Hedgehog
Yet again!I read the message in the nursery groups chat and tossed my phone onto the sofa beside me.
Whats up, Mum? Molly looked up from her workbook, glancing over her shoulder.
Another competition! I sighed. Im so fed up with these. Who needs all this? And it has to be handed in the day after tomorrow. Im on night shift tomorrow as well. When am I meant to do this?
I can do it if you like, Molly replied, shoving her algebra book aside. Ive almost finished my homework. Just got algebra left, but Ill copy that from Julie tomorrow. The question doesnt make sense, anyway. Maybe she can explain it.
No, love, stick to your own work. Its the end of term, tests around the corner! You wouldnt have any spare time.
But what about What about Tom? Hell be upset again. Remember how he cried last time when everyone else got certificates and nobody even looked at his project? He did it all himself, too
Thats probably why no one looked! I frowned, even more annoyed. Apparently, all the other mums and dads are budding Damien Hirsts or Tracey Emins. And if the contests about drawing, its all Turner and Constable. Not the children either, its always the parents. Can a five-year-old really produce the masterpieces I see in these competitions? But you know what bothers me most?
What?
Its the way the teachers all swear blind the projects are done by the kids! You shouldve seen them! Some of the parents couldnt manage what was on display!
Mum, why does no one say anything? Why dont the parents protest? Everyone just goes along with it. Remember in year one when a parent finally said enough was enough, the kids should do the work themselves?
Oh, when your Mrs Matthews washed her hands of you lot?
Molly laughed. Didnt we all cheer! Then Mrs Johnson said from then on, all projects had to be done by us, not the parents. She docked marks off Monica for bringing in a knitted doll her mum made. Mrs Johnson didnt say anything at firstjust praised her! Then she asked everyone to bring in wool and knitting hooks, remember?
Thats why I was knocking on everyones doors at eight at night! YesI remember now.
Monica got told to knit a little circle in class. Of course, she couldnt. She ended up with a fail for effort. Cant you remember?
Honestly, Id forgottenit was so long ago.
I think parents should get the awards for these competitions, not the children. At least that way the kids wouldnt be disappointed, Molly said as she tidied away her biology notes pens and stood up. Fancy a cuppa? Ill read Tom a story, too.
Id love that! I stood, hugged Molly and kissed the side of her head. Youve grown so much! Id have to stand on tiptoe to kiss your head like when you were little. Just like your father
Dont, Mum. Molly gently wriggled free. Id rather not think about him.
We wont, then! You make the tea, Ill just ring someone quickly. Youve given me a great idea.
I hugged her again, then nudged her gently towards the kitchen. Off you go!
Watching Mollys elegant, straight back disappearing down the hallway, I mused about how odd genetics can be. Im a solidly built, curvy blonde, and my son, Tom, is the sametowheaded and sturdy. Molly, though, is like a ballerinadelicate, fine-featured, all grace and movement. She inherited the long neck, straight back and slim wrists from her grandmother, whod danced balletnever a prima, more the eleventh swan in Swan Lake. But she did inherit that famous posture and an indomitable will. The only thing Molly didnt inherit was the sharp tongueshe shone with a warmth that everyone noticed, sometimes too warm, because people often took advantage of her kindness. Despite the odd fallout, Molly never changed.
Our home always seemed to have a poorly animal or two, rescued from the street by Molly, nursed back to health and rehomed. Only one stayed: a grizzled old tomcat Molly found last winter, during that long freeze when even the local schools were closed. She and Tom were left at home one day while I was on shift, and shed gone to fetch onions from the shop. Slipped on the step out front, she spotted himthis enormous, threadbare cat, black as midnight with patchy, matts of fur and a look in his amber eyes like hed given up on life.
You cold, mate? Wanna come with me?
The cat didnt replyjust shifted his frozen paws under him. Molly tried to pick him up, but he was massive. So she held the door open, Come on. Its warm, and weve got milk.
He stared, resigned and tired, as if to say whod want me, which nearly broke her heart. She went back, knelt next to him, Dont worry. Come inside. I need you, believe it or not
After a long moment, he butted her hand with his giant head and rose shakily to his feet.
Brilliant! Molly was delighted. Dont worry about Tomhes loud but hes gentle.
I just shook my head when I saw this bedraggled beast the next morning.
Molly, he probably wont last long
At least hell be warm for a little while.
Ive not said you cant keep him. Lets at least give it a try.
Honestly, I didnt have the energy to protest. I was so worn out, getting through work, going through the motions at home, trying to keep the children going. Life, for me, felt like moving through thick jellyeverything clung and dragged, yet nothing felt real, except Molly and Tom. They were the only solid ground left.
