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Lois sent the text, hoping that if Chris felt any initial disappointment, it would be quickly wiped away by the prospect of breakfast alone with Seb.

Behind her, Clark moved, and she felt his mouth begin to kiss behind her ear. "Good morning, big guy," she said.

He murmured a greeting but didn't stop kissing her.

She twisted in his arms, faced him, and smiled. "You look exactly how a groom should on the morning after his wedding," she said.

"Insatiable?" he guessed with a wide grin.

"I was going to say gorgeous and happy, but I'll take 'insatiable'."

Clark kissed her mouth - and his kisses moved swiftly from 'good morning' to 'I have a great idea'.


Part 50

(Before we start, when I say thongs, I mean this ...

http://www.getprice.com.au/images/uploadimg/834/350__1_thongs-aus-star.jpg)


Chris crossed the ferry terminal at Darling Harbour and looked nervously ahead to the cafe where she and Lois had agreed to meet. The morning chill hung sharply on the breeze that wafted off the water. Very few diners had braved the outside tables, but one of their number was particularly conspicuous – courtesy of his bright blue and orange shirt.

Chris had received Lois's message with mixed feelings. There was, she had to admit, a small flicker of excitement at the thought of having breakfast alone with Seb Wilton.

But it was in danger of being snuffed out by her uneasiness. Seb was going to think she'd asked Lois to skip the planned breakfast. He must have more female interest than he knew what to do with – and following the exhibition last night, he would become even more sought after in Sydney’s fashionable circles. Chris knew she could never compete with that. Once he realised Lois wasn’t coming, he would probably make a polite excuse and leave quickly.

The figure in the loud shirt turned suddenly and saw her. He leapt from the seat, and Chris's suspicions were confirmed – it *was* Seb, though his cut-off jeans and bright yellow thongs made him look very different to the man she'd met yesterday who'd been wearing a soft white shirt and semi-formal trousers. Her heart began to beat a little faster.

Seb gave a friendly wave and hurried to meet her. "Hi, Chris," he said, smiling broadly. He removed his designer sunglasses, and his stunningly blue eyes cannoned into hers.

"Hi, Seb," Chris said.

Back at the table, he pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down," he offered, without ever looking around for Lois.

Once Chris was seated, Seb handed her a menu. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.

She couldn't help glancing to the half-drunk chocolate milkshake in front of Seb.

"Ah, that," he said, looking like a mischievous schoolboy who'd been caught committing a minor misdemeanour. "Lois always has a go at me because I eat like a teenager, but I simply can't get over my love of chocolate milkshakes."

He’d mentioned Lois, but he didn’t seem puzzled by her nonappearance. Did he know about the footballer? Had Lois rung him to say she wouldn’t be coming? If Seb had known beforehand that Lois wasn’t going to be at breakfast, why had he come? “I’d like orange juice, please,” Chris said.

He nodded to a waitress and gave Chris’s order.

"You look like you've been here awhile," she noted.

"Yeah. I didn't want to keep you waiting."

Was that a singular 'you' or a plural 'you'? He perused the menu, and Chris grasped the chance to study him. He looked remarkably good for someone who had probably had a late night. She wondered what time he'd got to bed ... and if he'd been alone.

That last thought had sprung uninvited, and Chris pushed it away quickly. She had no business even wondering about such things.

So what could they talk about?

If she asked about his job or the exhibition, that could sound like she was prying into his financial status.

She didn’t need to ask to know he was seriously well off.

And in counterpoint, she didn’t need to ask to know that he was a little nervous. Who could blame him? Having breakfast with a woman he’d met once and would almost certainly never meet again could hardly be his ideal Sunday morning after a big night with Sydney's privileged people. Chris decided to finish her juice and then make an excuse and leave.

But while she waited for the drink, she might as well find out a bit more about the most interesting man she’d met in a long time. "What else do you have a love for?" she asked. “Other than chocolate milkshakes?”

Her words were out before she realised that they came uncomfortably close to flirting. At least, it *could* sound like that. Seb, however, seemed to take her words at face value. "My family," he said. "The Hawthorn Football Club, surfing, jewellery ..." He looked down, somewhat abashed. "... comics." Then his grin reappeared as he looked up. "What about you?"

"Some are the same," she said. "My family - my dad and three brothers - Hawthorn, footy, my career."

"You're a footy journalist."

