Part Thirteen - Secret Women's Business

Patty had always found Flo’s house to be… different. Not in an off-putting way, but in a way that made it feel like stepping into another world, one that didn’t quite obey the rules of the neat, orderly homes of their neighborhood.

The front porch was draped with thick, beaded curtains that clinked together whenever a breeze passed through. Wind chimes dangled from the awning, their eerie melody mixing with the faint scent of incense that seemed to perpetually linger in the air. Unlike Patty’s own home, where everything was carefully placed and practical, Flo’s house was a collection of the unusual, the daring, and the outright scandalous.

Inside, the walls were deep shades of plum and emerald, with mismatched furniture that somehow worked together. Velvet drapes hung over the windows, dimming the light just enough to make the place feel intimate, almost conspiratorial. There were shelves lined with books about palmistry, tarot, and philosophy, alongside old-fashioned perfume bottles and curiosities from around the world. A taxidermy owl watched over the sitting room.

The scent of sandalwood and something faintly citrusy hung in the air, mixing with the ever-present aroma of hairspray and powders from the salon connected to the house.

“Hello! Dears! Patty here,” Patty looked to her audience, “Flo’s place is where rules blur, where conversations flowed freely, and where secrets—big and small—are kept safe.” She caressed nearby crystal ball, “If only you could have told me what lay ahead. I might have been better prepared.” She sighed, “Tonight, it is the place where Diana can be hidden away, her troubles protected within these four walls.”

Diana lay pale and unmoving in the guest bed, her fair hair damp against the pillow, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The bleeding hadn’t stopped. Patty felt something inside her twist painfully. This was bad. Really bad.

“Diana,” Patty whispered, shaking her gently, trying to wake her. “Diana, you need to stay with me.”

Diana’s eyelids fluttered, but her response was little more than a weak groan. Patty turned and bolted from the room.

“Flo!” she cried out, as Flo returned from fetching more pads, but the moment she saw Patty’s face, she dropped them. “I think we need a doctor.”

“We can’t do that, Patty. We’ll all be in deep trouble,” Flo didn’t hesitate. “We need Mrs. O’Hara. I’ll call her.”

It wasn’t long before, a disgruntled Mrs. O’Hara moved quickly into the house, making sure she was seen by as little people as possible, before moving into the guest bedroom, where her skilled hands working without hesitation.

The only sounds in the room were labored breathing, whispered prayers, and the rustling of fabric as Mrs. O’Hara worked.

“We need to stop the bleeding.” Mrs. O’Hara took out a hypodermic needle filled with some kind of medication that was quickly inserted into the arm of the patient. “This should help with the clotting.”

Patty had never felt more helpless in her life. Time stretched and blurred. Patty couldn’t sit still. She paced the floor finally plucking out her pill bottle. She needed to steady her nerves. She tossed back one of the pills but not before Flo noticed.

Flo sidled up alongside her. She whispered, “Why you dope fiend!” She held out her hand, “If you are offering?” Patty shook out one of the tiny pink pills into her palm. Flo scowled, "I'm not a child, darling!" Patty raised an eyebrow before shaking out another, "Much better."

Flo nudged her arm playfully before swallowing the pills. Patty managed to crack a smile reassured by the woman's presence.

The candles burned low. And then—at long last—Mrs. O’Hara let out a slow breath and sat back, “She’ll be fine. The bleeding has finally stopped.”

Patty sagged against the bedpost, her knees weak.

Diana’s face was still pale, her body weak and trembling, but her breathing had steadied. The bleeding had subsided.

Flo let out a long, shaking exhale, rubbing at her eyes. “Oh, thank God.”

Mrs. O’Hara stood, stretching her stiff back. “She’s not out of the woods yet, but if she rests, eats, and doesn’t move around too much, she’ll recover.”

Patty grabbed Mrs. O’Hara’s hands, clutching them tightly. “Thank you.”

Mrs. O’Hara nodded, gathering her things without any fanfare. “You know where to find me if she takes a turn.” She gave them a stern glance, “But do not take her to a hospital. Not in any circumstances. Or we’re all finished.”

Patty watched her leave, barely able to breathe. Diana stirred, her voice barely above a whisper, “Did I die?”

Patty let out a choked laugh, pressing a hand to her sister’s clammy forehead. “Not today.”

Diana gave the faintest smirk, her eyes fluttering shut. “Pity. Those clouds look awfully soft. My body could use them right now.”

Patty shook her head, blinking back tears. “Go to sleep, you ridiculous woman.”

And for the first time that night, she let herself believe that Diana was going to be okay.

