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dazjames1970 · 21 days ago

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Happy Home-Makers of Rosella Heights - Part One.

The dawn of 1959 found Patty Love elbow-deep in a mountain of dishes, remnants of the previous night's New Year's Eve celebration. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, casting a mocking glow on the mess that had taken over her home. The faint hum of Portia Faces Life crackled from the radio on the counter, the soap opera's dramatic tones providing an ironic soundtrack to Patty's domestic chaos.

Her floral dress was immaculate despite the work at hand, cinched neatly at the waist by a well-worn apron. Her red hair, flowing in soft curls about her shoulders, gleamed in the morning light.

To an outsider, she might have looked like the perfect 1950s housewife. But Patty's manic smile—wide, infectious, and just a little too sharp at the edges—hinted at something more beneath the surface.

"Oh, hello, dears!" she murmured theatrically, as if she were Lucille Ball. "It's me, Patty Love—Rosella Heights' homemaker extraordinaire. I have two darling children, a dreamy husband, and a household that's more work than a woman could ever manage without mummy's little helper."

There was a bottle of little pink pills that sat neatly on the windowsill above the sink, nestled between the soap and the sponge. She reached for it, popping one into her mouth and swallowing quickly. The bitter taste clung to her tongue, but the familiar calm soon washed over her.

Across the street, the Hendersons were still in their pajamas, laughing as they packed away their Christmas lights. Their carefree demeanour contrasted sharply with the morning hustle in her kitchen.

Freddie, Patty's husband, sat on the porch, sipping black tea and flipping idly through the Rosella Heights Gazette. His professional eye scanning the articles for possible mistakes and scrutinizing the photos for quality. Someone else was in charge while he was on leave. He sighed, folding up the paper. He was having a much-needed break. Work could wait. For once.

Freddie relaxed into his chair. His chiseled features seemed to soften while his deep-set eyes looked on into the distant. She often wondered what was going on behind those occasional vacant stares that sometimes plagued his features.

He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, a testament to his disciplined routine. Freddie had the kind of rugged good looks that reminded Patty of Rock Hudson—a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by their neighbour, Betty Knight.

From her vantage point at the kitchen window, Patty saw Betty step outside, her blonde curls perfectly arranged, and her crimson lips curved into a knowing smile. Dressed in a fitted blouse and slacks that hugged her figure a little too well for Patty's liking, Betty waved enthusiastically.

"Happy New Year, Frederick!" she called, her voice saccharine sweet.

Freddie looked up, smiling politely. "Happy New Year, Betty."

Patty's grip on the dish towel tightened as she watched Betty lean against the fence, her eyes lingering on Freddie just a moment too long. The two of them engaging in neighbourly banter that seemed highly suggestive from Betty Knight's point of view.

"Betty Knight," Patty muttered under her breath, her tone half amusement, half annoyance. "The queen of sophistication. Or so she'd have us believe."

To the community, Betty was the perfect picture of grace—a wealthy widow who had moved to Rosella Heights after her husband's untimely death in a boating accident. She hosted elegant garden parties and always donated generously at church fundraisers. Yet, there were whispers—rumours about Betty's nights out at places that catered to a far different clientele than Rosella Heights' tea-sipping ladies.

Patty had even seen her stumble home at some ungodly hour of the early morning on the arm of a diverse range of suitors. Their tipsy chackles caught upon the breeze disturbing Patty's slumber. She pushed the thought aside as the sound of bickering erupted from the living room.

"Teddy, it's my turn!" Lizzy's voice rang out, high-pitched and indignant.

"No way! You had it all morning yesterday!" Teddy shot back.

Patty sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. Time to referee this latest domestic dispute.

Teddy, at fourteen, was tall and lanky, with sandy hair that always seemed to fall into his eyes. He was a daydreamer with his head always in a book or a comic. Lizzy, on the other hand, was ten and fiercely inquisitive, her untamed hair a reflection of her boundless energy.

Patty grabbed the broom from its post, and strode into the living room, her voice cheerful but firm. "Alright, my darlings, that's enough. It's far too lovely a day to waste indoors fighting over the television. Out you go—play in the yard while I finish cleaning up."

"But Mom—" Teddy began, only to be cut off by Patty's pointed look.