"Yeah. Did Lois tell you?"

"No," Seb said. "I looked it up on the 'net. I read some of your stories." He gave her a shy smile. "Sorry if I intruded."

"It's all right," Chris said, wondering when he’d had the time to research her stories. The waitress brought the orange juice and stood, pen and pad poised, waiting to take their order.

“Sorry,” Seb said with a boyish grin. “We haven’t decided yet.” Actually, Chris hadn't read one word from the menu. The waitress melted away, and Seb turned his attention back to Chris. “You’re an Adelaide girl,” he said. “And you worked for the Adelaide Advertiser before landing the position at the Herald Sun.”

She couldn’t help grinning. There was something endearing about Seb Wilton searching the Internet for her stories. Endearing *and* exciting. “I did,” she said.

Seb laughed – a little self-consciously, she thought – and raised his hands. “Sorry,” he said. “I must sound like a crazed stalker. I don’t know anything about you other than professionally.”

Suddenly, Chris felt daring. “What would you like to know?” she asked.

He didn’t seem fazed by her question. “Are you involved with anyone?”

Chris sucked in a breath that her lungs didn’t seem to want to accept. “No.”

Seb absently stirred his milkshake and then looked up at her. "I have another confession," he said.

"Oh?" she said as horrible possibilities flooded her mind.

He nodded. "I asked Lois if she would mind not joining us for breakfast."

Chris's heart began to race. "Why?" she asked quietly.

"Because I wanted the chance to be alone with you."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to ask you how you would feel about spending a day with me ... if I came to Melbourne on your next day off ... Would you go out with me? A movie? Or lunch somewhere nice? Or anything else you'd like to do?"

His blue eyes were deep with earnestness. Either acting was another of his talents, or he actually cared a lot about her answer. "I ..."

"It's OK," he said quickly. "You don't have to answer now. But would you *think* about it? Please?"

"I have just come out of a relationship," Chris said.

"If you need time, I'm willing to wait."

"No," she said. "I just thought you should know."

"Could you tell me what happened?" Seb said with an understanding smile. "Or not, if you don't want to."

Now that they had negotiated the initial awkwardness, it seemed easy to talk to Seb. "He dumped me," Chris said. "He found someone he liked better."

Seb's mouth fell open. "*He* dumped *you*?" he gasped.

She nodded. Then she smiled. "But I'm OK now." It was true. Yesterday, in the deepest recesses of her heart, she hadn't been OK. Today, she was.

"So ...?" Seb asked. "A date?"

Chris snatched at the one straw she knew would save her from being swept away by his charm. "Can I ask you something personal?"

He nodded.

"When was the last time you were drunk?"

"I was seventeen," he said, without hesitation. "I had just been to the funeral of my best mate who had OD'd. I left the funeral and headed to a pub, and I got in despite being underage. A couple of hours later, the cops found me stumbling around trying to find my way home. They took me to the cop shop, locked me in a cell for a few hours, and then an old sergeant came in with a big supply of aspirin and an even bigger serve of common sense."

"Did he charge you?"

"No - he didn't ask my age, although the only ID I had was my learner's permit, so he must've known I was underage."

"What did he tell you?"

"That I wasn't man enough to handle drink, and I wouldn't be until I had grown up enough that I could control it without it controlling me."

There was nothing in Seb's face to suggest anything other than he was relating a story - no false bravado, no bitterness at the cop, no embarrassment.

"I asked you when the last time was you were drunk," Chris said. "Not the first."

"They are one and the same," Seb said. "It was a stupid thing to do, no doubt, but I haven't done it since. I do enjoy a drink, but I don't get drunk. If you don't believe me, you could ask Lois."

"I believe you."

He smiled. "Why is it important to you?”

“Because a drunk driver killed my mother.”

Seb's face creased with sympathy so genuine it felt like a hug to her soul. “Aw, Chris,” he said. “I am *so* sorry.”

“It was two years ago.”

“You wouldn’t date someone with a drinking problem?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t ... not after ... And I figured if alcohol was a big part of your life, there was no point in wasting each other’s time.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“OK.”

“Do you use drugs?”

Chris’s first reaction was to assume it was a joke, but she quickly realised from the solemnity of his face that he was deadly serious. “No,” she said.

Seb's smile dawned like a fresh new morning. “Good,” he said. “Because I don’t think I could date someone who used drugs.”