*********

Where drama was concerned, it didn't stop for anyone. Patty walked briskly down Blue Gum Avenue; her heart heavy with worry. The rumour had spread quickly, and she couldn't believe it until she saw it for herself. As she approached Lucy’s house, her worst fears were confirmed. The once charming home now had a foreclosure sign staked in the front lawn. The sight of it made Patty’s chest tighten.

She took a deep breath, walked up the path, and knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing. Just as she was about to give up, she heard a faint sound from inside.

“Lucy? It’s Patty,” she called, her voice tinged with concern. “Please, let me in.”

After a few moments, the door creaked open a crack. Lucy's face appeared, pale and drawn, her eyes red and swollen from crying. “Patty...I guess you’ve come to gloat.”

“I could have stayed home for that,” Patty pushed the door open gently and stepped inside. “I came to see how you’re holding up.”

Lucy tried to muster a smile, but it quickly crumbled. “It’s a mess, Patty. I’ve been such an idealistic fool.”

Patty looked around the dimly lit living room. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in shadows. It was eerily quiet. “Where is your daughter?”

“I sent them to stay with my sister even that was a conversation in humility,” Lucy said, her voice trembling. “I didn't want them to see... all this.”

Patty nodded, understanding. “That was probably a good idea. But what about you? How are you holding up?”

Lucy sank onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t know, Patty. I don’t know how to keep going. Stan... he destroyed everything. He stole from the church, for heaven’s sake. And now we’re losing the house.” She shook her head, “He was apparently doing it for me! So, I could have the life I carved out for us.”

“But he had a good job!”

“He lost it over a poor investment scheme,” She sighed, with annoyance. “We weren’t the only ones to lose our house.” She thumped the table with anger, “If he had just listened to me. I said he had stretched himself too far. Now look we’re it has gotten us.”

Patty sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around Lucy’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m here for you.”

Lucy looked up, tears streaming down her face. “I feel so humiliated. Everyone in town knows. They’re all talking about us.”

Patty squeezed her gently. “People will talk today but sooner or later they’ll move on to some other poor family. You’ve got friends who care about you. We’ll help you get through this.” Patty stood up, “So, why don’t you go run yourself a bath while I get this house in order.” She frowned, studying her face, “I’m not going until you’ve eaten something.”

Lucy hesitated. “You don’t have to do this!”

“Oh yes I do!” Patty smiled, “We’re friends.”

Patty threw open the curtain letting some much-needed light into the room and then began to tidy up. Lucy looked as if she might burst into tears.

********

Diana lay stretched across Patty’s couch, wrapped in one of Flo’s old, knitted blankets, a half-finished cup of tea on the side table beside her. The house was quiet for the moment, apart from the occasional clatter from the kitchen where Patty was fussing over something.

Lizzy appeared in the doorway, a notebook clutched to her chest, her expression serious.

Diana smirked. “You look like you’re about to take my medical history, kid.”

Lizzy rolled her eyes but stepped closer, pulling up a chair beside the couch. “Mum says you’ve got the flu, so you shouldn’t be disturbed.”

Diana arched an eyebrow. “And yet, here you are.”

Lizzy grinned. “I have an important question.” She opened her notebook, flipping past pages filled with scribbled formulas, strange diagrams, and underlined ideas.

Diana sat up slightly, intrigued. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

Lizzy took a deep breath. “Do you think I could build a rocket?”

Diana blinked, then let out a barking laugh. “A rocket?”

Lizzy nodded earnestly. “A real one. Not to go to space—not yet. But a small one. I read about propulsion in Popular Science, and I think, if I had the right chemicals—”

“Oh dear Lord,” Diana groaned, flopping back onto the couch. “Please tell me you’re not planning to blow up your mother’s kitchen.”

Lizzy huffed. “Of course not.” She paused, then muttered, “That’s why I need somewhere else to test it.”

Diana smirked, “You really are something, Lizzy.”

Lizzy shrugged. “I just want to know everything. About the stars, about chemistry, about how things work.” She hesitated, glancing down at her notebook. “I don’t want to just stay here forever, you know? I want to do something big. Something important.”

Diana’s amusement faded into something warmer. She reached out and ruffled Lizzy’s hair, making her squawk in protest. “You will, kid. You’ve got that big kind of brain—the kind that doesn’t settle for small things.”

Lizzy beamed at her, then flipped to another page. “I have other ideas too. I’m working on a formula for an exploding powder—harmless, but very loud. Angelo and Syd think it would be great for pranks.”

Diana burst out laughing. “You’re a menace.”

