Neighbourhood Watch

Family communication

She didn’t come back again last night.” I put knives and forks on the table and moved an open bottle of Rude Red nail polish away from the tablecloth.

It hardly seemed two minutes since it was felt tip pens and chalk that I was trying to keep away from the table linen. Now it was nail polish and plum hair dye that left dark splotches all over the bathroom mat. “Hmm?” “Next door. She didn’t come back.” “Really? How do you know?” My teenage daughter let one earphone from her iPod dangle limply onto her magazine. That was as close as I got to having her full attention these days.

I had known that a nugget of salacious news would get her interest. If she wasn’t on her mobile exchanging titbits with friends, then she was devouring a celebrity magazine.

“I haven’t seen her since the night before last,” I said sitting down and savouring the attention. “Which is odd because they’re always out in the garden together in the evenings.

“Last night it was just him. He was looking up and down the road and sniffing.”

“She’s left him then. It’s obvious. I didn’t think they looked like a good match anyway.”

I bit my tongue. Her teenage fascination with cheating and fleeting celebrity relationships had given her such a negative outlook lately. To be honest, it was the starting point of most of our rows.

“You watch” she said, as she flipped TV channels idly. “I bet she’ll be moving out again by the weekend.”

Our new neighbours, an attractive young couple, had kept a pretty low profile since moving in last month. We knew nothing about them and it was driving my daughter wild.

She had taken to helping me peg the washing out and carry the shopping bags in from the car. Anything that would give her the chance to get within prying distance of next door.

Though I despaired of her gossipy motives, in a funny way I was enjoying it. It meant she was spending a tiny bit of time with me at least, and it reminded me of when she was a little girl.

She would run to the school gates at home time and we’d walk back together, her squashy little hand in mine as she babbled merrily about the things she’d done that day.

How nice it had been to have a daughter that actually wanted to talk to me.

I opened my mouth to carry on the girly chat but clearly my time was up, and both earphones were wedged firmly back in place.

It was after dark when she emerged from her room later and caught me at the upstairs landing window, lights off and elbows on the ledge, peering into next door’s garden with my binoculars. I pulled away guiltily.

“Mum! You can’t go snooping on the neighbours with binoculars.”

“They can’t see me. I just wanted to check if he’s alone again tonight.”

“It’s none of our business,” she said, joining me at the window and peering out with interest.

“Well in that case you won’t want to know what I’ve seen.” “Ooh! What?” “No, never mind,” I said, knowing how desperate she was to find out. “Mu-um.” “Well, she’s back. And she’s got someone with her.”

“No way? Is it another man? I bet it is. Or a friend, come to help her clear her stuff out.”

“Well, I can’t really tell, but they’re all out in the garden now. Here take a look.”

Handing the binoculars over, I shifted aside so she could perch on my lap. “They’re not there.” “They are. Look again,” I urged. “By the door to the shed.” She scanned again. “There’s nothing.” “On the ground, just under the privet.” “Under the privet?” “Hedgehogs.” She pulled away from the window and gave me the sort of bone-withering look that I had got used to long ago.

“Hedgehogs? Is that what you’ve been going on about all this time? I thought you meant the new neighbours. I’ve been thinking all sorts!”

“Neighbours? What on earth gave you

I had known a NUGGET of SALACIOUS NEWS would get her ATTENTION

that idea?” I tried to sound innocent.

“You did!” she said accusingly. “You said he’d been out there, crying.”

“Sniffing, I said, and he was. I never knew a hedgehog could sniff so loudly. Go on, take a look. I’ve been so patient, putting cat food out along the fence to coax them out.”

She turned back to the window and was silent for a minute or two, scanning the grass with the binoculars.

Then, with a muted shriek she gripped at my arm.

“Oh” she squealed. “Mum I can see them. Two… no wait, there’s three.”

“I think they’re babies,” I said. “There’s a family of them.”

She turned to me with such a look of childlike joy on her face that it broke my heart. For a moment she was three again, and we were beside the canal feeding the ducks. I’d lifted Lucy up to see the ducklings on the bank and she’d squealed and grasped my hand then too. “Hoglets, the babies are called.” “Hoglets? No way, Mum, you’ve just made that up.” She was giggling. “No really, it’s true. I looked it up.” “They’re quite big,” she said, “for babies I mean.” “And getting bigger every day,” I said. “Do you want another look?” she asked, without taking her eyes from the binoculars.

“Not yet.” I stroked her long, glossy plum-coloured hair gently. “You carry on, I’ll look again in a bit.”

A moment later a message chirruped on her mobile in her pocket, but she didn’t snatch it out to read straight away. We just sat quietly watching that little family of hoglets together and I felt a tingly warmth that I hadn’t felt in ages.

Under that frosty and cynical teenage exterior, my little girl’s enthusiasm for the world was still there. I had seen it tonight and, with a bit of patient coaxing, I knew I would see it again.

And in the meantime, we had the hedgehogs…