Part Eight - Hot Cross Buns

The autumn leaves rustled gently in the breeze over Rosella Heights as Patty Love was preparing for Easter. The garden, though showing signs of the season's change, still held the warmth and beauty of a family home.

“Hello dears! Patty Here!” Patty said, staring out the kitchen window pretending it was her camera. “My mother has finally come to stay at the right time to witness one of her granddaughter’s triumphs. My girl has put aside blowing up small wooden huts to create a diorama for her school project using real rabbits.” She glanced over at her mother sitting so ridge, “I fear all this chaos may be too much for my mother to handle.”

Margaret sat at the kitchen table, back impossibly straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. She had always prided herself on poise, control, and the ability to disappear into silence when needed. It had been a necessity, after all—back when she was the wife of a man whose anger echoed through the walls like a curse that would never lift. But now, sitting in her daughter’s warm, cluttered home, Margaret realized that silence made her a stranger here.

She had imagined Patty’s life to be modest, quiet, respectable—safe. But here? There was life. The walls were filled with photographs and children's drawings, the air carried the scent of warm bread and something faintly sweet. From the backyard came shouting, laughter, and something shrieking.

Margaret stiffened as a blur of bright blue darted past the window, “Patricia,” she said slowly, voice edged with alarm. “What in God’s name was that?”

Patty, pouring tea, barely looked up, “That would be Lizzy’s rabbits.”

Margaret blinked, “The… the blue thing?”

“And the pink one. And the yellow one,” Patty said, stirring sugar into her own cup.

Margaret watched as a pack of pastel-coloured rabbits stampede across the backyard, with a group of children in pursuit. She gripped her teacup tightened, “Why are the rabbits dyed?”

“Lizzy said plain rabbits were boring for her diorama. She wanted her project to stick out in some way. Afterall, there is a basket of eggs for first prize.”

Margaret opened her mouth, then closed it again. Then—a gunshot cracked through the air. Margaret jerked violently, nearly spilling her tea.

Patty didn’t even flinch, “That would be Mr. Henderson.”

Margaret gawked at her, “Someone is shooting?”

Patty nodded toward the fence, “He’s trying to take out the rabbits.”

Another shot rang out, followed by a chorus of outraged children’s voices and what sounded like a slingshot being fired in retaliation.

“Patricia, this is madness.”

Patty exhaled, setting down her cup, “Excuse me for a moment.”

Patty could be heard trying to plicate Mr. Henderson while the children marshalled the escaped rabbits back into the yard. Rabbits were classed as vermin to most.

Margaret stared at her daughter as she returned, calmly smoothing down her apron.

“Now, mother,” Patty said, picking up her tea. “Would you care for a bran muffin?”

Margaret opened her mouth to reply. Then—a bright pink rabbit hopped directly past the kitchen window, pursued by a furious Lizzy. The woman suddenly burst out laughing. This whole morning was chaos and madness. Everything a home full of children should be. One like the home she had grown up in.

Patty had never heard her mother laugh before. It was so light and warm, “Yes, Patricia! I would like a muffin,” The woman plucked a postcard from her purse, “Once you’ve done that, can you explain to me what a dim sum is and why your sister in search of one with a foreigner called Wei?”

Patty sighed, placing the plate of muffins down upon the table. She rested her backside on the side of a chair, facing her mother. Some things were better left for Diana to explain.

*********

The scent of warm cinnamon and nutmeg drifted through the house, wrapping around the sitting room like an embrace. Patty was in the kitchen, rolling out dough for hot cross buns, the rhythmic thud of her hands against the counter a steady, comforting sound.

Margaret sat in the worn but cozy armchair, hands folded neatly in her lap. She still wasn’t quite used to this house, this family, this life. She felt like a stranger here.

Across from her, Teddy sat cross-legged on the floor, a comic book open in his lap, his sketchpad resting beside him.

Margaret’s eyes drifted toward the bold purple figure on the cover. “And what exactly are you reading?”

Teddy looked up, mildly surprised she had asked. He turned the comic toward her. The Phantom.

