Part Three - Beneath the Crust

At the Australia Day Fair, Patty stood by the car, with a triumphant smile on her face, looking to her unseen audience once more, “My happy pills aren’t the only reason for my smile today,” She mused. “Betty has flirted one too many times with Freddie, so she got a cherry pie to the face. We’ve both been banned from proceedings, but we did raise enough money for a new roof.” She removed a crumpled letter from her pocket, “I still haven’t had the fortitude to open it. If I keep it closed, then I can forget all about my past. I don’t have to think about…my father.” She smiled once more to her audience, stuffing the envelope away, “But let’s back up a bit and give you the juicy details about the pie incident.”

The bake sale started off as these things typically do; tables piled high with homemade treats, the sweet smell of baked goods in the air, and the community buzzing around like bees in a hive.

The rest of the town square had been blocked off and replaced by Australia Day paraphernalia. There were rides for children, food stands, and a brass band was playing in a rotunda adjacent to everything.

Patty Love arrived early, setting up her pies with the precision of a surgeon. She kept one eye out for Betty, knowing she’d make an entrance with that so-called nephew of hers.

It wasn’t long before she felt that woman’s beady eyes upon her. Patty looked across at the once vacant table to see Betty and her nephew laying out a pristine tablecloth followed by jars of her preserves.

Betty smiled, knowingly across at Patty, “Hello dear! Such a lovely day.” She glanced back at her task at hand, “I do hope I sell all my preserves before the auction. I have my eye on that darling little painting reminiscent of Picasso.”

“I think you’ll find the cubism technique used was inspired by Jean Metzinger,” Patty smiled, as Betty looked up in surprise that the woman would know anything beyond household products, “We subscribe to Reader’s Digest.”

Betty lost her vibrancy, her face drooping into a scowl, as she placed out her decorated jars.

Patty wanted to bring up Betty’s husband, but that would incriminate her as an eavesdropper, which was consider by polite society as unbecoming. She knew Betty would use it against her. So, Patty left things be. For now.

Matters took a turn when Betty sashayed over to Freddie, who had just arrived to show some support. Her hand lingered on Freddie’s arm, her laugh was too high-pitched, and her body language screamed desperation.

“Freddie, would you care for a taste of my preserves?” she purred, batting her eyelashes. “I’m sure you’ve never ingested such sophistication before.”

Freddie, bless his heart, smiled and agreed. “Sure thing, Betty,” he said, clueless to the storm brewing within his wife. “I’m always up for a new experience.”

Patty watched as Betty led Freddie away, her hips swaying like a metronome. That was the last straw. She grabbed one of my cherry pies, her vision narrowing to a red tunnel with Betty at the centre.

“Betty!” Her voice called out slicing through the chatter. Betty turned, her smug smile quickly fading when she saw the fury in her eyes. “This is for flirting with my husband one too many times!” Patty declared, and with a swift motion, she smashed the cherry pie right into her perfectly made-up face.

Gasps echoed around the celebrations. Children stopped mid-sugar rush, jaws dropping. Parents whispered behind their hands.

Betty stood there, cherry filling dripping down her cheeks, her eyes wide with shock before finding her voice once more, “You...you crazy woman!” she sputtered, wiping at her face and smearing the red mess even further.

“Oh! I’m crazy alright,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Crazy enough to protect what is mine.”

A small crowd had gathered, eager to witness the spectacle. Flo and Lucy emerged from the gathering. Flo clapped her hands in glee, “Oh, this is better than an episode of Lux Radio Theatre!”

Lucy tried to bring common sense to proceedings, “Ladies, this is a public event! Think of the children!”

Betty, regaining some composure, tried to lunge at Patty but slipped on pie filling splattered on the ground. She landed on her rear, eliciting a round of laughter from the onlookers.

*********

Back at home, Patty celebrated with a shandy*, her laughter echoing through the empty kitchen. “Almost had an organism,” she thought, giggling to myself. “Opps! An orgasm!” She took a long sip of her drink, reveling in the sweet taste of victory.

*Shandy is a drink consisting of half lemonade and half beer usually drunk by women in the 1950s.

Patty’s friends arrived at her house, eager to hear what sparked such a debacle. They settled into the living room, cups of tea in hand, each one of them bursting with anticipation.

Myra was late, busy packing up her stall. And gorging on left over cake. Her guilty pleasure when stressed.

Flo leaned forward eagerly, “Alright, Patty, spill the beans. What exactly set you off?”

Patty couldn’t help but grin. “Well, Betty Knight was being her usual self. She was flaunting her ‘Better than Patty’ routine trying to woo my husband with her sticky preserves.”

The room erupted in laughter. Flo clapped her hands together with delight, “So, you pied her! Oh, Patty, that’s priceless!”

Cindy added, giggling. “The look on her face was unforgettable.”

