Part Twenty Four - A Love Christmas

The late afternoon heat clung to the house, thick and relentless, even with every window flung open. The scent of sun-warmed gum leaves filled the living room, mingling with the buttery aroma of shortbread cooling on the counter. A warm breeze carried in the distant laughter of children playing under sprinklers, their shrieks blending with the hum of cicadas.

Patty adjusted the silver tinsel on the Christmas tree, stepping back to admire her handiwork. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. The radio crackled softly, playing White Christmas, which felt utterly ridiculous given the stifling heatwave outside.

Patty smirked, reflecting on the conversation she had to have with her children. One on respecting her brother’s privacy and the other on nudity in public. The boys had been brought back to the house by the police who had stumbled across them walking home, a little sheepishly, wearing reed skirts protecting their modesty. And not much else.

She was just reaching for another ornament when the music abruptly cut out, replaced by a crisp, urgent voice.

"We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news from Rosella Heights—Mayor Reginald Cash has been shot in his home. The assailant is still at large. Authorities urge residents to remain vigilant."

Patty froze, the ornament slipping from her fingers and bouncing against the wooden floor. The tinsel crinkled in her other hand, a tight knot forming in her stomach.

Relief should have come swiftly—but it didn’t. Instead, unease crept in. Had it been the article? Had Patty's words pushed someone too far?

Her mind reeled, the radio droning on, oblivious to the thoughts spinning in her head. A sharp knock at the door jolted her back.

Patty smoothed her skirt, shaking off the unease, and made her way to the door. When she opened it, Ruby stood on the porch, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her cotton dress.

“Well?” Ruby muttered, eyes darting away. “Am I coming in, or are we going to stand here sweltering in this heat?”

“Ruby!” Patty raised an eyebrow at her obvious discomfort but stepped aside. “I take it the feud has cease?”

“You want a smack with the wooden spoon?” Ruby huffed. “Now, where’s that cuppa? I’m parched.” She strode in and flopping into a kitchen chair like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Patty moved to the stove, lifting the tea pot she had brewed earlier. She poured two cups before setting one in front of Ruby. It can be hotter than The Sun outside and they'd still drink hot tea.

Ruby wrapped her hands around the cup but didn’t drink. She looked rattled.

“Alright,” Patty said, sitting down across from her. “Why do you look so perplexed?”

“Hmm! More of those fancy words from your schooling?” Ruby huffed, rubbing her face with both hands. “I don't really know where to start. I saw something. Something I can’t unsee.” Patty turned, intrigued. Ruby hesitated, then blurted, “I caught the boys… under the sheets… fiddling about—” She waved her hands vaguely, her face turning an alarming shade of red. Patty’s lips twitched. “I was stunned!” Ruby pressed on, “I turned on my heel so fast I nearly took the doorframe with me.”

That did it—Patty couldn’t help it. She burst into laughter, nearly knocking over her drink.

Ruby scowled, “It’s not funny!”

“Oh, it is,” Patty gasped, wiping her eyes. “I thought you were going to tell me something shocking.”

Ruby gawked at her, “Shocking?! Patty, I birthed that boy! The last thing I need to know is what he’s doing under the covers!”

Patty took a deep breath, composing herself as she swirled the ice in her glass, “Alright, I’ll bite—where did you catch them? Syd doesn’t live with you.”

“I was over at Edith’s, trying another one of those civilized conversations you told me to have—laying out some kind of plan where we both get to be in Syd’s life without tearing the poor kid apart. You know, peace talks.”

Patty nodded approvingly, “And?”

Ruby sighed dramatically, “And just as I was thinking we were making some progress, I go looking for the bathroom, take a wrong turn, open a door, and bam—there they were.”

“Oh dear!” Patty pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling another laugh. “What about Edith? How did she take it?”

“I didn’t give her a chance to see,” Ruby threw her arms up. “I didn’t want that woman turning even more white than she already is, ending up a ghost.” She clutched her chest, “The shock almost done me in!” She shook her head, “I ended up distracting her by pointing out one of her adored aboriginal paintings was actually a fake.”

Patty shook her head, “So, what did you do after that?”