"No buts, Theodore," she said, began ushering them both toward the front door with her broom like they were left over remnants from last night's party. "Out you go." Freddie glanced up as the children spilled onto the porch, his brows raised in mild alarm. "Looks like you've got company," Patty quipped, "Find something constructive for them to do. What about that cubby house?"

Freddie sighed and set down his tea while Patty glanced once more at Betty, who was now rearranging potted plants with her usual precision. The woman caught her staring, Betty's crimson lips curved into a knowing smile, "Good morning, Patty!"

Patty forced a smile. "Morning, Betty. Happy New Year."

Betty descended the steps, "How was your evening?" she asked, her tone just shy of innocent. "I take it you had a somewhat domestic evening...so quint...not unlike the hostess." Patty gripped her broom firmer, her knuckles turning white, "As for me, I was having a particularly divine evening at Reginald and Roselyn Cash's stunning homestead. The Mayoral ball is quite the pinnacle of the social calendar."

"Well, you can have your fancy balls," Patty replied. "I have my Freddie. My family. My friends. I don't need the razzle dazzle like some."

"Yes," Betty sneered, "Your husband is quite the catch. You best keep a firm hand on him, or some unscrupulous temptress will surely enchant him away from you." She titled her head to one side, "No matter how many cherry pies you bake for him."

Patty's smile tightened, "Let them try! If they dare! They'll get the tail end of my broom just like any other rubbish that needs sweeping out."

Betty's smile faltered for just a moment before she straightened. "Always a pleasure, darling. Anyway, must dash. I have a luncheon with Milicent Stewart to discuss our next production of the Footlight Theatre Society." She turned and sauntered back to her house, "So much to do so little time."

Patty exhaled; her hand relaxing on the broom. Betty Knight might have thought she was the queen of Rosella Heights, but Patty wasn't about to let her take the crown without a fight. And maybe a thumping from her broom.

**********

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of chores and quiet reflection. Patty worked methodically, wiping counters and tidying shelves, but her mind wandered. The scene with Betty lingered, gnawing at her in a way she didn't fully understand.

Freddie had always been a good husband—steady, kind, and dependable. But there were parts of him she couldn't reach, shadows that danced just beyond her grasp. She wondered if Betty saw them too and what she might try to do about it. The woman was much more worldly and sophisticated. She would know exactly how to reach such a man.

Patty shook her head, banishing the thought. "You're letting her get to you," she muttered, reaching for Mr. Sheen. "Betty Knight doesn't matter. Not really."

The scent of fresh-cut wood drifted in through the back window of the kitchen. Outside, Freddie and Lizzy were hammering away at a cubby house, their voices mingling with the cicadas' lazy drone.

"You've got to hold it steady, Lizzy," Freddie said, crouched on one knee as he tightened a bolt. "If it wobbles, it's no good."

Lizzy puffed out her cheeks, pushing against the wooden beam with all her might. "It's not wobbling!" she protested, though her tone lacked conviction.

Teddy lounged nearby with a comic book; his legs sprawled across the lawn chair. The vivid cover of The Phantom gleamed in the sunlight, showing the titular hero in his signature purple tights, his muscled frame caught mid-action.

Teddy's eyes lingered on the illustration, his brow furrowing slightly. Something about the way The Phantom moved, the way his body was drawn—it made Teddy's chest feel tight, like he was holding his breath.

"What's that?" Lizzy asked, popping her head over his shoulder and startling him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing!" Teddy snapped, shoving the comic beneath his leg.

Lizzy narrowed her eyes. "Is it one of those grown-up comics? The ones Mom says are for delinquents?"

"No! It's just... about a superhero. That's all."

"Hmph." Lizzy turned and bounded back to her father who was desperately trying to hold up a plank on his own while calling for his daughter.

Teddy exhaled shakily, glancing down at the comic again. He didn't understand why it made him feel this way—excited, embarrassed, and confused all at once. He flipped the page, skimming past an illustration of The Phantom saving a damsel in distress. It was the hero he couldn't stop looking at, not the girl.

Patty was taking a well earnt break. She sat at the kitchen table and watched the scene play out in the backyard. She had a glass of lemonade in one hand and a glossy women's magazine in the other. The pages were filled with images of perfectly styled women in sunlit kitchens, their lives so pristine they might have been cut from celluloid.

