home from school at Mr Naidoo’s shop. He had first noticed the shop a few days after arriving in Sydney as he ambled home from school trying to familiarise himself with the best route home. It was the strong smell of curry that wafted out onto the street that first attracted him. To his delight, the shop was an intriguing combination of a newsagency, grocery store and deli. Behind the counter stood Mrs Naidoo providing a flash of colour in her bright pink sari. Mr Naidoo had noticed the tell-tale sign of the key around his neck, which told him that no-one would be waiting for Simon and invited him into the shop.
“Sit, sit my boy,” he had welcomed him warmly while pulling out a stool from under the counter.
Today Simon settled himself on the same stool behind the counter, helped himself to a samousa, whose spicy taste made his eyes water and began to tell Mr Naidoo about his new friends.
“One girl, Talia, is from South Africa, and the other girl Maha is from…I don’t know where,” he began while Mr Naidoo listened and continued to serve customers. While he was talking, he was interrupted by the ring of his mobile phone and knew that it would be his mother, who called him every day at the same time to check that he was safely home.
“Nearly home,” he lied.
“Well hurry up!” she responded grumpily. He could detect the impatience in her voice and knew with certainty that it would be hours before she would finally arrive home from work, bringing with her takeaway for their dinner. He shoved the phone into his pocket and turned his attention back to Mr Naidoo, “As I was saying…” and helped himself to another samousa.
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