“Nothing!” Ruby huffed. “What the hell else was I supposed to do?” Ruby lowered her head looking thoughtful for the first time since she’d arrived, “And you know what? That’s when I finally got it.”

“Got what?”

Ruby glanced up, eyes serious, “What you said. About them. About just… letting it be.” She let out a long breath, “I don’t like it. I don’t understand it. But I finally got it.”

Patty reached across the table, squeezing Ruby’s hand, “That’s enough.”

Ruby sighed, “Yeah. For now.”

The two women sat in companionable silence, enjoying their tea. Then the radio murmured in the background.

"Authorities believe the suspect, Dennis Cash, may still be in town…"

Patty’s smile faded slightly. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of her neck.

Ruby noticed, “What’s wrong?”

Patty glanced at the radio, then at Ruby, forcing a small smile, “Nothing.”

But she was lying. Dennis was out there. Somewhere. She wouldn’t be comfortable until he was caught. She had the uneasy feeling that he wasn’t finished yet.

*********

The heat pressed thick and heavy against Patty’s skin, the scent of dry eucalyptus mingling with the distant smell of chimney smoke. She adjusted the basket in her arms, shifting the weight of the boiled fruit cake, and knocked on Betty Knight’s door.

Nothing. No life at all. The house was eerily still, the curtains drawn tight. A flicker of unease curled in Patty’s stomach.

As she turned to leave, a sleek black car rumbled up the street, its tires crunching over the gravel before rolling to a slow stop right in front of the house. The doors swung open, and two men stepped out. Then him. Rupert Knight.

Betty’s husband emerged with the air of a man who owned everything he laid his eyes on. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a sharp suit that did nothing to soften the cold menace beneath it.

He shut the car door with deliberate ease, adjusting his cuffs before fixing his gaze on Patty, “Mrs. Love, isn’t it?”

Patty forced a polite smile, gripping the basket tighter, “That’s right. Do I know you?”

“I’m Rupert Knight,” Rupert studied her, then glanced toward the house. “I believe you are acquainted with my wife.”

“Oh, Betty!” Patty said breezily, feigning indifference. “We were not close. You can ask any of the neighbours. I am sure they have tall tales about our domestics.”

“Yet you bring baked goods to someone you loath?”

“Excuse me! We may not have seen eye to eye but that doesn’t mean I have forgotten my manners.” She gestured toward the door, “I thought I’d drop off some Christmas baking, but it looks like she’s not home.”

Rupert’s jaw tightened. His gaze flicked toward the house, slow and calculating, as if stripping away its walls with nothing more than a glance.

Patty held her ground, though every nerve in her body screamed at her to move. To run. She gripped the basket tighter, her pulse drumming in her ears.

One of the goons stepped closer, the scar along his cheek twisting as he smirked, “You sure you ain’t seen her?”

Patty swallowed, “I mind my own business.”

The goon exchanged a look with Rupert before stepping forward and brushing passed Patty. He hurried to the back of the house.

“You go with him! Look for any signs that Harris was here.” Rupert’s eyes darted from his second goon to face Patty once more, “I sent one of my men in search of my wife but strangely he has disappeared.” Rupert pulled out a photo and flashed it at Patty.

“No. His face draws a blank,” Patty instantly recognised the goon but tried to act indifferent. “I’d have notice some one that repellent about the neighbourhood.”

Patty stayed put, forcing herself to look disinterested. But her heart was hammering. Then—a noise. A faint shuffle. A dull thump. Her eyes flicked toward the car. The boot.

She took a slow step backward, scanning Rupert. His gaze was locked on the house, his patience fraying. Patty licked her lips, casting another glance at the boot.

“Sir!” Scarface returned beckoning his boss, “We found something!”

Rupert hurried off after his man totally forgetting about Patty which gave her the opportunity to move quickly, circling toward the back of the car, pressing her ear against the warm metal. Silence. Then another thump.

