your little boy in the stroller, get some fresh air. It’s completely safe, you know. And it’s really such a lovely day.” Mr. and Mrs. Norton’s son went by the name of Gabriel. Everyone agreed that they felt sorry for the poor boy, with a name like that. “Oh, that’s so kind,” said Mrs. Norton. “But I’ve given Katie the day off.” Mrs. Norton wasn’t like the other mothers on our street. She worked in London. Every morning, she would walk to the village station, get the branch line into town, and there transfer to an express train which took her into Victoria. It was a journey that, not allowing for delays, took just under ninety minutes. “She says she doesn’t mind,” my mother said to Mrs. Hooper. “She says that the commute gives her a chance to gather her thoughts.” Mrs. Norton was a TV producer. “She works so hard,” said Mrs. Norton, smiling and blinking in the sunshine. “Poor girl. So I’ve let her go shopping in Hastings.” “So do you have Gabriel for the day?” “Oh no, no, God no, not today,” said Mrs. Norton. “Charlie’s taken him out on a trip to the seaside.” My mother smiled charmingly. I sat down on the doorstep at her feet. “Charlie’s working from home this week,” Mrs. Norton added. Mr. and Mrs. Norton used to live in London. “Clapham, the nice part,” said my mother. Their reasons for moving to our village were a subject of great debate, and the topic would be chewed over endlessly with Mrs. Hooper, on the telephone: “Well, she says the schools are so good here. And I can’t blame her. Who’d want to bring up a child in London? Not that she’s really bringing him up. She barely sees him. You know they have a live-in nanny?” In London, Mrs. Norton was known not as Mrs. Norton but Ms. Philips, and the name Daisy Philips would occasionally appear in the credits at the end of a program we were watching. It would roll slowly across the screen, and my mother would say: “You know who that is, don’t you? That’s Mrs. Norton from Number 11.” Sometimes she would add, “Oh God.” “How lovely,” said my mother, as she stood on the doorstep in the November sunshine.
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