“Because of your mate?” she asked. “The one whose funeral you went to?”

He nodded, and she could see there was a tiny part of him that still mourned.

“I saw the posters in your shop.”

Seb shrugged. “I do what I can.” Then he shook off his sombreness with a bright smile. “So,” he said. “About the date ..."

Chris decided swiftly. "I would love to go out with you," she said. "Tuesday is my day off."

He grinned widely. "I'll be there," he said. "Thank you."

Their eyes met, and Chris felt as if she could stare into those blue eyes forever. The moment stretched and stretched ... Someone had to speak. She grabbed a stray thought from the haziness of her mind. "I guess it wasn't too hard to convince Lois not to come to breakfast?"

"No. She's a sweetheart." Seb laughed. "I know I should feel guilty about commandeering you and leaving her to eat a lonesome breakfast ... but I don't."

Chris opened her mouth to voice her doubts that Lois would be eating alone ... doubts that Lois would even be eating ... but snapped it shut. She smiled, hoping to cover that she had almost spoken.

Seb looked at her questioningly.

"What are you going to order?" Chris asked.

Without so much as a glance at the menu, Seb replied, "Pancakes with bananas and caramel sauce and ice cream."

Chris laughed. "With hundreds and thousands on top?" she teased.

Seb pointed at her, his face split to a wide grin. "Good idea," he said.

"I suppose you still eat fairy bread?" Chris said, trying to regard him with prim disapproval.

Seb saw through her act immediately. "Of course," he said with a wink. "Don't you?"

||_||

Clark tore away from his very deep connection with Lois's mouth and shot her a look of abject misery. "I can hear footsteps," he said.

He was gone in an instant, and seconds later, Lois heard the key turning in the lock of the hotel room she was supposed to have shared with Chris.

Her friend walked in ... actually, more like floated in.

She looked exactly how Lois felt.

Perhaps not exactly, because Lois hadn't *shared* breakfast with her man ... a more apt description would be that she'd had him *for* breakfast.

"Good morning, Lois," Chris said brightly.

Lois chuckled. "You don't look particularly devastated that I missed breakfast."

Chris smiled. "It was fun," she said. Her eyebrows narrowed slightly. "Did you know that Seb still eats fairy bread?"

"And party pies and chicken nuggets, and he drinks red cordial." Lois grinned. "And don't ever let him near a bag of fantales. Not only does he eat the entire bagful, he tries to read the wrapper with his mouth full and his teeth stuck together."

Both women laughed and then Chris searched Lois's face. "You look like you had a wonderful time, too."

Lois knew she wouldn't be able to mask her joy. "I had the most amazing time of my life," she said.

Chris grinned. "I guess that's one way to overcome the pain of losing a final."

Lois sobered. It was true she'd had a love-filled night that was even better than her dreams ... but it was also true that Chris thought they were talking about a different person and a different place. But if Lois were to say, "I made hot and steamy love in a fishing shack in the Adirondacks with a man you might have seen dressed in blue tights and a red cape," ... well ... that ... that was going to lead to problems. "We should get out of here," Lois said. "Our plane flies out in less than two hours."

Chris flipped open her suitcase and then paused. "Lois," she said. "Thanks for coming to Sydney with me."

"Thanks for inviting me."

"Despite the disappointment of losing, I had an unforgettable weekend."

"Me, too."

They shared a smile and fell to the task of packing their bags.

||_||

Lois bought a Herald Sun at Sydney Airport, and both she and Chris spent the flight getting up to speed with the first weekend of the finals.

From Tullamarine Airport, they shared a taxi. Lois got out at Windy Hill - Essendon's home ground - and Chris continued to the MCG where she was to do the injury round up following the North Melbourne-Geelong final that afternoon.

Lois went to the three Melbourne clubs - Essendon, Carlton, and Hawthorn - who had played and lost finals that weekend. All had been defeated by interstate clubs. Lois sighed as she got off the train at Glenferrie station. The AFL's resolve that the interstate clubs would be successful hadn't done the Victorian clubs any favours at all.

A sombre mood hung over Glenferrie Oval. The players had already had their recovery session, and most had left ... probably to begin Mad Monday ... despite it only being Sunday.

Lois had coffee with Ron in the Social Club and, after some general comments about the game and Jason Dunstall's knee injury, she told him she'd seen Seb the previous evening.