Patty scanned the lock, her mind racing. The keys were in one of the goon's pocket. No time for that. She reached into her basket, nestled beside the foil wrapped fruit cake was a cake slicer. She pulled out it out. It would have to do.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she jammed the blade into the lock, twisting with as much force as she could muster. The metal groaned in protest. The click of the latch sent a bolt of adrenaline through her veins. The boot creaked open an inch, then another—just enough to look inside.

Tommy! His face was bruised and bloodied, his wrists bound, his eyes wide with desperation.

Patty barely had time to react before he started scrambling out, wincing as he hit the pavement. She shoved the cake cutter into his hands, “Run.”

Tommy hesitated for half a second, then bolted.

Patty spun on her heel, looking for an escape—no time. The men were coming back.

Shit.

Without thinking, she grabbed her basket and dove to the ground, rolling beneath the car, pressing herself flat against the dirt and gravel. Boots thundered down the steps.

“Where the hell did she go?” Finally, Rupert exhaled sharply, stuffing the note, they had found, into his pocket. “Blood bitch! She’s ahead of us,” he muttered. “She’s already gone. No use staying here.”

Patty strained to listen, her face pressed against the warm ground. She held her breath.

The other goon circled the car, notice the boot was up, “The kids gone!” he slammed down the lid which managed to catch. “He can’t have gotten far. You want us to go after him?”

Rupert’s lips curled into a sneer, “Not our problem anymore.”

Patty bit her lip, barely suppressing her relief.

Scarface nodded, and a moment later, the car doors slammed shut. The engine roared to life, tires screeching against the pavement as they peeled away into the night.

Patty stayed under the car until the last trace of exhaust fumes had dissipated into the warm summer air. Only then did she crawl out, her limbs aching, her breath coming fast and shallow.

*********

Patty almost made her way inside to reach for the pills. But she didn’t. Instead, she settled for a drink. The whiskey burned down her throat as she collapsed onto the couch, her head falling back against the cushions.

Her gaze flicked toward the one thing Betty had left behind—the painting. Something about it nagged at her now.

Frowning, she got a knife from the kitchen and slice open one corner of the back. She gave the painting a shake and a small, heavy pouch fell out onto the floor. Glittery diamonds spewed out. They winked up at her.

Patty’s breath hitched. She put the diamonds back into the pouch so she could investigate what else was inside the backing.

Her brow furrowed as a note of paper fluttered out of the gap. Patty unfolded it, her hands trembling slightly. It was written in Betty’s unmistakable scrawl:

Patty Love, you insufferably curious creature—I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. Well, congratulations. You’ve found my little insurance policy.

Be a darling and keep it safe, won’t you? No one will suspect you. As for the money—go on, be reckless for once. Buy yourself a new dress. Or don’t. I know you won’t.

Don’t lose it. I will be back.

Patty exhaled sharply, shaking her head. Of course, Betty had left her with this.

A slow smile tugged at her lips, despite everything. Muttering under her breath, she refitted the painting’s backing, locking its secrets inside once more.

Patty Love wasn’t about to take Betty’s money. But she’d keep her secrets. For now.

*********

The dimly lit alley smelled of damp stone and cigarette smoke, the soft buzz of neon flickering from a doorway ahead. Patty walked beside Freddie, her arm looped through his, guiding him toward the entrance of the underground club.

He was tense. She could feel it in the stiffness of his arm, the way his feet hesitated before each step.

"Relax," she murmured. "It’s just a bar, Freddie."

Freddie exhaled sharply, "Not just a bar, though, is it?"

Patty smirked but said nothing as they reached the heavy wooden door. She knocked twice, and a slot in the door slid open. A pair of suspicious eyes flicked between them.

Patty simply tilted her head and said, "Betty sent us."

The door creaked open.

Inside, the air was thick with heat and perfume, the scent of whiskey mingling with something darker, richer. A low hum of conversation buzzed beneath the sound of a sultry jazz singer onstage, her velvet dress catching the dim light as she crooned into the microphone.

Freddie stopped in his tracks. Men leaned against the bar, close—too close, in a way that sent something like panic through him. Others danced, their fingers brushing in ways he’d never seen in public.

Freedom. It was loud, chaotic, overwhelming.

Patty squeezed his arm, "Come on, let’s get a drink."