Margaret lifted an eyebrow, “A masked man in a skin-tight suit?” She smirked slightly. “How scandalous.”

Teddy grinned. “He’s The Ghost Who Walks. He never dies.”

Margaret tilted her head, “Never?”

Teddy shook his head, “People think he’s immortal, but really, it’s a secret. When one Phantom dies, his son takes his place. The legend keeps going, so everyone thinks he’s been around for centuries.”

Margaret hummed, reaching for the comic, “May I?”

Teddy blinked, surprised, “You want to read it?”

Margaret smiled lightly, “Why not?”

Teddy handed it over, watching as his grandmother—prim, proper, always composed—actually began flipping through the pages. She studied the illustrations carefully, taking in the shaded jungle scenes, the hidden Skull Cave, the way the Phantom moved through the panels with effortless strength.

The scent of yeast and sugar thickened as Patty pulled a fresh tray of buns from the oven, the golden tops glistening under the warm kitchen light.

Margaret let out a soft hum of amusement. “So… he’s a man who protects the innocent, punishes the wicked, and does it all without anyone knowing who he truly is?”

Teddy nodded. “He’s got his whole secret world. And a code—he doesn’t kill, just scares the bad guys into never coming back.”

Margaret turned another page, glancing at him, “And you like him because…?”

Teddy shrugged, twirling his pencil between his fingers. “He’s different. He doesn’t have superpowers, but he still stands for something.” He hesitated. “And… he never really belongs anywhere. He just walks between two worlds—civilization and the jungle, the past and the present. He’s always watching, but never really a part of anything.”

Margaret stilled at that. She glanced down at the comic again, the mysterious Phantom standing just beyond the edges of the world he protected, forever separate. Her fingers brushed the pages gently, “That must be very lonely.”

Teddy looked at her, something quiet and knowing in his gaze, “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

Margaret straightened, setting the comic neatly in her lap, “You know,” she said, a nostalgic glimmer in her eyes, “when I was a girl, I used to read The Katzenjammer Kids in the newspaper.”

Teddy’s brows furrowed. “The what?”

Margaret smirked. “A comic strip. About two very mischievous boys who were always tormenting their poor mother and their schoolteacher.”

Teddy perked up, “That sounds brilliant.”

“I always thought it was dreadfully improper, but I couldn’t help myself—I read it every Sunday morning when my father wasn’t paying attention.”

Teddy’s eyes gleamed with amusement, “So you liked the troublemakers?”

“I appreciated their… creativity.”

“Sounds like you and Lizzy might have more in common than we thought.”

Margaret scoffed, “Don’t you dare tell her that.”

Teddy grinned, nudging his sketchpad closer, “Maybe I could draw a Phantom story where he meets the Katzenjammer Kids.”

Margaret huffed a laugh, shaking her head, “Now that I’d like to see.”

From the kitchen, Patty’s voice called out cheerfully, “Hot cross buns are ready!”

Margaret chuckled softly, closing the comic, “Come, let’s get one before your mother eats them all.”

Teddy grinned, bounding up to his feet. As he rushed toward the kitchen, Margaret trailed behind him—and for the first time, she didn’t feel like she was intruding in this home. For the first time, Margaret felt like she was starting to belong here.

********

The morning after the rabbit shooting, Patty and Freddie found themselves standing at the fence, facing the furious Hendersons. Mr. Henderson had some spinach in his hand, going on about vermin rabbit destroying his crop. They had massacred his whole vegetable patch.

Mr. Henderson, still red-faced from shouting, jabbed a finger toward them. “I warned you people about those blasted rabbits! Your daughter’s turned this whole street into a damned circus!”

Mrs. Henderson folded her arms, nose wrinkling in distaste. “It’s not just the rabbits! It’s your whole… family!” She practically spat the word, like it was something filthy. “First, the girl is building contraptions in the yard than running around dying animals like some kind of boy, and now she’s got my husband dodging slingshot attacks from guttersnipes.”

Freddie, tensed but calm, sighed, “Mrs. Henderson, with all due respect, if your husband weren’t shooting at children’s pets, he wouldn’t have to dodge anything.”