She flipped to an article titled "How to Keep Your Husband Interested in 5 Easy Steps". Patty rolled her eyes but kept reading, her lips twitching at the absurd advice: "Always greet him with a smile," "Never complain about your day," and the kicker—"Make sure dinner is on the table when he arrives home."

Patty closed the magazine with disdain, where were the articles on How to Keep Your Wife Happy in 5 Easy Steps?

"Patty!" Freddie called out from the cubby, interrupted her thoughts. "You're going to love this when it's done! It's got all the bells and whistles for a mad scientist's lair."

Patty smiled indulgently, raising her glass. "Just don't forget the 'No Mothers Allowed' sign. Lizzy will insist."

Later on, the family gathered under the shade of the gum tree, sipping cold lemonade as they admired the half-completed cubby house.

"Not bad for a day's work," Freddie said, his fair hair glistening in the sun light, as he wiped sweat from his brow.

"It's going to be the best cubby ever," Lizzy declared, her grin stretching from ear to ear. "I think it needs a trapdoor."

"Trapdoor?" Freddie grinned, crouching to tighten a bolt. "What for? A spy base or an easy escape route."

"Could be both!" Lizzy said, her eyes lighting up. "Anything is possible especially when dealing with combustible elements."

Patty watched on, a small smile playing on her lips. The girl loved all things science and construction while the boy lounge around reading comics and daydreaming. Oh well, at least they kept her entertained. And her pills made such matters so much easier—they softened the edges, quieted the doubts, and let her pretend she was in her own idyllic TV show.

*********

A couple of days later, with the cubby house finished, Freddie was off fishing with his best friend Phil and Lizzy had finally pestered her brother enough to go swimming at the river. The cozy ambiance of Patty's living room was quickly transformed with the chatter of her friends—Myra, Flo, Lucy, and Cindy—as they gathered around the coffee table. Each held a copy of "Peyton Place" open and dissected with fervour.

"My dear girls," Patty introducing them to her unseen audience. "Myra, the bubbly airhead with a heart of gold whose sponge cakes never fail to rise. Flo, the forward-thinking salon owner always ahead of the trends. Lucy, the opinionated organizer of our book club, sticking to the rules of life. And Cindy, the dutiful librarian, the calming influence who keeps us all grounded."

They had all come together through Lucy's book club, and today's discussion was focusing on the latest scandalous revelations in their current read.

"I can't believe the things that happen in 'Peyton Place.' Who would have thought?" Myra exclaimed, wide-eyed and animated.

"It's the quiet ones you must watch out for, Myra. Just like our Cindy," Flo chimed in with a playful wink, eliciting giggles from the group. "Immersed in all that knowledge. She could be planning anything."

"Flo, we're here to discuss the book, not indulge in your fantastical theories," Lucy interjected, her tone prim and slightly disapproving.

"Oh, but aren't they so outrageous," Patty teased, taking a sip of her drink. "Honestly, we learn so much about our dear Flo through her many theories and conspiracies."

The group erupted into laughter, the sound filling the room with warmth and camaraderie as they delved deeper into their lively discussion of Peyton Place. Lucy just rolled her eyes.

Flo's eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, ladies, did I tell you about the faux pas during Christmas lunch? My grandfather was plying my cousin's pooch with beer all afternoon. You can imagine the chaos and the unfortunate discharge from the mutt after wards. My sister is furious at the damage to her new argyle rug and Grandmother's vintage tablecloth will never be the same again. Not even a box of Tide will get out those stains. I, personally, loved it. Chaos is so delicious."

Everyone burst into laughter, picturing the scene.

Cindy chimed in next, "Sounds heaven compared with spending Christmas lunch defending why I am not married to every woman in my family."

"Ours was a pleasant Christmas until Lizzy tried to create a 'scientific' Christmas pudding," Patty took a sip of her coffee before continuing, "She lit the thing on fire with some concoction... almost set alight my curtains. It really didn't taste right after that" She sighed, "Freddie was not amused. You know how he likes his pudding."