Freddie swallowed hard but followed her to the bar. The bartender, a tall man with a slicked-back pompadour, flashed them a knowing grin as he slid two tumblers of whiskey toward them.

"You’re new," he said to Freddie, his voice lilting with amusement. "Let me guess—first time?"

Freddie exhaled sharply, shifting on his feet, "This isn’t just some bar, though, is it? I mean... what if someone sees me?"

Patty gave him a wry smile, “Freddie, darling, the whole point of this place is that no one’s watching. Not in the way you’re scared of.”

He swallowed, scanning the dimly lit space. His grip on her arm tightened for just a second, “I don’t know if I belong here.”

The bartender chuckled, "Take your time. No one’s going to bite… unless you ask them to."

Patty nearly snorted into her drink, but Freddie was frozen, gripping his glass like it was a lifeline.

"You alright?" she asked, nudging him gently.

Freddie’s eyes darted around the room. He saw two men sitting thigh to thigh in the corner, whispering into each other’s ears. A woman in a sharp suit strode past them, winking at a young girl in a flapper dress. Everything about the space was filled with a kind of electric ease, a rightness that made Freddie’s stomach clench.

Patty leaned in, "It’s a lot, isn’t it?"

He nodded, his throat too tight for words.

She sighed, swirling her whiskey, "Freddie, I brought you here for a reason." Finally, he turned to look at her. "This—" she gestured to the room, the music, the people laughing and existing in a way they never could outside these walls. "—this is yours. Your place. Not mine."

Freddie blinked, "What do you mean?"

Patty smiled, soft and sad, "I mean, I don't belong here, Freddie. But you do. And I think—" she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, "—I think you should come back. On your own."

Freddie let out a shaky breath, "Patty, I don’t know if I can—"

"You can," she interrupted gently. "You spent years pretending, Freddie. You spent years hiding. And maybe this isn’t where you thought you’d end up, but it’s where you can be yourself."

Freddie stared down into his whiskey, his fingers gripping the glass tightly, "I just… I don’t know who I am here," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Patty reached across the bar, placing her hand over his, "Then come back until you find out."

He lifted his gaze, meeting hers. There was something raw in his eyes, something hesitant but yearning.

Patty gave his hand a squeeze before pulling back, "Merry Christmas, Freddie."

For the first time that night, he smiled.

*********

Patty barely had time to process the knock at the door before Alice Witting stepped inside, carrying a tin wrapped with a red ribbon and wearing a smirk that suggested she knew far more than she should.

“Alice!” Patty sighed, shutting the door behind her. "Have you come to threaten me with your baking."

“Oh! Hardly my dear! My rum cake is too delicious for such a fiend,” Alice sauntered into the kitchen, placing the tin on the counter. "Consider it a peace offering."

Patty folded her arms, "Peace? You threatened my family!"

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Patty.” Alice made a dismissive tsk and began untying the ribbon. “I was merely keeping you from making a big deal of something that was not your business." She shot Patty a sly glance, "I suppose you’ve heard about Dean Cash? It seems he got what you wanted without getting anyone else involved.”

Patty exhaled sharply, moving past her to fetch two plates. Alice perched on a stool, crossing her legs with casual elegance.

Patty placed a plate in front of her, waiting, “It’s all such a terrible mess!”

“I enjoyed reading dear Freddie's expose,” Alice took her time, slicing into the cake with precision. "Reginald Cash was always a cold man. Much more concerned with appearances than being a decent father. And Dean? Well… Dean had other inclinations. Messier inclinations."

Patty’s eyes narrowed, "Meaning?"

Alice smirked, licking a stray crumb off her finger, "Meaning, darling, that Dean kept a little hideaway—a charming little apartment filled with all manner of devices." Patty’s stomach twisted, but she said nothing, "His father found out." Alice leaned forward, voice dropping into something hushed, conspiratorial, "And he was disgusted. Not just by the what, but by the who. The women. The Men. It wasn’t done, not in a family of their standing." Patty’s grip tightened around her fork. Alice sighed dramatically, "Reginald Cash planned to have his son corrected. You know, a little time in a special place, the kind that fixes men like him." She tilted her head. "Naturally, Dean didn’t take too kindly to that. And, well…" She twirled her fork through the air. "Bang."

