watering. His face said I give up, and at the sight, Emmas own tears stung in her eyes.
Are you cold? Want to come with me? she asked gently.
The cat didnt move, just tucked his paws in more closely.
She tried lifting him but he was too heavy. Standing, she reached for the communal door. Coming? Its warm inside, and theres milk.
He looked at her, weary, unsure. Who would want me? was written plainly in his gaze.
Emma simply knelt by him despite the icy steps. Dont be scared. Come on in, will you? I need you.’
The two of them stayed there until, eventually, the cat dipped his head into her hand and stood.
There we are! She grinned, gathering herself up. Her back ached from the fall, but it didnt matter much now. Dont worry about Davidhe makes a racket, but he wont hurt you.
The next morning, when I saw this shaggy, battered creature, I just shook my head, too tired to do anything else.
Emma, love, I doubt he has long, you know
At least hell be warm, Mum. That matters.
I had no energy for protests. Most days, I moved on autopilotwork, chores, the kids. I felt as though I was suspended in jelly: everything cloying, sticky, and at the same time slippery, draining. The only things anchoring me were the children.
My husband hadnt left straight away. For over a year, he lived between us and his new partner, unsure where he preferred to be. Id stopped yearning for his company long ago, but he still clung on.
You hardly act like you want me around, but at least the kids do. It was a constant refrain.
Eventually, we began living in separate rooms, thankfully our flat was big enough. Emma never made a fuss when I moved into her roomshe was wise beyond her years.
I knew he had a new son, just younger than David, with the woman who had taken my place. Id seen herblonde and impossibly stylish, strolling the park with her fashionable little boy. Always another blonde, I remember thinking wryly.
One day, instead of my usual bus home from work, I walked through the park. The autumn air was crisp and bright, the leaves glorious underfoot. For half an hour, I lost myself in the way I used to; Londons parks are magical, somehow, and it calmed me more than all the herbal tea or tablets combined. I even found myself laughing as a cheeky squirrel darted in front of a startled dog and its owner, a tall, grey-haired manso composed, so dignified, a former officer, maybe. That, I thought, is what my ex will look like: tall, silver, with another woman by his side. Never the two of us as I once dreamtno more lazy days with grandchildren at the seaside or rambling over hills.
Then, as life likes to do, he appeared ahead of me with his new family. I stood and watched him playing with his son, and quietly walked away, finally deciding to move on.
That evening, I packed his things and quietly said, Please go. When he started arguing, Emma came out and, in her clear, steady voice, quietly repeated, Go.
After hed gone, I slid down against the hallway wall, and Emma gasped. Mum, are you alright?
I closed my eyes, gathering myself. Pop the kettle on, would you, Emma? Id love a cuppa
The children reacted to their fathers departure in their own ways. David was still young enough not to mind; hed never been especially close to his dad. But for Emma, it was a real blow. She kept quiet around me, not wanting to upset me, but lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, following the patterns in the black lace shadows from the sycamore outside. Sometimes she managed to find a picture in those shadows and sleep a little, but more often she couldnt.
Fatigue soon showed. Emma became jumpy, easily upset, tearful. I took her to the GP, who suggested some appointments with the school counsellor, but that made little difference. Only after Oscar arrived did things start to improve.
It was the children who named him Oscar. Somehow, they both grew deeply attached to this lumbering feline, though he still scared me at times, looming out of the kitchen at night when I wandered sleepless.
Whats keeping you up? Id grumble as the cat settled nearby, always silent, never purring or fussing for affection. He just sat guard. Those quiet vigils became a strange kind of therapy. Oscar would listen, patient and dignified, as I whispered about my worries, my fear that the past was impossible to leave behind, how the family Id known was gone. Id scold or grumble, even cry, but Oscar never budgedhe just squinted his amber eyes and pretended to understand.
Seeing Emma grow calmer, I realised perhaps I wasnt the only one confiding in Oscar. I caught Emmas surprised look when I muttered offhandedly, If you ever think of rehoming him, dont. Hes part of the family now.
Within a year, Oscar had blossomed into a proper housecat, plump and shiny, not some battered dustbin Tom. When friends asked about my love life, Id joke, Ive found the perfect man. He listens to everything I say, loves the kids, rarely moans about food, and never leaves socks on the floor. What more could you want?
I no longer thought of starting over with anyone new. It felt like every part of me had broken, a puppet with fixed joints left in one pose. The kids brought the only spark of excitement left.
While Emmas early school life was bright with parties, costumes, and funone dress finished, another begunthe primary school years for David were different. His group had the most relentless organising committee, full of parents whose enthusiasm left the rest of us overwhelmed.