"I rang him this morning to ask about the exhibition," Ron said, grinning. "But he didn't answer, the lazy bludger. He was probably still asleep."

"What time did you ring?" Lois asked.

"A bit before ten. I had to be here at ten for the recovery session."

Lois smiled inwardly. She knew why Seb hadn't answered his phone ... and it had nothing to do with him being asleep.

"What are you smiling about?" Ron asked, his face alight with amusement. "Are you thinking about that Yank of yours?"

"No," Lois replied honestly. "I was thinking that we might be seeing a bit more of Seb around here now."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "We've hardly seen him in months - he's been so busy preparing for the exhibition."

Lois drained her cup and stood. "I have to get back to the newsroom," she told Ron. "I have a story to write."

He stood. "When will you be seeing Clark again?"

"He's coming for the vote meeting."

"Oh." Ron's cheery countenance fell. "Lois," he said. "Whatever happens at the vote, you know you'll always be like a daughter to Barb and me?"

Lois smiled and felt a surge of affection for the big Hawthorn trainer. "And you'll always be like parents to me," she replied.

Ron gave her a hearty hug, and with his arm across her shoulder, they walked out of the Social Club.

||_||

"Hey, Flinders," Banjo said. "Sorry about the Hawks."

Lois paused on her way to her desk. "Thanks, Banjo. It wasn't a great weekend for Victorian football."

"No," he said. "How's it going at Operation Payback?"

She shrugged. "I still think Melbourne will vote 'yes'. I still don't know how we'll vote."

Gazza came over. "Is Rubber coming for the vote?"

"Yeah," Lois said. "He arrives Sunday."

"Will he be staying for the rest of the finals?" Banjo asked. "Will he be here for the Brownlow Medal?"

Gazza winked at Lois. "That could be fun, hey, Flinders? You could frock up, and Rubber could get out his tux, and I reckon the pair of you would scrub up quite nicely."

Lois shook her head. "He'll only be here for a couple of days."

"Pity," Banjo said. "Who'j'think will win the Brownlow?"

"A lot of good judges think Chris Grant is a chance."

"What about Hird? He's had a great season."

"I reckon Hocking from Geelong is in with a show."

"Salmon," Lois said.

Gazza and Banjo stared at her. "Salmon?" Banjo echoed with disbelief.

She nodded, unperturbed by their reaction. "The Big Fish has had a great year. And he's a ruckman, so he's under the umpires' eye all the time."

Gazza shook his head. "It won't be Salmon. He won't even be top ten."

Bluey joined the group. "Loewe and Burke'll take votes off each other," he said. "I can't see either of them winning."

"Loewe would have to poll better'an Burke."

"Burke won't get many threes."

"No, but he'll poll in a lot of games."

"You need the threes to take home Charlie."

"I have one name for you," Gazza said with a broad grin. "McKernan."

"Ooooohhh," Banjo and Bluey said in unison.

"Wouldn't that set the cat amongst the pigeons?" Gazza said gleefully.

"He won't get invited," Lois said. "That would be too embarrassing for the AFL." With a parting smile, she reluctantly left the discussion. There was a story to write up, and she was impatient to get home and - emergencies permitting - continue her honeymoon.

As she turned on her computer, Lois sighed. She missed the footy talk ... missed the endless conjecture ... missed the arguments, and the speculation, and the rumours, and the friendly sparring. She missed pitting her wits and her knowledge against the guys at the paper ... missed the simple enjoyment of being completely immersed in the world of footy.

Did *anyone* talk footy in Metropolis?

Somehow, she doubted it.

||_||

Lois unlocked her door, and as she stepped into her unit, she caught a whiff of Clark's cologne. Before she had even closed the door behind her, his arms were crushing her against his chest, and his mouth was awakening her most vivid memories of their wedding night.

She kicked at the door and heard it slam shut. Without ever disrupting his frantic kisses, Clark lifted her, flew into the bedroom, and landed them on her bed, his hands already pulling at her clothing.

||_||

Clark grinned at her - his expression perfectly mirroring her feelings. "Hi," he said quietly.

"Hi, yourself," Lois said. "Do you make a habit of lying in wait for a woman to return home so you can literally sweep her off her feet and into bed for a hot session of love-making before even so much as a 'hello'?"