Patty’s jaw clenched, "And Cindy? Where did she fit into all of this?"

"Ah, yes. Cindy. Wrong place, wrong time. Cindy got him on a night when all that control snapped. You know, every time he came to our gatherings, he would hate himself afterwards. I can still see the whip marks to his back…His own retribution for such acts." Alice studied her, eyes glittering, "Now, before you get all moral on me, let’s not pretend you’re completely without curiosity."

Patty’s head snapped up. "Excuse me?" Patty’s cheeks burned. "I am not."

“I see you, Patty! Lusting after the forbidden fruit…yet unable to take once bite in case your whole world crumbles around you,” She dragged her nail along the rim of her glass. "I’ve always wondered how long you’d stay locked away like some vestal virgin." She smirked. "All it takes is the right touch to shatter those…doubts." She sneered, “Maybe one day you’ll join us to find out.” Patty’s lips pressed into a thin line. Alice grinned, "Relax, darling. I’m only teasing. Mostly."

Patty took a steadying breath. Alice smirked, as she licked cake from her finger. Her eyes finding Patty glinting with mischief.

*********

Patty had set out the good china for this one. The scent of gingerbread and strong tea filled the air, mingling with the faint trace of pine from the Christmas tree in the corner. The ladies of the book club gathered in their usual spots, but there was an extra chair this time—one that had never been filled before.

Edith sat stiffly, her hands clasped around the teacup Patty had handed her. Across from her, Ruby leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, her face unreadable. The tension between them was thick enough to slice with a cake knife.

"I wasn’t sure you’d come," Patty said carefully, breaking the silence.

Edith adjusted the pearls around her neck, "Neither was I."

Ruby snorted but said nothing.

Flo cleared her throat, eager to change the subject, "Well, ladies, before we get into today’s literary masterpiece—" she shot Cindy a knowing look, "—let me tell you about my utterly disastrous love affair."

Cindy smirked, sipping her tea, "Oh, this should be good."

Flo sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her chest, "Ladies, you know about my affair with a younger man."

Edith's brow lifted. Her mouth opened in stupefaction. What was she getting herself mixed up in?

Lucy, sitting primly with her legs crossed, scoffed, "There has been talk! Flo, you’ve been shamelessly cavorting about town like a jezebel."

Flo shot her a look, "Let me finish, Duchess." She took a sip of wine, then continued. "This apprentice of mine! Absolute scoundrel. The salon was cleaned out. Not even a curler was left behind. He ripped me off."

Patty gasped, "Flo!"

"Oh, don’t look so horrified." Flo waved a hand, "Yes, he stole everything, but the kitchen sink, and ran off like a rat in the night, but honestly? I don’t regret a thing."

Cindy raised an eyebrow, "Really?"

Flo grinned, leaning forward, "He gave me the best orgasm of my life. Twice."

Edith choked on her tea.

Lucy made a sound of disapproval, "Honestly, Flo—have some decorum.”

Flo shrugged, "It was worth every penny."

Ruby chuckled, shaking her head. Even Edith, despite herself, looked mildly amused. Patty just sat there imaging how many china cups, Flo, had thrown at that door. She was calm now but knew that kind of betrayal would have caused quite an upset.

Patty smiled, grateful for the light-hearted moment. Then she turned to Cindy, "Cindy! How does it feel to be a published writer?"

Cindy hesitated for a moment before pulling out a folded newspaper from her handbag. "They printed my piece in the National Review." Cindy slapped the newspaper onto the table with theatrical flair, “Well, ladies, I’ve finally done it.”

Flo snorted. “Oh? What? No scandalous confessions or steamy exposés! Or forward-thinking ideas about female sensuality?”

Cindy wagged a finger, “Not this time. Turns out, they’ll print my thoughts on women’s labor, but heaven forbid I write about what women desire behind closed doors. You got to pick you battles one story at a time.”

Lucy adjusted her glasses, "It was… thought-provoking."

“High praise,” Ruby muttered.

