Lilith

Darling Rosie's driving is always agonising. She deliberately slows down at green lights and hardware stores.Today is no exception. She spies a lethal looking Black and Dekker 100000 watt chainsaw for Gavin. "The little runt will never be able to control that", she says. "Brilliant". She kind of wedges the car between a bollard and a disabled person’s scooter and disappears into the hardware store. Angel is furious. "Mum! We'll miss the plane!" she screams.“Don’t start, Angel” I say. “One slip with a chainsaw may mean Rosie won't have to have sex till at least xmas". Rosie doesn’t drive us to the airport.She hates goodbyes and decides it will be easier, emotionally, to drop us off at a roundabout somewhere in Mangere before she sees any signs with drawings of planes taking off. Angel’s language, as we trundle our four suitcases a kilometre along the sheep-lined highway to the international terminal, is unprintable.