Lizzy grinned proudly. “You think that’s impressive? Wait until you hear about my plan to make glow-in-the-dark ink.”

Diana shook her head fondly, watching Lizzy rattle off idea after idea, her hands moving wildly as she explained each experiment.

Then, Lizzy’s expression grew more serious. She tapped her pencil against her notebook and sighed, “Gina’s family is already planning for her marriage,” she said. “Her mum’s teaching her how to cook all these traditional meals, how to be a good wife. She says it’s just how things are.”

Diana frowned. “And how does Gina feel about that?”

Lizzy bit her lip. “She says she doesn’t mind, but… she’s ten.” Her voice sharpened with frustration. “How can she already be expected to know what she wants? I barely know what I want, and I have a list.” She gestured at her notebook.

Diana exhaled, nodding. “That’s how it is for a lot of girls, Liz. Not just Gina.”

Lizzy clenched her jaw. “Well, I don’t want that for myself. No husbands. Just science. Experiments. Discovering things that matter.”

Diana smiled. “You sound like someone I would’ve been friends with in Paris.”

Lizzy perked up at that, then hesitated, flipping to a blank page. “I’ve thought about just… asking mum and dad to adopt Gina. That way, she wouldn’t have to get married if she didn’t want to.”

Diana blinked in surprise, then let out a soft chuckle. “That’s quite the plan, Lizzy.”

Lizzy shrugged. “Well, it makes sense. We get along, she likes my experiments, and I think she would make an excellent assistant.”

Diana grinned, feeling an unexpected rush of affection for the girl. For the first time in days, Diana felt lighter, like maybe the world hadn’t completely swallowed her whole.

And as Lizzy scribbled away in her notebook, eyes shining with ideas, Diana couldn’t help but think—maybe she should start dreaming big again too.

*********

The wind had turned restless that afternoon, whipping through the backyard, snatching the sheets from the clothesline and sending a flurry of leaves across the lawn. Patty hurried outside, gripping the basket tight as she reached for a pillowcase flapping wildly on the line.

That’s when she saw them—pages, loose and scattered, tumbling across the grass like fallen leaves.

She frowned, setting the basket down and grabbing one before it could escape again. The paper was thick, aged—but the ink was fresh.

She smoothed the crinkled edges and squinted at the first few lines.

Adeline Knight smoothed the wrinkles from her silk robe, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she leaned against the doorway, watching the man struggle to button his shirt.
“You really should go,” she murmured, though there was no urgency in her voice. “Before my husband starts to wonder why his old friend visits so often.”

Patty’s breath caught.

Adeline Knight. The name was different, but the mannerisms, the silk robe, the flirtatious taunt... it was unmistakable.

Betty.

She flipped to another page, scanning quickly.

William Porter traced idle circles along the rim of his glass. “She’s a dangerous woman,” he said, taking a slow sip of whiskey. “The kind who collects secrets like trinkets.”
“You should know,” Adeline purred. “You’ve given her enough of yours.”

Patty’s fingers tightened around the page. She turned to the last page in her hands, her eyebrows rising in shock.

The older man, the one who never spoke too loudly, who always lingered in the shadows of these affairs, watching but never truly partaking. She often found him standing at the garden fence, hidden in the shade, watching as she played her dangerous games. He did not leer, nor judge. He simply observed, his hand curled tightly around his drink, as if he was repressing a thirst that his drink could never quench.

Adeline had seen his eyes linger—not on her, but on the men who moved so freely in her company, unburdened by the guilt that gripped him.

One night, she saw him take a step closer to the fence, as if drawn to the laughter, to the possibility of a world that was not his own. But before he could reach out, before he could do anything, he turned back into the shadows, closing the gate behind him.

Patty stilled. The fence. The one, she herself, had used to spy on Betty Knight. The one that stared her in the face right now.

The older man. Her stomach twisted violently. Was that Phil? He had been around a lot. Or her husband?

Her fingers shook slightly as the wind whipped through the yard once more, lifting another page just out of reach.

Patty didn’t chase it.

She was too busy staring down at the ones in her hands, wondering just how much of what she was reading was fictional or real? She had to find out before this kind of salacious material found an audience.

*********

“So let me get this straight,” Diana said, voice flat but laced with amusement. “You found a scandalous manuscript—floating through your backyard, and now you want to break into Betty Knight’s house to steal the rest of it?”

Patty shot her a glare. “I wouldn’t say break in.”

Diana snorted. “Patty, what else do you call sneaking into someone’s house, rifling through their things, and taking something that doesn’t belong to you?”

Patty crossed her arms. “I call it preventative measures.”

