The train trundled to a stop and I alighted onto the platform, looking furtively around me like a criminal, expecting Millie and Kamal to appear from behind every pillar. I could see the enormous marquee in the park and feel the buzz of the approaching attendees from three streets away – men, dapper in their formal dress, with the sort of high-maintenance women who spend their whole lives preparing their bodies, hair and faces for these kind of events.
‘This is for Crystal,’ I said to myself, determined to remain calm. ‘I have every right to be here.’
I smoothed down my green satin dress as it was pulling a little over my hips; along with the rest of me, they’ve started to fill out in quite a pleasing way over the past year, and took a deep breath. I was glad I had also worn the expensive cream and olive pashmina Millie had given me for my fiftieth and wrapped it around myself protectively as I entered the reception area. The usual squad of black-clad, trendy art students were manning the desk and a Chinese girl with lilac hair ticked my name off a list while continuing an animated celebrity-spotting conversation with her friend.
I took a glass of prosecco from a passing tray-bearer and entered the main space, which had the grassy humidity of all marquees, mingled with the unmistakable smell of money. The art was displayed in a confusing maze of booths, some much larger than others, reflecting, I supposed, the level of esteem for each artist or group of artists. I grabbed a guide from the first stand and searched for Crystal’s name on the list at the back. I was about to head off to the far-left corner where her picture was hanging when a round of applause alerted me that something formal was happening. I turned to the right and saw the patron of the art society, Sir Donald Bewley in blazer and cravat, standing with open arms, ready to begin the proceedings with a speech.
‘Welcome, one and all. It is a pleasure to see so many familiar faces here on this delightful summer’s evening for the twenty-fifth annual Art Society Show. We have an outstanding range of talent on display tonight and I do hope you will enjoy some old favourites as well as discover some rising new stars. And, of course, I hope you have brought your credit cards.’ He paused at this point to allow the polite laughter to rise and then fall and went on to detail the high-profile guests who had graced us with their presence. ‘Finally, this year we have also invited leading academics from all the London universities, in the hope that we can begin to share ideas across disciplines using the visual arts as inspiration. I look forward to hearing and having many interesting conversations and wish you all a wonderful evening.’
The crowd clapped and then dispersed to explore the exhibition and find friends and I was left standing alone, clutching my glass, feeling utterly exposed. I had already been nervous about bumping into Millie and Kamal, but the possibility that Prof could also be here had completely unnerved me.
‘Hello, Sylvia,’ said a woman’s voice and I looked up to see Martha in a slinky black tuxedo, standing in front of me in her absolute element. ‘Isn’t this great?’ She lifted her glass to indicate the entire marquee and everyone in it.
‘Yes, wonderful,’ I replied, desperate to ask her the question, but not wanting to seem like I cared. She answered it anyway.
‘Carl is here, you know, with his student shag. Have you seen him? He looks like a pathetic old letch.’ She sniggered and took another swig from her glass.
‘No, no I haven’t.’ I felt disorientated, as if the rules had changed in a game I didn’t know I was still playing.
‘Look! There he is, the swine,’ she trilled affectionately and then to my horror she tried to wave him over. ‘Carl, over here, someone for you.’
I saw him then; he was leaning down in rapt conversation with a stunning young woman in a long yellow dress and wasn’t about to be interrupted.
‘Is that his girlfriend?’ I started in surprise.
‘Hardly.’ She threw her head back and laughed at the thought. ‘She’s the new Bond girl.’ She paused for effect, but she could tell by my blank expression that I didn’t recognise her. ‘No, he’s with that one,’ she said, indicating with a long red talon as Lola went storming up to them with a fierce smile on her face and inserted herself firmly between Prof and the actress. She was wearing the very same blue chiffon dress she had had on that night in Rome, but it looked different here in a marquee in London – less striking, somehow, more fussy. ‘Apparently, she’s preggers,’ Martha whispered to me behind her hand, delivering her prime piece of gossip with delight. ‘I hear it’s been an absolute scandal at the university and she’s had to put her PhD on indefinite pause to protect his reputation. Bit late for that, if you ask me! Can you even imagine Carl doing the nappies and sleepless nights again? He was hopeless enough the first time round.’ She chuckled at the thought, and I simply nodded and absorbed the news without surprise, feeling nothing but a strong sense of pity for Lola as she glared angrily at Prof.