“Oh! All in an Australia Day tradition,” Flo said, her tone turning sly. “Remember when Lucy caused a ruckus over a Victoria Sponge.”

“I beg your pardon! I did no such thing!” Lucy spat. “Mary Thompson was the culprit. There were rules. You had to bake the wretched thing from scratch.”

“I have to admit, my dear,” Flo smirked, “Mrs. Thompson almost pipped you at the post if you hadn’t insisted on a knowledge question.”

“I’ve known Mary Thompson for years. She couldn’t fry an egg let alone a Victoria Sponge,” Lucy’s face was cool and collected. “She was stammering and stuttering like a defective typewriter. Her method so wild it hurt my sensibilities,” She snickered, “But it was her delinquent boy that nailed her coffin shut when he began waved a box around that the cake had come in.” She smiled smugly, “I heard they had to move after her little tantrum.” She clutched her pearl necklace, “I mean the language was reminiscent of a drunken sailor.”

The banter turned back to Flo who was beaming with pride as she talked about her newly opened salon, “I am so excited! I can hardly contain myself,” she said, her eyes shining. “When I suggested the idea to Harold, he barely raised an eyebrow. He’s too busy being a door-to-door salesman to worry about what I’m up to.”

Lucy sniffed disapprovingly. “I think it is shameless and emasculating for a woman to work.”

“How predictable! I would think nothing else of you,” Flo began examining Lucy’s hair, “Come by some time and I’ll fix the lifeless thing you call a style.” She sneered, “Your own hair rollers again?”

Lucy swatted her hand away. Her face drooping to a scowl.

“Hello dear! Sorry I’m late. I’ve just heard the most delicious news. It is about Mrs. Jenkins down the street.” Myra rushing in the door with one of her cakes. “Apparently, she’s been sneaking out at night, and her husband has no idea where she goes.”

“How interesting! She has been frequenting the library a lot lately,” Cindy added, her eyes wide with intrigue. “She’s been asking for very specific books, like 'The Second Sex' by Simone de Beauvoir and 'Sexual Behavior in the Human Female' by Alfred Kinsey. I guess, she’s looking for something more, something better for herself.”

Lucy looked horrified, “How obscene!”

Flo gave a wink, “Oh, the things that happen in this town, would make Peyton Place look like a nursery book.”

Myra leant forward, “Oh! Patty! What is the story about Betty’s nephew? He looks like a wild one.”

It was moments like these that reminded Patty why she cherished her friends so much. They were her lifeline, her support system, and her partners in crime. They made everything right with the world once more.

*********

After her friends had left and the house finally quietened down, Patty sunk into her plush couch, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips. Freddie walked in, a curious look on his face. He had just finished packing up after the Australia Day celebrations.

“Alright, darlin, spill it,” Freddie said, sitting down next to her. “What made you want to be front-page news in my paper?”

“Oh no! I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Not to worry. I killed the story.”

“Oh, Freddie, it was a long time coming. She is always flirting with you.”

“Flirting! With me! You know that kinda thing is beyond me.” Freddie’s eyes widened in surprise. “I really did marry a spitfire.”

“The look on her face was worth every bit of trouble. I, somehow, feel lighter. Like I’ve dislodged something from my back.”

Freddie reached out and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about Betty. I’m not interested in her, not even a little bit.” Patty smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest.

Freddie laughed again, shaking his head in amusement. “You’re incorrigible, Patty. But I love you for it.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the events of the day settling between them. Patty felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing she had taken a stand, and that Freddie was firmly on her side.

“So,” Freddie said, breaking the silence, “what’s the plan for tomorrow? Any more pies to throw? Just so I can get an exclusive.”

Patty laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “No more pies.” She glanced toward her unseen audience, “But I might bake rock cakes. You know, just in case Betty needs another reminder.” She winked at the invisible camera before turning back to her husband.

They heard the rumble of the Triumph start up and Freddie briefly peered out the window. Patty looked at him, noticing a slight glimmer in his eyes. “You seemed pretty interested in Tommy’s motorcycle,” she said casually. “Maybe you could get some tips for the Ford Falcon.”

Freddie shifted slightly, a hint of colour rising in his cheeks. “Yeah, he sure knows his way around an engine. Might be fun to chat with him sometime.”

Patty smiled to herself, feeling a mix of emotions. She had her friends, her family, and her Freddie. And for now, that was more than enough. How stupid of her to get so jealous of her sister when she had all this.

*********

Next day, Patty found herself facing Betty Knight in her front yard. Betty, with her perfectly coiffed hair and polished nails, looked every bit the suburban queen bee. Patty tried to keep her cool.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Patty Love,” Betty greeted with faux sweetness. “I must say, your cherry pie did wonders for my complexion.”

Patty narrowed her eyes, “Cut the act, Betty. Why do you flirt with my husband?”