Diana arched an eyebrow. “For who?”

Patty exhaled sharply, pressing the pages onto the coffee table between them. “For everyone. If someone published this—it could ruin people. No matter if it is only fiction. Muck will stick.”

Diana picked up a page, scanning it with mild curiosity. “‘Adeline Knight’…” she mused, tapping her fingernail against the words. “Betty, obviously.”

Patty nodded, watching her carefully.

Diana flipped to another part. “‘William Porter…’” She let out a low whistle. “Oh! Not that Elvis Presley wannabe!”

“Could be? Though he has far more character in this story than he does in life.”

Diana grinned. “Oh, this is delicious.”

“Diana,” Patty hissed.

Her sister sighed dramatically, setting the page down. “Alright, alright. I get it. It’s a powder keg.”

Patty hesitated, then tapped the final paragraph—the one about the older man watching from the fence.

Diana skimmed it, her smirk fading slightly. “And this…?”

Patty swallowed. “This might be…Freddie?”

“This is fiction for most part,” Diana gave her a long, considering look before exhaling. “Yes, the situations are familiar, but mostly over exaggerated. Don’t start imaging what is nothing?”

Patty blinked. “This could explain so much…Freddie’s secrets…the ones I can’t even get to.” She let out a slow breath, gripping the pages a little tighter. “I need to see what else was written.”

Diana sighed, this was what sisters did. Especially, after all that patty had endured for her. She agreed to help her break-in.

********

The streets of Rosella Heights were quiet, the hush of suburbia settling as Patty and Diana crept toward Betty Knight’s house. They had waited until Betty and the boy had left the house.

“Back door?” Diana whispered.

Patty nodded, heart hammering against her ribs.

Diana grinned. A twinge of pain when she hurried after her sister, “Been a while…since I’ve done something this exciting.”

“Are you sure you’re alright!”

“Better but certainly not alright. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. I was bored in bed.”

“Keep your voice down,” Patty hissed, guiding them toward the side of her yard heading for the back door.

Patty tried the back door handle. Locked. Diana grinned, slipping a hairpin from her pocket. “Step aside, dear sister. I picked up a few skills in my youth.”

Diana worked the hair pin into the lock with concerning ease. Within seconds, there was a faint click. She pushed the door open. Patty shook herself, stepping inside.

The house smelled like expensive perfume and whiskey, the air thick with something sultry, something secretive.

Diana trailed her fingers along the furniture, taking in the decadence of the space. “She really does live like a film star, doesn’t she?”

“This story is the work of that so called nephew,” Patty said, as they marvelled at the woman’s interior decor. “I am sure even Betty would turn pale at what is in those pages. Now, let’s find his room. Boys like to keep their secrets there.”

Tommy’s room was luxurious but scandalous—the kind of space a Hollywood rogue would lounge in, draped in silk and sin.

There was a bookshelf that contained an eye rising collections of Kinsey and William Marston works alongside dog-eared copies of D.H. Lawrence and Radclyffe Hall.

The dresser was littered with cologne bottles and expensive grooming tools, everything perfectly placed, deliberate. A black silk robe hung over the back of a chair, as if it had just been shrugged off.

Patty’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t just the luxury of the space—it was the deliberate sensuality of it.

Pinned to the walls were photographs—framed and beautiful—of men. Some shirtless, some in elegant suits, their gazes smoldering.

And the magazines.

Scattered across the low table beside the bed, a mixture of gentleman’s magazines—Esquire, The Male Figure—but slipped between them were far more illicit things. Magazines featuring naked men, tanned bodies posed provocatively, articles hinting at a world Patty had only heard in whispers.

Diana plucked one off the table, flipping through the pages. “My word! This isn’t just a little naughty. This is… something else.”

Patty’s breath came shaky. She had known—had suspected—but seeing it like this… it was different.

Tommy was living boldly, fearlessly. And he was watching. Recording. Writing. Maybe Freddie was an innocent party to this boy’s mixed-up fantasies.

Patty made her way to the mahogany desk, old typewriter sitting on top, she gliding her fingers over the keys, aware of the danger of such a machine. She began to test each draw until she found one locked.

“This has to be it,” Patty yanked, testing the strength of it. “We need something to—”

Diana reached into her pocket and pulled out a butter knife.

Patty stared. “Why do you have that?”

Diana smirked. “Protection. Now it’ll serve another purpose.”

Patty didn’t have time to argue. She wedged the knife into the small lock, jiggling until she heard a snap. The drawer creaked open.

Inside, a stack of pages, neatly typed out. Diana let out a low whistle. “Bingo.”