Patty rubbed her temples, “The rabbits are harmless. Just let them be.”

“Not to my prize-winning spinach,” Mr. Henderson scoffed, shaking the tattered spinach in his hand. “There’s no discipline in that house! You let that girl run wild. She’s a bloody menace!”

Patty’s jaw tightened, “She is not a menace.”

“She’s a disgrace,” Mrs. Henderson snapped. “She acts like a little hoodlum! And it’s not just her—your whole family is trouble.” She turned her sharp gaze to Freddie. “And you—you sit there in your newspaper office giving your two penny opinions about things, but you can’t even keep your own house in order!”

Freddie’s nostrils flared slightly, but he kept his voice even. “Mrs. Henderson, I have fought in a war. I have seen what real disorder looks like. And I can tell you this—my home? My daughter? Are not the problem.”

Mr. Henderson let out a disgusted noise. “Bah! You think that girl’s got a future? What’s she gonna be, huh? A scientist? A doctor?” He laughed cruelly. “She’ll end up like every other loud-mouthed girl—married off and minding her husband’s house, just like she should.”

There was a sudden, sharp noise from the porch. Patty turned to find her mother standing at the door, stiff as a board, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Margaret had been silent all morning, sitting with her tea, watching. She had spent her whole life swallowing insults, surviving cruelty in silence. But now—something in her snapped.

She stepped forward. The Hendersons went quiet. Margaret tilted her head, voice deceptively calm, “I’d choose your next words carefully, Mr. Henderson.”

Mr. Henderson huffed, unfazed. “And who are you, then? The grandmother?” He sneered. “That explains everything. A bad mother raises a bad daughter, who raises a rotten little girl.”

Patty felt her stomach drop. She started to step forward, but Margaret was faster. She strode up to their yard, standing toe to toe with the man.

Her voice wasn’t raised, but it cut like steel, “You listen to me, you miserable little man,” Margaret said, eyes burning. “I have spent my entire life biting my tongue. I did it for my husband. I did it for my neighbours. But I will not stand here and let some bitter old man talk about my granddaughter like she is less than any boy.”

Mrs. Henderson sputtered, “Now see here—”

“Oh, I see plenty,” Margaret cut in smoothly. The Henderson’s faces burned red. Margaret’s lips curled. “You think Elizabeth is a problem because she isn’t quiet? Because she isn’t sitting there waiting for a man to decide her future for her?” She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice just enough to be dangerous. “I’ll tell you what’s a disgrace. You two.” The Hendersons stiffened. Margaret smoothed her gloves, then smiled coldly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have more important things to tend to than the grievances of two small, miserable people.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked inside, slamming the door behind her. Patty and Freddie stood there, stunned. The Hendersons were too shocked to even respond. For a moment, the street was silent.

Then—Mrs. Henderson gathered herself. “Well! If that’s how you want to be, don’t expect us to be friendly neighbours!”

Patty gave her a dead-eyed stare, “When have you ever been friendly?”

Mrs. Henderson opened her mouth, then closed it again. With a huff, she grabbed her husband by the arm and stormed off.

Freddie let out a long breath, rubbing his temples, “I need a drink.”

Patty turned toward the house, still trying to process what just happened. Her mother—the woman who had spent years enduring cruelty in silence—had just torn through the Hendersons like a hurricane. And somehow, that was even more shocking than the rabbit war itself.

*********

Later that afternoon, Patty was out in the yard, tending to the washing, while Lizzy sat at the kitchen table, fuming. Margaret sat across from her, quietly stirring a spoonful of sugar into her tea.

Lizzy glared at her cup, “It’s not fair.”

Margaret glanced up, “What isn’t?”

“The Hendersons,” Lizzy grumbled. “They get to be horrible, and nothing happens to them. Mum’s even making Easter buns to bury the hatchet.”

“I think she is just keeping the peace,” Margaret lifted her teacup, sipping with impeccable innocence. “But there are other ways to…get back at them.”

Lizzy narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “Like what?”