“Oh darling,” Betty took a step closer, lowering her voice, “I flirt with him because I know it drives you crazy. I need to get my kicks somehow in this back water.” She leant in closer, “I am forced to be in this tacky town so I might as well have as much fun as I can.”

“I’d appreciate it if you kept your amusement for someone else.”

Betty’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “Oh, darling, don’t be so sensitive.” She lent in closer, “Mothers’ little helpers has gotten you wrung a little too tightly.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Patty’s heart raced, but she refused to let Betty see her rattled. “My life is perfectly fine. And Freddie and I are very happy. I don’t need any little helpers.”

“My dear! Of course, you don’t,” Betty purred. “There could be many other reasons why you would throw a cherry pie over nothing.” She sighed, “It must be so hard keeping up appearances.” Betty straightened up; her smile as polished as her appearance. “Well, I must be going. I’m having lunch at The Golden Swan with Morag Bellingham and Shirley Beasley.” Patty knew both ladies who were the money people of town. “They were so aghast by your behaviour that they offered to treat me to lunch. Take care, Patty.”

As Betty sauntered away, Patty took a deep breath, “You too, Betty. You too,” she snarled, “Just great! More people who think I’m crazy.”

Patty turned back to her house, feeling the familiar buzz of her pills starting to kick in. She needed all the help she could get to deal with the likes of Betty Knight.

**********

Patty stood at the kitchen sink, the scent of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air. Just Walkin in the Rain was coming from the radio. Johnnie Ray was silenced by a slamming back door. Lizzy and Teddy stumbled into the house. They were drenched, “Good heavens! What on earth happened to you two?”

“Our raft broke up!” Lizzy declared dramatically, throwing her arms in the air and sending water splattering across the linoleum floor.

“Lizzy! Stop!” Teddy muttered, his soaked shoes squelching as he kicked them off near the door. “I am wet enough without you shaking about.”

“What do you mean, it broke up? I thought you said it was a sturdy raft!”

“It was sturdy,” Lizzy said, crossing her arms. “It must have been those rats, Simo and Reece. They sabotage it.”

Patty’s brow furrowing, “Sabotaged? What do you mean, sabotaged?”

Teddy sighed, brushing wet hair out of his eyes, “Someone cut the ropes. The whole thing fell apart while we were crossing the river.”

“You tried to get to the island?” Patty repeated, her voice rising. ‘That place is awfully dangerous.”

“Who says?” Lizzy spat.

“I don’t know...the local councilmen.”

“I bet they just don’t want us knowing what is over there.” Lizzy was on a rant, “Trying to keep us like mindless sheep.”

“Lizzy! Enough! I’m much more concerned that everyone is safe. Do I need to call people?”

“We’re all fine, Mom,” Teddy said, his tone even. “Not even the spirits of the river got to us.”

“Spirits of the river! Oh My! What have you both gotten into now?” Patty was getting even more alarmed with every word they spoke, “I gave you permission so long as you were safe. No more rafts. Both of you, upstairs and into dry clothes before you catch your death.”

Teddy said, giving a mock salute. Lizzy groaned but obeyed, stomping up the stairs and leaving a trail of damp footprints behind her.

**********

Patty Love stood at the kitchen sink, idly drying a plate while watching the sun begin its descent. The familiar sound of Phil’s truck pulling up outside caught her attention. She peeked through the curtains, spotting Freddie and Phil climbing out with wide smiles on their faces.

“There they are,” Patty muttered to her imagined audience with a hint of playful sarcasm, knowing how much Freddie enjoyed his fishing trips with Phil, especially on a lazy Sunday afternoon. She admired their camaraderie, “And here I am elbow deep in dirty dish water. I guess it is a mother’s lot in life.”

Phil, with his chiseled features and brooding eyes, bore a striking resemblance to Montgomery Clift. His dark hair was slicked back, and his smile, though rare, could light up a room. Strangely, that infrequent smile was constantly on display while ever her husband was around.

He was a photographer at the newspaper. He liked to get out amongst nature to unwind. Knock back some beers, take a couple of snaps and try to catch the big one. Patty guessed it was his own kind of happy pill.

As Freddie and Phil leaned against the truck, their laughter echoed through the quiet neighbourhood. She saw Phil’s eyes light up with excitement as he recounted a particularly funny moment from their fishing expedition.

“They really do have a great time together,” Patty thought, a touch of wistfulness in her voice as she continued drying the plate. “And he does deserve time out after working so hard to provide for this family.”

Patty felt a twinge of jealousy, knowing how much freedom that Freddie had compared with her lot in life.

When Freddie excused himself and headed inside, Patty’s attention briefly lingered on Phil, who remained outside for a moment longer, staring after Freddie. Phil’s smile soon faded, and his mood became somber.