‘Oh dear, trouble in paradise.’ Martha raised her eyebrows and her glass to me with a wicked smile and wandered off in search of more fun.
I still find it hard to believe that I wasted all those years on the arrogant philanderer who is Carl Lomax. I have forgiven myself, because I can see now that I was in love with the idea of Prof, rather than the man himself, and that I needed that fantasy of love to protect me from the pain of being lonely. Perhaps it is the same for Lola? It shows how far I have come that I actually think it is a crying shame that she’s giving up her studies – she really is incredibly clever. I genuinely hope she finds a way back to herself in time. She has coped admirably being a single mother to one, and I have no doubt she will be able to do the same with two if Prof leaves her in the lurch at some point, which, unfortunately, I suspect he probably will.
I watched as Prof ignored Lola, as he had ignored Martha’s beckoning, despite her repeated attempts to join in the conversation. It was only when the actress decided to go and talk to somebody else – a presenter I recognised from morning television – that Prof acknowledged Lola was there and absently put his hand on her back as he scanned the marquee. He looked past me several times as if I were invisible and I continued to watch them from my spot five or so metres away, feeling like a camouflaged wild animal photographer. I considered raising my hand or walking over, but I didn’t want to be reminded by his response of his opinion of me and the way I had behaved last year. A bald man in a flamboyant pinstriped suit tapped Prof on the shoulder and he turned and greeted him with a hearty handshake, allowing himself to be led away to see some piece of art or another. Lola remained where she was, cutting a lonely figure, awkwardly sipping from a water bottle and trying to be interested in the minimalist line drawings nearest to her. I briefly considered going over to talk to her, but I didn’t want to be the cause of any more upset and I was not at all sure what to say after our last unpleasant meeting at the university.
The marquee was really filling up by then, with people wandering and chatting, the art an excuse to get together and see and be seen. I was different, being on my own and on a mission to locate a specific picture, and I had to politely push my way through the well-heeled crowds to get to the area where Crystal’s painting was hanging.
I felt quite emotional when I saw it. It so perfectly captured the peace and homeliness of Jonas’s garden and the magic, as well as the sadness, of last summer when everything began to change. I smiled as I recognised Igor’s expression of utter bliss as he basked in the sun, eyes tightly shut against the light, his fur muddy after rolling in the flower beds, scattered with geranium petals from where he had bumped against the pots.
‘What do you think? Have I got him right?’ It was Crystal, looking radiant in a bright red mini dress, her hair cropped round her ears, tilting her head to one side and looking anew at her creation.
‘Crystal, you look beautiful! I love your hair.’ I kissed her on the cheek and she beamed with a confidence I had not seen in her before. ‘It’s perfect,’ I said, turning back to the picture. ‘You are really so very talented.’
‘I made something for you,’ she said, pulling a small black velvet pouch out of her purse. ‘I hope you like it.’ She watched me closely as I opened the little bag and pulled out a silver chain with an exquisite hedgehog charm attached. It was made out of clay with tiny shards of metal as prickles and beady jet eyes. I laughed with delight as I held the necklace up and let it spin in the light.
‘It’s adorable, Crystal. I love it,’ I exclaimed and let her help me fix it round my neck. ‘I think it’s the nicest present I’ve ever had,’ I said happily as I touched the charm again and felt its wonderfully familiar shape.
Crystal beamed, then tapped my elbow in warning, and I looked to the left to see Millie and Kamal approaching. Kamal was frowning at the exhibition map and pointing the other way as Millie dragged him forward, having spotted Crystal. They were nearly upon us by the time Crystal stepped forward, revealing that I was standing behind her. Millie’s delighted face froze and Kamal glared at me.