Margaret set her cup down, then tilted her head slightly. “If you were to do something…” She tapped her fingers against the table thoughtfully. “It would need to be something subtle.”

Lizzy perked up slightly. “Like what?”

Margaret smoothed her skirt, “Well… the Hendersons are terribly fond of Easter buns, aren’t they?”

Lizzy’s eyes widened, “You mean—”

Margaret gave a delicate shrug. “I’m simply saying… certain remedies, when used in moderation, can be very effective.” She plucked from her purse a bottle of laxatives, “Sometimes Grandma needs a little help.”

Lizzy grinned, “Grandma!”

Margaret spilled, onto the table, a couple of pills and began to grind them into a powder with her teaspoon. Lizzy gasped. Margaret smiled ever so slightly, “Would you like to do the honors, dear?”

Lizzy beamed, “You’re my favourite person in the world.”

Margaret patted her hand. “That’s very sweet, dear. Now, go get the bowl of dough.”

And together, grandmother and granddaughter set to work.

*********

Patty happily delivered the Easter buns to the Hendersons. Margaret sat primly at the kitchen table, sipping her tea in perfect innocence. It was peaceful. For about twenty minutes. Then—

"HAROLD!"

Margaret looked up sharply as Mrs. Henderson’s panicked shriek rang through the neighbourhood. A crash, then the thunderous sound of a man sprinting across his yard, clutching his stomach like he was about to soil his pants. Instead, he started to clutch his chest, gasping for air, and dropped to the ground.

Patty stood by the window. Her eyes narrowed, “Oh dear! I think Mr. Henderson is having a heart attack.”

Margret was jolted out of her musings and raced after her daughter out of the house. They hurried across the road to help. Mrs Henderson was by her husband’s side begging for Patty to save him.

Patty soon had an ambulance, and the poor man was packed off to hospital.

Margaret felt guilty. She had wanted to stick up for her granddaughter with some innocent hijinks but not to almost cause the man’s death, “Patricia.”

“Yes, Mother?” She glanced across at her mother who was biting her lip than looked to Lizzy by the front door who was giggling, “What did you do?”

“Those buns had my laxatives in them,” Her mother said. “Just to cause a little discomfort. Nothing more.”

Patty gasped, “Mother! He could have died!”

Margaret sighed, “Well, the damage is done now. Not much we can do about it.”

Lizzy, meanwhile, was beaming with unrestrained joy.

Margaret, against every ounce of her upbringing, felt something dangerous and impolite bubbling up in her chest. Then—before she could stop it—she started laughing. Not a chuckle. Not a polite, restrained laugh. A full-bodied, tear-wiping, breath-stealing fit of laughter.

Patty stared at her mother like she had grown another head.

Margaret wiped her eyes, shaking her head, “Oh, Patricia… I think I’ve been missing out.”

Patty, despite herself, grinned, “Yeah, Mother,” she said softly. “You really have.”

And for the first time since she was a child, Patty saw not just her mother—but the woman she might have been, if life had been kinder to their family. And for the first time in both of their lives, it wasn’t too late.

*********

The warm scent of roasted lamb and fresh bread filled the house, mingling with laughter and the gentle clatter of plates being set on the dining table. The back doors stood wide open, letting in the golden autumn light and the lingering sweetness of cinnamon from the morning’s hot cross buns.

Margaret sat at the table, watching the family move around her.

Patty, ever the orchestrator, was carving the lamb, Lizzy was setting out bowls of roasted potatoes and peas, and Freddie was pouring wine with an expert ease that suggested he had already sampled a fair share.

For the first time since she arrived, Margaret didn’t feel like she was simply watching a family. She felt like she was a part of it.

With plates full and glasses raised, conversation flowed as freely as the wine.

“So, Flo,” Cindy said, dabbing her lips with a napkin, “you never did tell me what happened to that lovely little car of yours.”

“Well, my soon to be ex-husband finally had the decency to pick up a phone and speak to me,” Flo grinned wickedly, leaning back in her chair. “Get this! He kindly allowed me to have the house in exchange for the car. His new lady friend thought it was cute.”

“Oh dear!” Margaret raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What a scoundrel!”