As she put away the last of the dishes, Patty heard the back door creaking open. Freddie walked in, still chuckling from his conversation with Phil. “You wouldn’t believe the size of the fish Phil almost caught today,” he said, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “It’s a shame he lost his camera trying to get a good shot.”

“That’s awful! It’s his livelihood. How can you laugh about it?”

“No one died. We’ll fix him up with a replacement. Good as new.”

Patty shook her head in wonder. Her husband could be so cavalier about the oddest things. She couldn’t blame him after what he had been through in the past.

**********

Patty lay awake in the quiet of the night, the soft ticking of the bedside clock the only sound breaking the stillness. She turned her head to look at Freddie, who was tossing and turning beside her, his face contorted in distress. She knew what was coming—another nightmare, a spectre from his past that haunted him even now.

Freddie’s breathing quickened, and he muttered incoherently, words that seemed to spill from the deepest recesses of his mind. “No, Marty, no... don’t go... it’s not safe...” The anguish in his voice was unmistakable, tearing at Patty’s heart.

She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort to the unseen demons.

“Freddie,” she whispered softly, “Freddie, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

But he was lost in the grip of his memories, reliving moments from a time long past. “Marty, stay put... don’t be a hero...” His voice cracked with emotion, and Patty felt tears sting her eyes.

She was aware of, Martin Hughes, Freddie's closest friend during the war, the one he had never fully talked about but whose presence loomed large in his nightmares. She had pieced together enough from his fragmented mutterings and occasional confessions to understand the depth of their bond.

To the world, Freddie was the epitome of happiness and composure, always flashing his charming smile. He seemed to move effortlessly through life with a carefree air that made everyone around him feel at ease.

But Patty knew the truth. Only she saw this side of him, the side that emerged behind their bedroom door when the night brought with it the memories he couldn’t escape from. No one else knew this about her husband.

“I wonder if he does this when his with Phil?” She mused. “Those tents aren’t exactly soundproof.”

Freddie finally jolted awake, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with terror. He looked around the room, disoriented, before his gaze settled on Patty. She saw the raw vulnerability in his eyes, a stark contrast to the composed, easy-going man he presented to the world.

“It’s okay, Freddie,” she said softly, pulling him into her arms. “You’re safe. It was just a nightmare.”

He clung to her, his body trembling, and she felt the weight of his anguish. “I can’t get it out of my head, Patty,” he whispered hoarsely. “Marty... I couldn’t save him. I failed him.”

Patty stroked his hair, her heart aching for him. “I’m sure you did everything you could,” she reassured him. “It’s not your fault.”

Freddie’s grip tightened, and she could feel his silent sobs shaking his body. “Yes. It is my fault. He saved me, Patty,” he admitted in a choked voice. “If not for him…I’d be the one haunting his dreams.”

Patty’s breath caught at the thought, “I’m so sorry, Freddie,” she whispered, tears slipping down her own cheeks. “But if he hadn’t saved you, all this we’ve built, wouldn’t have been possible. This home. Our kids.”

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing the silent sorrow of a lost mate and a wound that refused to heal.

Patty knew that Freddie’s nightmares were a part of him, a shadow that would always linger. The spectre of Martin Hughes hanging between them. They had a bond that was stronger than she would ever understand.

As Freddie’s breathing gradually steadied and he began to relax in her embrace. Patty made a silent promise to herself to help him carry the weight of his past, no matter how heavy it was, and together, they would find a way to navigate the scars that war had left behind.

**********

Patty hummed to herself as she wiped the kitchen counters, the radio crackling softly with the cheerful strains of Que Sera Sera. The morning had gone unusually well. The children had left the house without argument, the laundry was already hanging on the line, and the kitchen sparkled in a way that would make the women at book club envious.

She glanced out the window, admiring how the sunlight streamed through the gum trees and danced across the lawn. The cubby house, Freddie had built with Lizzy, standing proudly in the corner of the yard. She had the place to herself now that they were off to school once more.

Patty smiled, as a moment of contentment washing over her. This new prescription was working a treat. Simply delicious. Then came the knock at the door.

Frowning, Patty dried her hands on a dish towel and made her way to the front door. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

When she opened the door, the sight of the young telegram boy standing on the porch wiped the smile from her face.

“Mrs. Love?” he asked, holding out a folded piece of paper.

“Yes,” she said, her voice catching slightly.

“This is for you, ma’am,” the boy said, tipping his hat before turning and heading back down the steps.

Patty stood frozen; the telegram heavy in her hands. Her heart raced as she closed the door and walked slowly to the kitchen table, setting the paper down as though it might burn her.

She stared at it for a moment, willing herself to breathe. Finally, she unfolded it, her eyes scanning the neat, impersonal type:

“PATRICIA STOP FATHER PASSED AWAY STOP YOU CAN COME HOME NOW STOP YOUR MOTHER.”

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