"What's for dinner?" Harold looked toward the stove, where there was a distinct lack of simmering, broiling or roasting. "Who's turn is it to cook?"
"Yours," said Julie, dipping her hand into a packed of cheese and garlic crisps. "I fancy an Indian, personally."
"You fancy anything with a d—er... sausage," said Felicia, one eye on the child in her high chair, tucking into a bowl of vaguely orange mush."
"Indian? Sure." Harold opened the freezer. "Lamb curry do you? We've got a shank of meat in there and some vegetables and spices." He opened a cupboard. "Plenty of spices, too."
"You mean you're going to cook it personally?" Julie offered a raised eyebrow. "I'm impressed."
"Yes," said Harold. "I'm personally going to order Devious to cook dinner for four."