‘Look, it’s here, Mum, Dad.’ Crystal took control of the ghastly situation by channelling their attention onto her painting and they exclaimed with enthusiasm as I had done. Kamal clapped her on the back and told her how proud he was and Millie gave a detailed commentary of every aspect of the composition and the colours she had used as if it was the work of an old master. Crystal was pink with delight by the time they had finished and they had a group hug which stung in ways I still couldn’t quite articulate. I wondered for a moment if I really was intermittently invisible this evening as I stood to the side of them with my now empty glass in hand.
‘Can you show us what other paintings you like?’ Millie asked, putting her arm through Crystal’s and grabbing Kamal’s hand.
‘Aunt Sylvia is here,’ Crystal said, pulling her arm from Millie and putting it around me. It was a bold move and Kamal and Millie looked equally perturbed at the encounter Crystal had forced between us.
‘Yes. Hello. How are you?’ Millie’s clipped tone was painful to hear and I answered in a similarly formal way. ‘Fine thanks, Millie. How are you?’
‘We are fine. We are all fine, thank you, lady. Goodbye,’ Kamal turned and attempted to herd his women off but Crystal wasn’t ready to go.
‘Come on, guys. Hasn’t this gone on long enough?’ she said pleadingly, looking from one to the other of us. ‘I love you all and I’m sick of being in the middle. It wasn’t all Auntie Sylvia’s fault. Can’t you just forget the past and move on?’
Kamal started shaking his head, but Millie’s eyes brimmed with tears and she reached out for Crystal’s hand and then, miracle of miracles, very tentatively with her other hand, for mine. I gripped it tight and felt a surge of loving energy flow between us.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said quietly.
‘I know you are,’ she said in a shaky voice.
‘Dad?’ Crystal urged.
‘No, no, no!’ Kamal said, waving his finger in the air.
‘Kamal, I think it’s time,’ Millie said slowly. ‘I know things can never go back to how they were, but maybe Crystal is right and there is a way to work things out. Let’s at least talk about it. She’s my sister. I miss her.’ She looked at me shyly and I nodded in agreement.
Kamal reddened and sighed, clearly sensing he was being outnumbered. ‘OK, maybe. But not here, not now,’ he said leading them away. ‘Come on, let’s see the rest of this show.’
As I watched them go, Crystal turned and smiled at me and I held up crossed fingers, finally daring to hope that there might be an end to this dreadful falling out.
I stood alone, looking at Crystal’s painting for some time, reflecting on the juxtaposition of a sliver of Jonas’s humble life being present at an event like this until I felt the need to leave. I wanted to be outside in the night air and out of the stuffy tent full of people I didn’t know. I made a quick phone call and then wound my way back to the welcome area, pausing to take in a few of the exhibits that caught my eye.
The grassy area between the marquee and the road was busier than I had anticipated and I pulled my pashmina round me protectively as I made my way to the kerb. I turned automatically at the raised voices of a couple arguing and realised that it was Lola and Prof. She was shouting that he hadn’t been paying her any attention and he was desperately trying to placate her by shushing, which seemed to be enraging her further. They both saw me then and looked at me with the confused recognition that occurs when you see a familiar face in a completely unexpected context. I put my head down and hastened my pace past them, not wanting any part of their public display of non-affection.
‘Auntie Sylvia, are you going?’ Crystal ran up to me and I saw Millie and Kamal waiting for her just outside the marquee. ‘I saw you heading out and I wanted to thank you for coming.’ As I hugged her and thanked her again for the necklace, I heard the familiar throaty rattle of a motorbike drawing up on the kerb next to us.