My marriage hadnt ended quickly. My husband stayed around for over a year, split between us and someone else while he decided where he was happiest. By then, Id long stopped finding joy in him, but he clung on, insisting the kids still loved him, so he had the right to stay. We ended up living in separate roomsMolly quietly agreed when I moved in with her, never uttering a complaint. Wise beyond her years.
I knew about his other sona year younger than Tomand the slender blonde woman whod replaced me. There was no comparison; she wore designer dresses and walked their boy through the park, a proper picture-perfect scene. Id laughed wryly the day I saw them, walking through the park I used to love. Autumn leaves underfoot, a brisk air to clear my head, I almost smiled at a squirrel taunting a confused Labrador. Suddenly, I realised: thats what hell look like when hes oldera tall, dignified chap with good posture, but the woman beside him would be someone new, not me. No more family barbecues, seaside holidays, or mountain walks. It was all gone.
I turned away, bitter and cold, only to run smack into my husband and his new family. Sometimes life writes its own brutal scriptsone accidental encounter and everything changes. I watched in silence as he played with the little boy, then left the park, determined at last to move on.
That night, I packed his things and, ignoring his protests, said quietly, Just go.
He might have argued, but Molly appeared in the doorway and echoed, Go.
When the door clicked shut, I sank against the corridor wall.
Mum? Molly whispered, alarmed.
I closed my eyes, gathering myself, then said, Pop the kettle on, Molls. I really need a brew.
The kids handled his leaving differently. Tom was still smallhe barely noticed as his father was rarely present. But for Molly, it was a shock; she withdrew, sleepless, tracing shapes in the patterns of moonlit branches on the ceiling. Eventually, exhaustion crept inshe became weepy and irritable. The school counsellor helped a little, but it was the old tomcat, whom they named Percy, who made the real difference.
Strangely, the kids grew very attached to Percy, though his looming presence in the kitchen at night still startled me. He never purred, never demanded fuss, just sat nearby. Our silent midnight meetings became strangely therapeutic. Id whisper my fearsabout losing my sense of family, my own brokennessand hed simply listen with those old, honey-coloured eyes.
Noticing Molly had grown calmer, I suspected she too confided in Percy. So I told her, offhand, If you ever plan to rehome him, know Im against it. He stays.
Over the following year, Percy improvedfilled out, his fur grew back, looking every bit the housecat. When friends teased me about my lack of love life, Id joke, Ive already found the perfect man; listens to all my nonsense, loves the kids, eats little, never leaves his socks on the floor. What more could I want?
As for men after my divorceI couldnt entertain the thought. I felt like a doll whose arms and legs no longer moved, stuck in one pose. My only joy was the children.
With Molly, nursery years had been one endless cycle of costumes and hair bows, but Toms were different. This time, the teachers and the parents committee were keen, organising so many activities that I sometimes felt overwhelmed.
After kicking his dad out, hed said, Youll only get maintenance through the courts, dont expect anything until then. He knew full well my nurses wage wouldnt stretch far enough. He thought Id come begging for helpbut he was wrong. Two months of beans-on-toast, then I got a second job, barely making ends meet but proud not to need him.
At first, the projects werent a problema quick plasticine Gromit or a paper collage. Molly helped when she could, Tom insisted on making his on his own. But his efforts were quickly pushed to the back of the display, ignored, while parents masterpieces grabbed the limelight. The staff summoned me in one day and told me off in front of everyone for not pulling my weight. The other parents finally stood up for me, but I still left with my face burning and the firm resolve never to attend those meetings again.
Calm down! Mrs Watson, the teacher, said from the front, trying to de-escalate the parents. Our children are our future. If you cant find half an hour to help your child with their project, who are you as a parent? Its a chance to bond, to spend time together
I mentally checked out, thinking of Percys soothing presence at home, tea brewing, my kids telling stories over dinner. My time, I decided, would be for themnot wasted on nonsense.
As soon as it ended, I slipped away, brushing off questions and the chairwomans insistence, Ill call you later, Elaine!
I nodded, determined to mute my phone for the evening.
That was a week ago. Today came yet another competition message, and something in me snapped. Enough! If this was a childrens contest, let it be just that. The parents could have their own, if they wanted. It took just a quick chat with three mums and one dad from Toms group to set a plan in motionthey all loved the idea and joined in.
The party was a week later, perfect for our scheme. I strolled into the nursery in great spirits. If it didnt work, finebut nobody would call me a bad mother again, nor treat my children as if their voices didnt matter.
Toms project, as usual, was hid on the top shelf at the back. I pushed aside the masterpieces, reached his little hedgehog and brought it front and centre.
Elaine, what are you doing? Mrs Watson looked puzzled. The parents will be here soonthe display needs to look tidy.
I just wanted to make sure my sons projecthis owngets seen. The tag was loose. I nudged the others aside, setting Toms hedgehog where all could see it.