Clark grinned wider. "Never done it before in my life," he admitted airily. "But having done it once, I fully intend to do it again ... repeatedly." His hand glided down her back. "And you didn't seem to have too many objections."

"I didn't have any objections," Lois said as she skimmed her fingers across his bare chest. "That was the best 'welcome home' I have ever received."

He sighed. "Lois, honey," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "I thought it was tough being away from you before ... now it's torturous."

She chuckled. "True ... but at least being together isn't torturous anymore."

"No," he said. "Being together is ... well, I *really* like the together bit."

She wriggled further onto his chest so eye contact was easier. "Have you seen the reports of the wedding in the Star? Were there photos? Was anything said about the honeymoon?"

"The afternoon edition carried a front page photograph, and Linda King wrote a glowing piece describing everything in great detail."

"Everything?"

Clark wrinkled his brow. "Not everything. She didn't mention my collapse ... and she didn't include any reference to Mayson Drake."

"Really? Maybe she didn't want to admit that a Planet reporter was at the wedding. Maybe all she cared about was that the wedding be portrayed as a huge success. *Her* success."

"Maybe what she really wanted was honeymoon photos that revealed the identity of the bride and groom," Clark said resentfully.

Lois grinned at Clark's unusually indignant tone. "But she didn't get them," she said.

"Thanks to Perry."

"Forget Linda," Lois soothed. "She's not important."

"I *think* I would have checked for cameras," Clark said. "It would have been stupid not to."

Lois didn't want to dwell on Linda King and her plans to splash intimate and revelatory photos across her cheap rag. "What about the Planet? Any reference to the wedding?"

"Perry wrote an editorial saying that Superman's decision to marry was cause for celebration because it showed he had made Earth his permanent home."

"What about Mayson's photos? The ones she took just before being evicted?"

"They weren't published."

"So Perry refused to use them?"

"I guess so."

Lois smiled. "I think I like Perry."

"He wants to meet you."

"The footy season will be over in three weeks. Maybe - if someone asked nicely - I could squeeze in a quick trip to Metropolis."

Clark smiled. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I had," Lois said. She ran her finger along his lower lip, and he lazily kissed it. "What you need to think about is how you're going to persuade me to leave sunny Melbourne for snowbound Metropolis."

"I could offer to warm you with my eyes."

"What about with the rest of your body?"

Clark grinned, but his reply was cut short by a sharp knock on the door.

Lois and Clark groaned in unison. He lifted his head from the pillow and looked through the walls. "It's Esmeralda," he said darkly.

"Uggghh," Lois said. "She must have heard something."

"We weren't *that* noisy," Clark said plaintively.

Lois tried to smother her giggle. "We weren't *that* quiet," she whispered. "And I think the bed creaks."

"I didn't notice it."

That comment and his baffled tone drove her laughter harder. She buried her face in his chest and grasped for control.

"Is it too much to hope she will go away, and just let us get on with it?" Clark asked.

Another insistent bang on the door answered that question. "Lois Lane! I know you're in there. Open up!"

Having suppressed most of her mirth, Lois stood from the bed. "Reckon you can you dress me?" she asked. "Super-speed?"

He leapt from the bed and Lois saw a blur of movement. When it stopped, she looked down to discover she was fully dressed. "Thanks," she said, a little dazed. She hadn't been convinced it would be possible.

A few seconds later, Lois was face to face with her neighbour. "What is it this time, Esmeralda?" Lois said wearily.

"I know he's in there; I heard banging," she said.

"Haven't you got anything better to do than spy on me?" Lois said.

Esmeralda glared at her. "I don't care what you do," she said, low and hard. "But when you came and took Clark away from me, you acted like he was your own private property, and the moment he went back to the States, you turned into the town bike."

"You'd know," Lois muttered bitterly.

Esmeralda must have heard, because her face reddened and her eyes popped. "You've always taken the high moral ground with me," she accused. "You've always looked down on me because of what I do."

"What you do?" Lois gasped.

"Yes," Esmeralda spat. "And it might seem contemptible to you, but everyone understands the situation. Unlike poor Clark, who'd hardly arrived home before he was panting to get back here ... all because he honestly believes you love him."

"Esmeralda," Lois stated coolly. "Other than the fact that you tried to come on to Seb the first dozen times he visited me, I barely noticed you or what you did. I just don't have the time or the interest -"

"Whoever is in there *isn't* Seb," Esmeralda hissed. "This is someone who is living with you. I've never seen him arrive, never seen him leave, and I hear movement when I know you're not home."