I hitched up my skirt and climbed onto the back of the bike, reaching round for the spare helmet in the box at the back. As I retrieved it, I looked up at the crowd outside the marquee and realised that we were attracting attention – a mousey middle-aged woman on a Harley Davidson is not the most common of sights, after all. Prof and Lola suspended their row long enough to watch, open-mouthed, and I gave them a happy wave as we pulled away into the road.
Glancing back as the bike picked up speed I saw Millie running unsteadily in her heels along the pavement towards the junction at the top of the road, Kamal standing in wide-armed bewilderment by the marquee where she had left him. As we waited for a break in the traffic so we could turn left, Millie was beside us and we locked eyes for a moment as I lifted my visor. She smiled and blew me a kiss, filling me with a joyous certainty that the time for a reconciliation really is near. But before I could respond, we were away, me holding onto Carrie’s leather-clad back, roaring through West London on the most glorious of summer evenings. Back to her father’s house which is now my house. Back to Igor and Hamish leaping to greet me. Back to looking after hogs and growing vegetables. Back to Crystal sketching in the garden on Sunday afternoons. Back to getting to know Neil and precious days with him and Riki.
Back to life.
My life.
Author’s Note
I have always been intrigued and enchanted by the quirky and secretive nature of hedgehogs and when I started thinking about the character of Sylvia who is both spiky yet intensively vulnerable, it seemed the perfect fit that she should volunteer to work in a hedgehog sanctuary.
Even so, I have to admit I knew very little about this curious animal when I began writing Needlemouse. My need to find out more so that I could enable Jonas, and to a lesser extent Sylvia, to be hedgehog experts in the book led me on a fascinating journey of discovery about their lives and habits. They really are extraordinary creatures.
Sadly, though, I also found out that hedgehogs are declining rapidly in Britain. In the 1950s it was estimated that there were 36.5 million and yet today there are perhaps just a million hedgehogs left. The reasons for their decline are complex. More and more hedgerows are being lost to intensive farming, and fencing round domestic gardens has become more secure, meaning that hedgehogs are not free to roam for food as they were in the past. The rise of traffic and widespread pesticide use has also been deadly to hedgehogs, as has the increase in the numbers of natural predators such as badgers.
Following recent hedgehog charity campaigns important work is now taking place in the countryside to restore, extend and link key hedgehog habitats. We can also help in our own gardens by putting out wet cat and dog food, leaving wild areas for hedgehogs to nest and hibernate and making holes in fences to enable them to move from garden to garden in their search for food.
If you would like to know more about the plight of Britain’s hedgehogs or would like to contribute to th
e preservation and protection of this increasingly endangered animal, please contact one of the following wonderful charities: Hedgehog Street (www.hedgehogstreet.org) or the British Hedgehog Preservation Society (www.britishhedgehogs.org.uk). Alternatively, offer your support for your local hedgehog sanctuary – there are many real life Jonas and Sylvias out there making an enormous difference to the sick and injured hedgehogs who they look after. A wide, although not comprehensive list of rescues can be found here: www.hedgehog-rescue.org.uk.
Thank you!
Jane O’Connor
Acknowledgements
Massive thanks to the judges of Tibor Jones’s page turner prize for spotting the potential of Needlemouse and to Charlotte Maddox for her brilliant advice and support in getting the book into shape. Huge thanks also to my editor Gillian Green for taking a shine to the hedgehogs, and to the whole Ebury team for their warm professionalism.
I would also like to thank my fantastic colleagues and students at Birmingham City University for their friendship, their constant intellectual inspiration and their enthusiastic response to my fiction writing. I promise none of the characters are based on any of you!
Thanks to Sam and Donna, my best friends through thick and thin, I love you both.
Thanks to my lovely Mum for cheering me on in every endeavour and to Dad for always believing in my abilities. What more could anyone ask from their parents?
Thanks to Mary and Carol for being such great in-laws.
Love and special thanks to my husband Graham for being all round wonderful, and to my gorgeous Toby for his pride in my achievements. Thank you to Adam for teaching me about being brave – I miss you every day.
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