Flo took a deliberate sip of wine. “Mind you, I bought the car with my money. I loved that car. And he, the arrogant sod, thought that just because he’d finally decided to muster the guts to speak to me, after months of being silent, using a lawyer to end our marriage, that I should just give him my car as compensation for his wasted years. His words not mine.”

Lizzy leaned in, already enraptured, “So, what did you do?”

Flo grinned, “I drove that car straight into the river.”

Margaret choked on her wine.

Cindy gasped. “Flo!”

Patty covered her face, laughing.

Flo shrugged. “He wanted it so badly—so I gave it to him. In six feet of water.”

“That’s brilliant.” Margaret, still recovering from shock, took another slow sip of wine. “And what did he say about it?”

“I don’t know. I hung up the phone after I told him.” Flo said, laughing.

Margaret shook her head, utterly amazed. “I… don’t know whether to be appalled or impressed.”

Flo lifted her glass, “I suggest impressed.”

Margaret smirked despite herself, “Noted.”

As the laughter faded into comfortable chatter, Freddie leaned back in his chair and sighed, “So, I ran into Mrs. Henderson this morning.”

Patty raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“She grumbled something about Eddie finally getting back on his feet. She swore vengeance on all vermin.”

Lizzy snorted, “What’s she gonna do? Blow up every hole she sees in her yard?”

Margaret, taking a sip from her glass of wine, murmured, “Perhaps she should. And take that house with it. Such an eye sore.”

The table burst into laughter.

Patty shook her head, amused, “Well, at least he’s alive.”

Margaret lifted her glass ever so slightly, “A toast! To family and the bonds that bind us.”

Patty glanced at her mother in surprise—but there was no rigidity, no distance in Margaret’s voice. Only warmth.

Just as everyone was savoring the roast lamb, Lizzy huffed dramatically, stabbing at her potatoes, “I got a C on my diorama. I didn't get the eggs.”

Flo gasped, “What?! But yours was brilliant concept!”

Cindy leaned in, “The Easter project, yes?”

Lizzy threw down her fork. “I made a living diorama of Easter morning—using my real dyed bunnies! It was incredible! But Miss. Thompson said I ‘disrupted the classroom environment’ because the rabbits got loose and ate her easter bonnet.”

Patty sighed, “Lizzy, you literally set wild animals loose in a classroom.”

Lizzy grumbled, “They weren’t wild. They were scientifically enhanced.”

Margaret let out a small, unexpected chuckle, “You do have a point, dear.”

Lizzy brightened, “See? Grandma gets it!”

Margaret simply took another sip from her glass, but Patty caught the glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

As the meal slowed into comfortable conversation, Cindy turned to Margaret with a thoughtful expression, “So, Margaret,” she said, reaching into her handbag, “I’ve been meaning to give you this.”

Margaret watched as Cindy pulled out a well-worn paperback and slid it across the table. She read the title aloud, “The Women’s Room by Marilyn French.” She frowned slightly, “I’ve never read this one.”

Cindy smiled knowingly. “I think you might appreciate it. It’s about a woman who’s spent most of her life doing what’s expected of her—until she realizes she wants something more.”

Margaret studied the cover thoughtfully, “I don’t know about new beginnings,” she murmured. “Feels a little late for me.”

Flo snorted, “Oh, please. I reinvent myself twice a week.”

Cindy nudged Margaret’s arm, “Think of it this way—what if this is the first time you’re actually living?”

Margaret went quiet. She didn’t immediately dismiss the idea. The woman looked around the table—at Patty, laughing with Lizzy, at Teddy showing Freddie a new comic sketch, at Flo pouring herself another glass of wine. And for the first time, she thought, maybe they’re right. This was the beginning. She picked up the book. And smiled.

********

The scent of hairspray and warm curling irons filled the air, mingling with the sharp citrusy notes of shampoo. Patty sat in the waiting area, flipping absentmindedly through a worn copy of Photoplay, her eyes darting occasionally toward the mirror where her mother sat, poised and regal, with foils carefully arranged in her hair. Patty had insisted on a cut and color before the woman returned home. Her mother had become stuck in that style ever since she could remember.