Mrs Watson flushed but didnt dare remove it. Toms eyes widened in surprise at the prominent position, his pride growing as he overheard the rare compliment.
The nursery soon filled with parents and children, all hustle and noise as costumes and hair bows were adjusted. Eventually, we all made our way to the main hall for the performance.
On the way out, I caught the eye of Barneys Dad, and followed Tom down to the first floor.
The childrens show was lovelyTom recited a poem Molly had taught him, and danced a waltz (surprisingly gracefully) with Clara. Perhaps those ballet genes had made it down the linemaybe dances lessons would suit him? My musings were interrupted as Mrs Watson began to announce the competition results. The winners each walked up, received their certificates and bars of chocolate, but Tom wasnt among them, nor several others whose projects were clearly made by little hands.
And now, Mrs Watson was concluding, the ceremony is over
I stood and, before she could finish, spoke up. Now, the parents would like to say a few words, if thats all right.
Part of the audience grinned, knowing what was coming; the rest looked blankly at me as I walked to the stage, accepting a stack of certificates from Sallys mum and beckoning over Lizzies mum with a box.
First, a massive thank you to our wonderful teachers! For always bringing new ideas and encouraging the childrenincluding us parents. Thank you! I prompted the room; the first thank-yous came in an awkward stagger, then more enthusiastically, and the room settled down to listen.
Now, lets award certificates to the children who entered but didnt wina lot of them tried just as hard, and deserve recognition too. Lets give them a hand!
As I read out the names, the mood brightenedchildren beaming with their certificates and identical chocolate bars as the winners, grievances soothed, halls filled with laughter.
And now for our other award categoriesthe Best Parental Craftsmanship awards! I passed the list to Lizzies mum, and she handed me a box of oversized lollipops. I presented the first to the committee chair, who looked bewildered.
Elaine, what on earth is this?
Dont worry! You werent the only winner. I winked, and handed out the rest to the DIY-legend parents. No one left without a certificate or gift.
Later, Id hear the commotion our new display caused. During the show, a second bookcase had appeared, now full of childrens actual work, no parental interference, and a bold banner above: I Did It Myself!, written in Mollys neat hand.
Meanwhile, I grabbed Tom, helped him change his shoes, and we hurried homeMolly waiting for us with all the news.
Mum?
Yes, love? I looked at Tom, clutching his certificate tight.
If I got a certificate, does that mean my hedgehog was good?
Of course! You heard what they saidits the best, because you made it yourself. Molly didnt help this time, either.
But its a bit wobbly.
So what? Its yours.
He fell quiet, matching my brisk stride, then glanced up, Mum, are you proud of me?
I stopped in my tracks, holding his hand, and knelt to look him in the eye.
Im so proud of you. Of the fact youre becoming independent, that you didnt ask me to do your project for you, and that you help me out at home. I know you did the washing up last night, not Molly. Thank you, Im proud youre turning into a real man.
Whats a real man, Mum?
I paused.
I think its someone who faces his own problems, but always says thank you for help. Who knows housework isnt just for girls or boys. Who helps his family. Like you with the dishesMolly finished her homework because of it, and got an A in chemistry. You gave your time, and that matters above all.
How?
Ill tell you more one day. You know what?We deserve a little celebration, dont we?
Definitely!
Does that call for a cake?
It does!
Later, sipping my favourite tea with thyme at the kitchen table, watching the children chatter, Percy curled up in the corner, I thought how little it takes to make kids happy. Just let them know they’re important, their efforts valued.
Id keep my phone on silent, tuck it away in my handbag, and in the morning, Id quit the nursery parent-chat, asking Lizzies mum to just give me the short version if needed. Wed have a laugh later about everyones faces when we handed out the sweeties.
A couple of years later, Tom would join the local cadet school, and the slightly wonky hedgehog would still greet him from the kitchen shelf, next to Mollys beautiful teapotbrought home from London, where shed be studying.
When the children left home, at first, it was just me and Percy. But in time, I met someone elseEric, a short, slightly stout gentleman, nothing like my first husband. He gave me every happiness Id ever hoped for after the children grew upquiet days filled with a gentle, if late, love. Barbecues at the allotment, me tending my roses, getaways to the seasideEric got on famously with the children, and I was astounded to discover you really can love someone elses kids. Molly, home on holiday, would watch Eric and me walking hand-in-hand in the park, shuffling autumn leaves, feeding squirrels, and quietly hope for the same things in her futurea hand to hold at any age, someone to share the tea, to just be with. Because sometimes, you dont need to say anythingjust know theres someone who hears you, heart to heart.
Looking back, I learnt this: the certificate, the hedgehog, the extra shift, the silent cup of teathey all matter less than making sure everyone in your family knows they truly belong.