"I don't have the time or the interest to think about what is happening in your unit. I just wish the same could be said of you with regard to me."

"Is Clark coming back to Melbourne?"

"Yes, next week," Lois said. "And just so you know, he'll be staying here. And ..." She lifted her head defiantly. "... you'll probably hear banging."

Esmeralda's mouth fell open, and she glared at Lois. "You pretend you're such a squeaky clean goody-goody, and yet you're nothing like that at all. You're a sl -"

"Esmeralda!" Lois cut in, afraid that if the other woman continued, Clark might just fly out of the bedroom and confront her. "Go back to your unit and leave me alone."

"I'll be telling Clark about you when he gets here next week."

Lois sighed. "You do that." She stepped back and shut the door.

Clark came out from the bedroom, wearing only his jeans. Lois looked up at him with a bleak smile.

He crossed to her, took her into the haven of his arms, and slid his fingers through her hair. "We have to do something," he said. "I can't let her keep berating you like that."

"I'm OK," Lois said. "Really - her opinion doesn't matter." But some of the gloss had gone from the evening.

"Lois, I know it doesn't matter, but it's not pleasant when someone thinks something about you that isn't true." He touched a kiss to hair. "I remember how it felt when Trask and Mayson were telling everyone I was going to overpower the world. You encouraged me to face my accusers and agree to the interview. But in this situation, you can't tell the truth - not unless you also tell her how I can live a life as Clark Kent in Metropolis and still visit my wife in Melbourne every day."

"Clark, we both know I can't do that," Lois said.

"So, we need another solution."

"This is supposed to be our honeymoon," Lois said dolefully.

"Do you want to put on the suits and go out for a meal?"

"It's six in the morning in Metropolis."

"We could order Chinese take out," Clark suggested. "And eat it here."

Lois lifted from his chest. "Good idea," she responded eagerly. But her enthusiasm faded quickly. "You can bet Esmeralda will be watching. She'll probably count the containers as the delivery bloke brings them up the driveway."

Clark smiled despite her poor attempt at a joke.

Lois pushed away her melancholy. She was on her honeymoon. Her husband was standing there half-naked, showing off the most magnificent upper body imaginable. They could be together for the rest of the evening ... an evening which she was sure would finish as it had started ... in her bed. She grinned up at Clark. "Forget Esmeralda," she said. "Let her think what she wants to think. I intend to have Chinese for first course and Kryptonian for dessert."

Clark grinned. "Really?" he asked. "You're going to devour me?"

"You bet, big guy," she replied. "Are you worried?"

"No," he said with a suggestive grin that turned a good portion of her muscles to the consistency of treacle. "Any chance you'd like Kryptonian for entrée as well as dessert?"

||_||

Glossary

Bludger - lazy person - usually not used derogatorily.

Hundreds and thousands - sprinkles/jimmies.

Mad Monday - the day after the season ends for a club - when the players go out together and indulge in some of the things they forego during the season - often alcohol and unhealthy food.

Red cordial - sweet red drink with a reputation for making kids very excitable.

Town bike - everyone rides her.

Notes

The Brownlow Medal - named after Charles Brownlow - is the highest individual award in football. At the conclusion of every home and away (regular season) game, the three field umpires award three votes to the player they agree was the best on the ground, two votes to second, and one vote to third.

On the Monday evening prior to the Grand Final, the votes are read at a gala event, and the Brownlow is awarded to the player judged 'the fairest and the best'.

Should a player be suspended during the season, he becomes ineligible to win the medal, although the umpires can still award him votes.

In 1996, one of the best-performed players, Corey McKernan from North Melbourne, was ineligible due to suspension.

All players named in the footy conversation are real players who played well in 1996.

Pics

Fairy bread - hundreds and thousands on bread http://farm1.static.flickr.com/80/256895092_bea3cc449a.jpg

Party pies - beef pies, about the size of a child's hand http://aussieimportcompany.com/images/mini_party_pies.jpg

Fantales - chewy caramel lolly (candy, sweet) covered in chocolate - http://blog.wisefaq.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/allens-fantales.jpg

Fantale wrapper - http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3013/2666198000_e291223ca3_o.jpg