It’s one short ride

It’s 6 February 1979. My parents are on a week’s holiday in Victoria Falls. My father is 45, my mother 47. After four daughters and 19 years, they are finally celebrating the honeymoon they didn’t take in 1960. They are staying at the grand Victoria Falls Hotel, and my mother has brought her finery – she wears a pearl necklace and a long dress in the evenings. She smells of Rive Gauche; the famous blue bottle stands on the dressing table in their hotel room. My