Lucy sighed as she sipped her tea, coffee caused her heart palpitations, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. "Christmas at our place was, as always, predictably traditional," she said with a touch of fondness. "Mother insists on the same routine every year. We started with church in the morning, followed by a meticulously prepared roast lunch with all the trimmings. Father carves the turkey with military precision while Mother fusses over the pudding, making sure it's soaked in just the right amount of brandy. We listened to the Queen's speech, and then it was parlour games and polite conversation until we all retired early. No surprises, no excitement. Just the same old, same old." She shrugged, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. "But you know, there's something comforting about it, even if it does lack the chaos and mishaps of a livelier Christmas."

Myra dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, her voice quivering with a mix of pride and sadness. "It's been quite an emotional holiday for me," she began, her friends leaning in with concern. "Tina left right after Christmas to take up a job at a big department store in the city. She's so excited, but I can't help feeling a little lost without her around the house." She paused, taking a deep breath before continued. "And then there is my son. He is the first in our family to go to university, can you believe it? He's off to become a lawyer," Her voice changed pitch as she remembered something, "Oh, that reminds me, did anyone else catch the latest episode of Portia Faces Life*? Oh, you could hear a pin drop in my house. It was so gripping."

*Portia Faces Life was a radio serial of the 1940/50s about a courageous female attorney who battles forces of crime, injustice, and civic corruption.

Suddenly, the mood shifted when Flo brought out a pack of tarot cards. She was always trying to egg on the girls to explore beyond their own comfort zones, but Lucy was having none of it.

"Have you lost all sense of propriety!" Lucy scowled, "Those are bordering of the satanic."

"Maybe we should settle for some Mah-jong instead," Myra interjected.

Patty sat in her chair; smile etch across her face. These women helped to keep her sane. They were her nature's little helpers. Some days, without these women and her happy pills, she probably would scream until her voice gave out.

**********

After book club, Patty returned to her laundry, pinning the last of the sheets to the line when the rumble of a car engine caught her attention. She turned toward Betty Knight's house and saw the sleek black car pulling into the driveway. The car certainly wasn't from around Rosella Heights.

She moved closer to the fence, ostensibly adjusting the angle of the drying sheets, but her eyes were fixed on Betty's porch. The blonde neighbour stepped outside, her lipstick bright against her fair skin, her expression calm but tense.

The man climbing out of the car was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark suit with a fedora shading his sharp features. He removed his hat as he approached Betty, revealing slicked-back hair and a clean-shaven jaw.

"We have a problem," the man said, his tone low but firm.

Patty's breath caught. She ducked behind the hanging sheets, her heart thudding in her chest as she strained to hear.

Betty's face grew almost sinister, "I pay you handsomely to not have such things. Are my affairs too much for you to handle? I am sure I could find another Dick Tracy to do my bidding.

"I was not expecting the criminal justice system to cave to...your husband," he spoke.

"Husband!" Patty froze, her fingers gripping the edge of a sheet, as Betty Knight slapped the man across the face, "Never utter such a word in my presence again! Am I making myself clear."

The man grabbed her wrist, taking a firm grip, "You do that again, missus! And I'll forget you're a lady." Betty wrenched her hand away, "Because your money is good, I'm going to help ya out by throwing a few decoys into the waters and see if that distracts his men."

Her smile gleaming once more, "Expect a generous bonus for your efforts." She sighed, "Now, why don't I make us some tea and think nothing more about our earlier harsh words."

Betty escorted the man into the house, scanning the neighbourhood for prying eyes, before following him through the front door.

Patty stayed behind the laundry line, her mind racing. She'd known Betty Knight had secrets, but this was something else entirely.

*********

The following week, Patty stood in her cozy kitchen, a highball glass in hand, marveling at the row of freshly baked pies cooling on the counter. She had a cheeky drink to celebrate her achievements. The aroma of warm cherries and buttery crust filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of alcohol that had begun to tickle her senses.

"Ah, baking—another of my many talents," she mused, running a hand over her immaculate floral dress. She turned to her audience once more, "These pies are destined for the bake sale. We need a new roof for the school. The poor little angels are either freezing in winter or being drenched during Spring rains. I do hope my cherry creations outshine Betty Knight's queer quince jams. She can keep her sticky preserves to herself."

Her mind wandered back to Betty Knight and the cryptic conversation she'd overheard days ago. The sharp-suited detective, the mutterings of a husband—it all felt like something out of a Bette Davis thriller. Jezebel instantly came to mind.