It was the right decision. Margaret looked… different. Younger. Lighter.

Gone was the severe bun, the ever-present air of quiet resignation. In its place, a chic cut was taking shape, the silver in her hair now blending with a warm, honeyed blonde.

Flo stood behind her, scissors in hand, grinning. “Well, Margaret, just look at my magical fingers. I have managed to shave at least ten years off you.”

Margaret let out a small, reluctant chuckle. “If only it were that easy,” she murmured, but there was no bitterness in it—just something softer, like a woman realizing time was still hers to reclaim.

Patty smiled to herself, ready to return to her magazine—when the bell above the salon door jingled. She froze.

Alice Witting had just swept inside, a silk scarf tied elegantly under her chin, a pair of oversized sunglasses perched atop her nose, “Flo, darling, I need a touch-up,” she announced. “The curls Dick loved last week have been positively ravaged by this awful weather.” She slid her sunglasses down, her eyes landing directly on Patty, “Oh! Patty, dear,” Alice said, grinning like a cat who had just found a birdcage left unlocked. “What a lovely surprise.”

Patty forced a smile, though her stomach twisted slightly. After the rum cake and Irish coffee incident, she had been avoiding Alice. She had barely escaped that night with her dignity intact, and yet here was Alice, as poised and unbothered as ever.

Alice perched herself in the seat beside Patty, untying her scarf and shaking out her disheveled curls, “I have to say, we really did enjoy having you over. I do hope you and Freddie won’t be strangers." Alice lightly patted her hand, “You two are simply adorable. We can’t let you both hide away behind home duties and headlines.”

Patty, ever the actress in her own domestic sitcom, gave a bright, practiced laugh. “Oh, well it is difficult with two growing children. They just need so much attention...even more than when they were babies.”

“Oh! I remember those days so well,” Alice tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “Now the children have left the house, my life has become so liberatingly delicious.” Alice leaned in conspiratorially. “I have to say, I was disappointed you and Freddie didn’t stay longer...you were simply so ripe for supplication.”

Patty kept her voice light, “I’m sure the evening would have been lovely if not for Mr. Sheen. I fear my manic fervour to polish and shine my house caused fumes that got the better of me.”

Alice sighed dramatically, “A shame! Domesticity is the scourge of all us girls. Am I right?” The woman smiled, “Cindy does not seem to have the same kind of crazy compulsions.” Patty’s breath hitched, “Your dear friend has become quite the regular at our little gatherings. She’s very… open-minded.” She kept her expression neutral, but Alice saw the flicker of recognition. And she smiled, “Oh yes! She was saying what firm friends you are.” Patty forced herself to sip her lukewarm tea, hiding the slight tremble in her fingers. Alice, ever the ruthless observer, took note, “Such a liberating woman,” she went on, smoothing a hand down her skirt. “She’s always up for adventure—no wonder Dick simply adores her.” Patty nearly choked on her tea. Alice grinned at her reaction, reaching into her purse for a compact. “But then again,” she added casually, powdering her nose, “I suppose you must have suspected. Cindy has such progressive tastes.”

Patty’s stomach tightened. Cindy. Her best friend. Mixed up in all of this? Before she could think of a response, Flo’s voice cut through the moment, sharp as her scissors.

“Alice, darling,” Flo said sweetly, “I can take you for your appointment now.”

Alice winked at Patty before rising gracefully. “We’ll talk again soon, dear.”

Patty watched her go, her heart pounding.

Margaret approached, distracting he daughter with her transformation, “Something wrong, Patricia?”

Patty forced a smile. “Not at all, Mother.”

Patty stood up, pleased to be away from the woman who terrified her so. It wasn’t so much about her brazen words but what she represented. This kinky world of debauchery that frightened her sensibilities but also intrigued her.

Alice had somehow managed to corrupt her friend the same way. She needed to make sure that Cindy wasn’t involved in something that was way over her head. It was time for a talk. Patty had a feeling she was about to learn exactly how deep Cindy had gone.

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