Patty grabbed the manuscript, scanning the top page. The title read simply:

The Dark Lady Cometh.

Her breath hitched.

“Pat, we need to go,” Diana warned.

But Patty couldn’t move, her eyes racing across the first paragraph.

She always knew their stories would unravel one day.
The mothers, the wives, the women who whispered behind closed doors—
Their secrets were inked into the bones of this town, buried in soft sighs and stolen glances.
And the one thing they never understood…
Is that I saw them all.

Patty’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t just fiction. This was a reckoning.

********

Patty snapped up every last page from the draw. Diana turned to the door. There was movement in the house. She whirled toward her, eyes wide. “We have to go.”

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Diana’s wrist and pulling her toward the window.

Patty gawked. “We’re not jumping out a—”

“Yes!” Dina pushed her through, following just as a shadow appeared under the door.

They hit the ground running, tearing across the yard, hearts hammering in their chests. Diana’s abdomen screamed at her, but she could not let up. Patty didn’t dare look back.

Not until they reached the street, panting, breathless, clutching the stolen pages.

Diana let out a wild laugh, doubling over. “Oh, Patty. You know what this means?”

Patty swallowed hard, pressing the notebook to her chest. “What?”

Diana grinned. “We are so not the worst people in this neighbourhood.”

Patty didn’t laugh.

Because she wasn’t thinking about the neighborhood anymore. She was thinking about Tommy. And what he would do when he found the pages missing.

*********

The crash of glass shattered the quiet of Rosella Heights. Patty froze mid-step, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest as she stood by the kitchen window. From the next yard, Betty Knight’s house was alive with fury, golden light spilling from the wide front windows, exposing the silhouettes of two figures locked in a vicious fight.

She didn’t need to hear the words to know what it was about.

Tommy knew.

“WHERE IS IT?” Tommy shouted, his voice raw with fury.

Betty, cool and composed, sat on the velvet couch with one leg crossed over the other, swirling her fresh drink lazily.

“Darling, you’re being awfully dramatic,” she mused, lifting the glass to her lips. “What exactly am I supposed to have done?”

Tommy gritted his teeth, hands clenching into fists. “You know damn well what! The manuscript is gone!”

Betty sighed, setting her drink down. “And how, exactly, is that my fault?”

Tommy laughed bitterly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Because it was in my room, Betty! No one else knew about it—only you!”

Betty’s gaze sharpened. “Careful, darling. Accusations like that can get you in trouble.”

Tommy’s nostrils flared. “And what exactly would you do? Call the police?” He let out a harsh laugh. “You think they’d care about stolen fiction?”

Betty’s lips curled. “Was it all fiction, Tommy?”

Tommy went still.

A tense silence filled the space, the ticking of the art deco clock on the mantle the only sound.

Then, quieter, Betty continued, “Because it didn’t read like fiction to me. It read like slander.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “You had no right—”

“Don’t play wounded now.” Betty stood, crossing the room toward him. Her heels clicked softly against the polished wood. “You wrote about all of us, darling.” She tilted her head, her gaze sharp as a knife. “But let’s be honest… I was amused at first but seriously you could get us all in trouble…especially me.”

Tommy stared at her, chest rising and falling sharply. Then, without another word, he stormed past her, shoving the front door open so hard it rattled in its frame.

Betty watched him go, her face calm, unreadable.

Then, slowly, she turned toward the window, her gaze settling on next door. Because she knew exactly who had enough interest in her to give a damn.

********

Patty stood in the backyard, staring down at the manuscript resting in the firepit. The wind whispered through the trees, the night thick and silent, but Patty’s heart thudded in her chest like a drum. It had to be done. No one could ever find out she had broken in and stolen someone else’s property. No evidence. No charges.

She struck a match, watching as the flame flared to life before dropping it onto the stack of pages. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the fire took hold, licking at the edges of the paper, curling them into blackened wisps of smoke.

Words disappeared in flickering orange light. Names, confessions, stories never meant to be told. She should feel relief. But as the last page shrunk into ash, a shiver ran up her spine. Because she wasn’t alone. She felt it before she saw her.

Across the yard, half-hidden in the shadows near the fence, stood Betty Knight. Patty turned sharply, her breath catching in her throat. Betty didn’t move. She simply watched.

And then—slowly, deliberately—she smiled. Patty’s skin prickled, but she didn’t look away. Neither did Betty.

And as the final embers of the manuscript glowed and died, Patty realized something.

She had burned the words. But she hadn’t buried the truth. Not by a long shot. She still had a niggling doubt about Freddie.

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