Betty seemed to have more skeletons in her closet than Patty had dust bunnies under her beds. She just wasn't sure what to do with the information?

As if on cue, the oven timer chimed, and Patty giggled mischievously, the alcohol adding a light-hearted edge to her demeanour.

She glanced out the window, "There goes Betty again, parading her so-called nephew about the neighbourhood. He turned up a few days ago." Patty muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing with thinly veiled skepticism. "Just like a husband suddenly rising from the dead, I smell something fishy about that young man."

Betty Knight's so-called nephew was tall and bronzed, he had the rugged good looks of a Hollywood heartthrob, complete with tousled sandy hair and an easy smile that seemed permanently fixed on his face.

Yesterday, Patty found him in the front yard, shirtless and soaking up the sun with the nonchalant confidence of someone who knew he was being watched, washing his motorcycle. The sleek machine was cleaned and polished to a mirror shine having received meticulous attention.

Betty's "nephew" seemed to have a knack for drawing attention, whether it was revving the engine of his bike for a little too long or casually kicking a football with a group of neighbourhood kids, his effortless charm never failed to catch the eye.

The nephew was the current source of speculation amongst the women in Rosella Heights, each whispering their own theories behind lace curtains over afternoon tea.

*********

Later that day, from her vantage point at the kitchen window, Patty observed Freddie diligently mowing the lawn. Her irritation ignited as she noticed Betty's lingering gaze from over the fence, "There she goes, eyeing my Freddie the way my butcher eyes a side of beef."

True to form, Betty sashayed over, her intentions thinly veiled under a façade of being neighbourly, "Frederick, darling, my sink is acting up again," she purred, her voice dripping with a flirtatious charm that did not escape Patty's notice. "And Tommy has gone off somewhere on that death machine."

"Sure thing, Betty. Just let me finish up here," Freddie replied, his obliviousness to predatory behaviour.

Patty seethed silently, as she watched Freddie follow Betty into her house. "That's it! I've had enough of her games," she thought, her patience worn thin as she stormed next door to Betty's impeccably maintained home.

Inside, she found Freddie stooped under Betty's kitchen sink, his brow furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with her pipes. Betty hovered far too close for comfort, her gaze lingering on Freddie with a familiarity that grated on Patty's nerves.

"Freddie, darling, I need you," Patty declared, her voice cutting through the air with a steely edge.

"Patty, I'm almost done here," Freddie replied, looking up with genuine confusion.

"Now, Freddie," Patty reiterated firmly, her eyes flickering briefly to Betty, who seemed unfazed by the tension. "Unless you want the washer to flood our house."

"Alright, alright," Freddie groaning, aware of the tone in her voice, extricating himself from under the sink. "Okay! I'll be right back."

Betty slinked up beside Patty, her nose twitching, "Do I detect alcohol? Oh dear! Drinking in the middle of the day! Patty, do we have a problem? I mean, what will your ladies think of such behaviour."

Patty seized Freddie's arm and guiding him firmly towards the door. She didn't stop until they were both safely inside their own home. Freddie looked at her perplexed when the washing machine looked perfectly fine. He was so oblivious some days.

"Betty Knight can get someone else to look at her pipes," retorted Patty. "You've got enough work over here."

Patty excused herself to the kitchen where she crumbled against the wall. She just needed one of her pills and everything would be right again. She would be in control.

Patty summoned the nerve to get up off the floor and reach for her pill bottle. She struggled with the cap finally getting it off. She grabbed one of the pills and placed it on her tongue feeling the familiar bitter taste start to dissolve along with her anxieties.

She stood by the sink, staring out at the vast blue sky devoid of clouds, as a serene calmness surrounded her. It looked so peaceful over there. Far away from this humdrum. No where near Betty Knight.

"Hello dears! It's Patty! Did I ever tell you about my sister and her quest to find herself?" She said, shaking her head in wonder and exasperation. "When she told me she wanted to be an air stewardess I was amused. She can't even go up one flight of stairs without getting giddy. What's going to happen when she goes up in the air?"