After his departure, my ex said Id only get maintenance once court ordered it, and I shouldnt expect a penny before then. He knew my NHS salary wouldnt stretch, expecting Id come running for help, but I simply took another job. Money was thin, time even thinner. Emma did what she could, helping David with projects, but he stubbornly insisted on making his crafts himself. At first, they just stuck his efforts at the back unnoticed; then, I was hauled up at a parents meeting and scolded in publicleaving me humiliated and determined never to attend another.
Miss Dubois, the teacher, tried to silence the cross parents. Our children are our future! If you cant spare a half-hour for a craft, what sort of parent are you? she said. Its about spending quality time!
My mind drifted. I thought of Oscar and how, soon, Id be home, making tea and listening to my children. That half hour, that was real quality time.
The week after that fraught meeting, came another group chat message: a new competition. Enough! Id had it. If its a childrens contest, it should be for children. Within minutes, three other parents and one dad agreed, and we hatched a plan.
On the day of the next celebration, I strode to school with a lightness I’d not felt in ages. If it didnt work, never mind; from that day forth, no one would call me a bad mother again, nor could anyone else make my children feel invisible.
Davids hedgehog project, as always, was hidden at the back of the highest shelf. Casually, I pulled it forward, pushing aside the parental masterpieces and set Davids prickly, wonky hedgehog front and centre.
Mrs Harris, why are you doing that? Miss Dubois asked.
Id like everyone to see my son’s projecthe did it entirely by himself. Just straightening the label. I smiled, nudging aside a lopsided masterpiece to make room.
She flushed but didnt dare move it. When David spotted his hedgehog on display, he gaped in delight. Someone even commented on how good it was; he glowed with pride.
Soon the room overflowed with parents and kids, preparing their outfits and photos until at last everyone trooped to the assembly hall.
The concert was a real success. David recited his poem (Emma stuck stars in his hair while helping him practice) and waltzed with Alice. For a moment, I wondered if there was a dancer in his genes after all, like his grandmother, and made a mental note to look into classes. But then Miss Dubois started announcing the results. One by one, the same few children received their usual awardsDavid and others like him, the independents, overlooked.
And now, if I may I stood up and interrupted, some of the parents here would like to say a word.
A few parents grinned knowingly, others looked round in confusion. I took the stack of certificates from Sallys mum and beckoned Lucys mum over with the treat box.
First, a huge thank you to our teachers, so dedicated and creative. Lets have a round of applause! The hall clapped. Now, I want to acknowledge all the children who took part and didnt win. They did brilliantly, too! Give them a big hand!
I took the list and called children up, handing out their certificates and chocolate bars. Laughter rippled, the kids cheered. But were not quite finished. Now we want to recognise the best projects of allthe parents who did them! I winked, presenting the committee chair with a giant lollipop and certificate, and then all the other golden-hands parents.
After the event, I heard plenty of grumbles about the alternative exhibition. When everyone returned, the second, new shelf was stacked with all the kids own work, labelled in Emmas careful hand: I did it myself!
I grabbed David, helped him pull on his wellies, and we dashed home to tell Emma the news.
Mum? David pressed close, holding his certificate tight. If they gave me a certificate, does that mean my hedgehog was good?
Of course! Its the best because you did every bit yourselfeven Emma didnt help this time.
He fell silent for a moment, trying to match my pace. Then, more shyly: Mum, are you proud of me?
I stopped, turning to face him, kneeling in the street. Im very proud of you, Davidproud that youre growing up, proud that you tried everything on your own, and proud you never asked anyone to do it for you. You know, I realised last night that it was you who did the washing up, not Emma. That meant she could study for her chemistry testand she smashed it this morning. You gave her that time. Thats the most important thing we havetime, and choosing how to use it.
How, Mum?
Thats a big conversation, love, and well have it over cakebecause I think today calls for cake, dont you?
Yes!
Back at home, I brewed tea with thyme and watched the children chatOscar squinting from his kitchen spotand thought how easy it is to make a child happy. All they need is to be valued, to be told that what they do matters.
That afternoon, I slipped my phone onto silent and buried it in my bag. By morning, Id left the school group chat, asking Lucys mum to keep me updated with the essentials. We laughed about how baffled the committee parents had looked as we handed them their goodie bags.
Two years later, David started at cadet college, and his lopsided hedgehog still sat on the kitchen shelf next to the blue teapot Emma would one day bring me from university in Manchester.
Eventually, with the children grown, my life shifted yet again. My new partner, Tom, was nothing like my first husbandshorter, a little plump, as I was, but everything Id wished for in late love. Days full of garden barbecues and roses, holidays by the coast, and, most importantly, a real bond with Emma and David. Tom was proof that loving someone elses children isnt only possible but natural. Emma, visiting on her holidays, would watch us walking hand in hand in the park, scuffing through crunchy autumn leaves, and hope her life would turn out just the same. That shed always have someone beside her whod listen not just to words, but to whats in your heart.
And sometimes, shared silence is all you needespecially when you know, without a doubt, that you matter.
