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hey?”
    â€œIt feels disgusting,” replied Dexter. “What’s on your hand? Is that marmalade?”
    â€œSorry. Let’s try another one. Pretend you’re reaching for the vegemite over there.”
    Before Dexter had touched the jar, Hugo’s hand was on top of his. He cupped it gently and gave it a squeeze.
    â€œWow,” said Dexter. “I like that one.”
    A cough from behind startled them. It was their dad.
    â€œListen, if you boys want some privacy, your mother and I can go for a walk or something.”
    â€œThanks Dad,” said Hugo, “but I’m just showing Dexter a couple of moves.”
    â€œYeah? Well why didn’t you say so. Shove over. Have you shown him the ‘over the shoulder’ manoeuvre yet?”
    â€œYou’re kidding, aren’t you? That’s ancient history.”
    â€œAncient history? Don’t listen to him, Dexter. I was pretty handy in my time. Do you know what the girls at Longwood High used to call me?”
    â€œNo idea.”
    â€œThe Octopus.”
    Behind them on the kitchen wall the telephone rang. Hugo pounced.
    â€œIt’s for you, Octopus,” he said, handing over the cordless.
    Not far into the conversation, the boys could tell it was serious. Normally their dad was a talker — one of those weirdos who’d rather switch the telly off for an evening and have a good old family chinwag. Right now, however, he was standing next to the fridge scratching his head and dropping one-worders into the receiver.
    â€œWhen? How? Cripes!”
    â€œRight,” he finished off. “I’ll be down there in a sec.”
    Replacing the phone, he turned, deep in thought.
    â€œSomething up, Dad?” asked Dexter.
    â€œThat was Jim Sweeney, President of the Citrus Growers’ Association. Someone’s just done over the Association office. They’ve cleared the safe, the bludgers.”
    â€œYou’re kidding? What’d they get?”
    â€œJim wouldn’t say over the phone, but I’m guessing it was a fair whack. They had the money in the safe, all ready to pay for The Big Valencia and souvenir shop. The builders wanted cash up-front when they started Monday morning.”
    â€œSo that’s it?” asked Dexter. “No more Big Valencia?”
    â€œIt doesn’t look good, fellas. The builders won’t start without the money. Pity though, it would have done a lot for tourism around here. Imagine a giant orange on the side of the highway? Twice as big as that Big Banana, you know. We would have had people coming from overseas, I reckon.”
    On his way out, their dad grabbed a cold piece of toast and stopped at the door.
    â€œOh, and that Octopus business … let’s keep that between us, hey? No point upsetting your mother.”

GULNAR-E-DARYAI ..........
Whole red snapper marinated in spices and simmered in a piquant sauce and cooked in the tandoori oven.
    S tanding outside the Pappadum, Dexter took a moment to think about Hugo’s advice on successful tuning techniques. Be yourself, he’d said, and go in hard. You’re the man. According to Hugo, flowers were essential first up. Granted, they were a bit of a drain on the bank balance, but they worked a treat. In his opinion, a flashy display of affection never failed. It set you up as a big spender — sensitive, and unafraid to splash out when it came to the girls.
    With that in mind, Dexter pushed through the doors, a bunch of roses tucked under his arm.
    At a front table, Veejay sat reading a cricket magazine. Opposite him, Indira cradled a Cosmo magazine in her lap. Voices filtered out from the back room.
    â€œHi,” said Dexter. “What’s going on?”
    â€œWarney’s having trouble with his flipper,” replied Veejay glumly.
    Instead of the sari, Indira wore dark denim jeans, folded into thick hems at the bottom. Her bare feet were crossed and resting casually on