Her sister's restlessness had always been a point of worry. Diana had married young to get out of home ending up a widow, and she wasn't even thirty, since then, she had been constantly on the move, trying to escape the grief that seemed to follow her like her own shadow.

"I heard from Diana this morning. She's flying to Singapore. And here I am squat on the floor turning into a bowl of Airplane Jelly."

Patty admired Diana's courage to reinvent herself, to seek out new experiences and adventures. But she also envied her freedom, the ability to just pack up and leave, to start anew whenever the pain became too much.

Patty, on the other hand, felt bound by her responsibilities. Her dreams for a different life slipping further away with each passing year.

"She's always off somewhere new," Patty muttered to herself, shaking her head as she looked at the dishes piling up in the sink. "And here I am, stuck with the same old routine."

Patty sighed, turning on the tap to begin another round of dishes. The water rising in the sink as she looked once more to that beautiful wide blue yonder. She wondered what lay on the other side. Maybe dreams really did come true over there. She might not need her happy pills.

*********

Early evening, Patty was in the living room, folding laundry. Freddie had gone for a beer with Phil and her children were once more down at the river.

Though it wasn't Betty who now disturbed her thoughts, Patty was still perplexed by her son's willingness to go with his sister. His fingers usually had to be prized away from the edge of the front door before he would even venture into the outdoors.

Her brow furrowed, there was something going on with her son. These last few months, he had become an unknown country to her. She had sensed it the other day when she watched the cubby house become a reality. There was this unusual expression she had never seen before. It filled her with dread at her very core. Mother's intuition.

Patty picked up one of Teddys' T-shirts. She stopped, studying the worn cloth and the stitching coming away at the seams. He'll need new clothes. Another size up. Evident that Teddy was growing up before her eyes. It hadn't always been this way. There was a time when she knew everything about him. Now he was as distant as the stars. And just as hard to reach. Maybe the river held such answers for her? Since it was usually the last place he would want to be.

*********

The river meandered lazily through the countryside, its waters glinting under the late afternoon summer sun. On either side, the banks were lined with gum trees and scraggly bushes, their roots gripping the soil like gnarled fingers. A narrow strip of sandy beach led down to the water, where flat rocks jutted out like stepping-stones for adventurous feet.

In the middle of the river sat an island, overgrown with reeds and bushes that obscured its interior. Its abandoned, wild appearance had made it the subject of countless rumours among the children of Rosella Heights—some said it was haunted, others swore it was home to a hidden treasure.

A weathered Tarzan swing dangled from a sturdy gum tree near the bank, its rope worn smooth by years of eager hands. It swayed gently in the breeze, an invitation for daring leaps into the cool water below.

Teddy and Lizzy were with three others: Angelo, a tall, lean boy of about sixteen with olive skin and dark, curling hair, Gina, a cheerful girl about Lizzy's age, with the same warm complexion and dark eyes, her hair in pigtails, and Syd, a fifteen-year-old Aboriginal boy whose easy smile and quick wit made him instantly likable.

The group were busy lashing branches together with rope, constructing the beginnings of a raft. Angelo stood shirtless in the water, his lean muscles flexing as he steadied the logs, while Teddy and Syd worked together to tie the rope to the logs.

Teddy, ever so cautiously, would stop and stare at Angelo. Those same feelings he felt about The Phantom seemed to churn inside him. He turned quickly trying to avoid being noticed by the others. His hand shaking as he tried to finish a knot.

They were building a raft to discover what secrets the island held. This was Teddy's chance to go on one of those adventures that he would read about in his comic books. This was one of the reasons for his sudden interest in the river. Angelo was the other. He just wanted to impress him.

"Is this thing even going to float?" Teddy asked, trying to distract himself from his impure thoughts.

Angelo laughed. "Of course, it'll float. I'm Italian. It is in my blood. My people know a thing or two about boats." Angelo grinned. "Didn't you see, Ben-Hur. Those Romans knew how to make ships."

Teddy perked up. "Ben-Hur was incredible!" He remembered mostly that the men were prancing about in togas. "That chariot race was—"

"The best part!" Angelo interrupted, his eyes lighting up.

"That's kids' stuff," Syd shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Have you ever heard of The Seduction of the Innocent?"

Teddy's head shot up, his eyes wide. "That's the book that said comics turned kids into criminals, right? I heard my parents talking about it."

"That's the one," Syd said, grinning. "I found a copy in the garbage can behind the book store. Someone clearly didn't want to sell that sinful muck in their shop."

"What does it say?" Angelo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's wild," Syd said, his tone full of amusement. "It says Superman's a fascist. Batman and Robin are..." He trailed off, glancing at Teddy and smirking. "Well, close, let's say, and comics about crime make us all want to rob banks."

Teddy snorted, "That's ridiculous."

"I know, right?" Syd said. "But you should've seen the pictures in it. One of them said The Phantom's costume was too tight."

Angelo laughed. "He does wear a lot of purple."

Teddy rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling. "The Phantom's about justice. I don't care what some dumb book says."

"To be fair, that is more my opinion than the book. His costume is so tight you can see his meat and potatoes," Syd replied, slapping Teddy on the arm, "I got a rise out of you though. No hard feelings?" Teddy caved at that smile before Syd continued on. "I just think it's funny how scared adults are of something they don't understand. I bet they haven't even read the book."

Patty finally arrived at the river. She crouched behind a cluster of reeds, her heart racing as she watched the children. Maybe this would provide her with the answers?

Lizzy and Gina sat on the riverbank, tending a campfire. There were potatoes roasting in the coals, damper* cooking beside them, and a blackened, cast-iron kettle brewing tea on the other side of the fire. Gina packed a useful collection of goodies in the picnic basket to one side of her.

*Damper is made from flour, water and a bit of salt mixed together into a dough than cooked in the coals of a campfire in tin foil. Damper was usually served with butter and jam. Otherwise known as 'Bread of the Bush' this was one of the staple foods for people travelling the country roads looking for work.

This scene was unusual to Patty. Lizzy was usually the one building rafts, but here she was tending to the fire, until her daughter dropped gum leaves into the fire. There came an almighty serious of bangs and flashes as the eucalyptus met the flames.

The boys almost jumped out of their swimming trunks. Teddy cursed his sister before they all turned back to the raft.

Lizzy ignored the boys and began to enthusiastically explain to Gina what caused the reaction. Gina was a willing pupil. She sat before Lizzy, weaving a crown from reeds, in rapt attention.

"Not all gum leaves pop in a fire, but the ones that do are loaded with oils that heat up fast and explode like steam in a kettle. It's the oils and trapped moisture making the bang."

"That's so cool!" Gina said, her admiration evident. "I wish I knew stuff like that."

"Why don't you?"

"I am too busy making tomato sauce with the other girls to learn about exploding gum leaves,"

"But you don't have to," Lizzy grinned.

"Yes, I do! I'll marry a nice boy some day and not know how to make pasta sauce like his mother use to make." It was like she recited something her mother had told her over and over. "I will be an embarrassment to my family."

"A husband! But we're still kids!"

"My mother has gotten even more insistent since my papa ran away to Italy and we had to move in with our grandparents." She sighed, "She wants me to find a nice boy nothing like my father. I only get to go to school after the summer because of the truant officers."

"That's silly!" Lizzy scowled, shaking her head, "Stick with me, Gina. I'll teach you all the cool things that will make a husband the last thing you think about."

Gina laughed, adjusting the reed crown she'd just finished weaving. The boys slumped down by the fire, taking a break from the raft.

"You know, my grandfather used to tell me stories about this place," Syd said.

"What kind of stories?" Teddy asked, intrigued.

"About the spirits that live in the water," Syd said, his tone dropping into something softer, almost reverent. "They guard places like the island, places where people aren't supposed to go. He said if you go too close, they'll pull you under and keep you there."

Gina looked up, her eyes wide. "Like mermaids?"

"Not exactly," Syd said with a grin. "These spirits aren't friendly. They don't sing songs or wear seashells. They're more like... shadows in the water. You don't see them until it's too late."

"Great," Angelo muttered, shaking his head. "Now every time I take a leak, I'll think something is going to grab me."

"Don't worry," Syd said, slapping Angelo on the back. "You just need to burn gum leaves—or tea tree, if you can find it. The smoke drives them off. My grandfather always keeps a small fire going when we camp near places like this."

"No wonder your undies were in a bunch over starting a fire," exclaimed Angelo.

The group laughed, but Teddy's gaze lingered on the island, his mind turning over the story. There was something about the way Syd spoke—like he believed every word—that made it feel real.

The peace was short-lived. The sound of jeering laughter broke through the air, and Patty's smile vanished as two older boys emerged from the trees.

It was Simo and Reece, the school bullies Teddy had mentioned in passing, though he rarely spoke about them. Simo, tall and gangly, sneered as he sauntered toward the group, while Reece—a stockier boy with a permanent scowl—trailed behind him.

"Well, well," Simo drawled, his voice loud enough to echo across the river. "If it isn't little Teddy Love and his new friends. What's this, a tea party by the water?"

Teddy tensed, his shoulders stiffening.

"Nice raft, Teddy." Reece snickered, nudging Simo. "Gonna sail off to Neverland with the rest of the fairies?"

Lizzy stood abruptly; her hands clenched into fists, "Why don't you two get lost?"

Simo smirked, ignoring her. His eyes landed on Angelo who stood shirtless. "Hey, who's this? A flying monkey? Or is he just here to carry your purse, Teddy?"

Angelo's expression darkened, his fists clenched by his side.

Reece laughed, "Hey! Teddy! Maybe your sister should trade her skirt for your pants."

"I see what you're doing. It's not going to work," Teddy tilted his head, his expression suddenly calm, "I don't care what you think. You're just the kid who got stuck escaping through a toilet window after flour bombing the school."

Gina snickered, and Syd grinned.

"Wait," Syd said, catching on. "You're that guy? Mr. Arnold had to call your dad to get you out. I bet your bum was red raw before you even got home."

Simo's face reddened. "Shut up!"

Teddy's confidence grew as he pressed on. "And Simo... weren't you the one who pissed his pants when that fake snake was thrown during the assembly in primary school?"

"Shut up!" Simo's face darkened. "That didn't happen. You're full of it, Love."

"Oh, I'm sure everyone at school would disagree," Teddy said smoothly. "I could write it all down. Maybe put it in the next issue of the school newsletter."

The group erupted into laughter, and Simo's hands balled into fists at his sides.

"You think you're so clever," Simo spat, stepping closer. "You're nothing but a sissy who hides behind books."

Lizzy stood abruptly, crossing her arms. "Why don't you both leave before I give you a real reason to cry?"

"Oh, please," Simo scoffed, leaning forward. "What are you gonna do?"

Lizzy didn't answer. She simply stepped forward and swung her fist. The sound of her knuckles connecting with Simo's nose was sharp and satisfying, followed by a howl of pain as Simo staggered back, clutching his face.

"Bloody...hell!" he shouted, his voice muffled. Blood dripping into the sand of the riverbank.

Reece grabbed Simo's arm, dragging him away as he muttered something about it not being worth the trouble. The group stared after them in stunned silence before bursting into laughter.

"You've got quite the arm, Lizzy," Angelo said, grinning.

"My dad has been watching a lot of boxing on our new TV," Lizzy replied, dusting off her hands. "I took notes."

"I'm gonna enjoy hangin with you kids," Angelo said. "Best day I've had since coming here."

From her hiding spot, Patty straightened up. This really didn't give her the answers behind her son's mood changes. Though, it did reassure her that her children could stand up for themselves. Yet the day was getting away from her and Freddie would be home for his tea very soon. She began heading back down the path toward home.

*********

There was a letter waiting for Patty on her return to the house. She studied the handwriting knowing exactly who had sent it. Her face dropped. Her mood shifted. She felt a darkness creep in around her. She felt goose bumps erupt about her naked arms. It was from her mother. Anything to do with that house filled her with dread.

Her father's voice boomed through her mind, a thundercloud blotting out any sense of joy. The sound of him removing his belt buckle. The scent of noxious body odor and stale beer coming closer. The lash of the leather strap across her back. The jolt of her body. The intense pain raiding outward. The silent shuddering because if she dared cry out, the punishment would be much worse.

No one spoke of it, of course. The treatment they received in that house. They were secrets buried beneath layers of politeness and pressed linen.

Patty swore that this house would never feel like that. There would be nothing but light, laughter, and the occasional chaos—but never fear. Why was she writing now? What reason could her mother have to drag her back into the hell?

End of Part One.

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