The women leaned in as she smoothed it out on the table. The headline read: "The Unseen Labor of Women: A Revolution in the Making."

Lucy smiled, "I must say, you surprised me. I was expecting something…more scandalous…Kinsey smut."

Cindy smirked, "Don’t worry, Lucy. I’ll get there."

Patty beamed, "I’m proud of you, Cindy. Truly."

Cindy’s smirk softened, "Thanks, Patty."

A moment of warmth passed between them before Edith shifted in her seat. "I read it," she said suddenly. All eyes turned to her. "It was… well-written," she admitted. "Insightful."

Ruby arched a brow, "I wouldn't expect that from someone so rigid they could give their iron board a run for their money."

Edith met her gaze, her expression unreadable, "It made me think." She set her cup down, "Which, I suppose, is the point of good writing."

A strange silence settled between them. Not quite friendship, but not outright hostility either.

Flo smirked, “Lucy, I hear you’ve finally left your sister’s place."

Lucy sniffed, "I chose to move out."

Flo's eyes twinkled with mischief, "I heard differently. Not everyone enjoys a sermon every other day."

Lucy scowled, “Well, if she will not take my advice than the silly beast is doomed to repeat her poor choices in life.”

Patty leaned in, "So, where are you now?"

Lucy lifted her chin, "I have a flat." She said it like it was the grandest thing in the world, "And a job."

Flo gasped mockingly, "A job? The mighty Lucy has been forced to work?"

Lucy scowled, "I am a secretary at a very respectable firm."

Patty bit back a grin, "And how are you finding it?"

Lucy sniffed, "Tiresome. But necessary."

Flo chuckled, "Welcome to the real world, Duchess."

Lucy rolled her eyes, “And what of you, dear Patty, what of this studying? Anyone would think you were a man.”

“My brain feels like I have stuck my finger into the power socket. I am certainly being tested mentally,” Patty said, her voice carrying a new sense of conviction. "At first, I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into, but now… I see things differently. The way the world works. The way we, as women, have been conditioned to accept certain roles without question."

Flo scoffed. "I could have told you that."

Patty smirked. "Yes, but now I have academic backing to argue about it."

Lucy grinned. "And what exactly do you plan to do with all this newfound knowledge?"

Patty exhaled. "I don’t know yet. But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I have something that’s just mine."

The women nodded, understanding.

Patty reached behind her chair, pulling out their next read. "I have one last thing." She revealed a copy of Pride and Prejudice—Myra’s favorite book. Lucy’s lips thinned; her eyes glassy. Flo reached for her wine, as if bracing herself. Patty smiled gently. "It feels right that our next read is one of Myra’s favourite books.”

Cindy reached for her copy, running her fingers over the cover. "I think she would have liked this."

Patty nodded. "I think so too."

Flo raised her glass. "To Myra."

The women echoed the toast, their voices soft but firm.

As they drank, Patty looked around the table. This group had changed. They had all changed. But they were still here. And somehow, despite everything, they would carry on.

*********

The house was bursting with the scent of glazed ham, roasting potatoes, and the slightly singed edges of Patty’s well-intentioned but overambitious Christmas pudding. Her pudding would have never turned out like this while she was taking those pills. Patty also no longer felt the need to crucifix herself over the less than perfect pudding. It was just a mistake. She could live with it.

The dining table was a glorious mess of mismatched Christmas crackers, half-filled glasses of sherry, and a ham that Freddie was carving with precise strokes.

Margaret sat at the head of the table, her presence commanding yet unreadable. Diana swallowed, steeling herself for the first proper conversation with her mother in years.

Patty, ever the peacekeeper, filled the silence, “Well, let’s eat before this lot starts picking at the tablecloth out of hunger.”

As plates were passed and glasses topped up, Patty leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “I’ve been meaning to tell you Diana—my latest correspondence course is absolutely fascinating.”

Diana smirked. “Social studies? You’re studying society now?”

“Yes, and let me tell you, the way our communities’ function, the power structures, the unspoken rules—it's all very illuminating.”

Diana couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure it is.”

Margaret cleared her throat trying to figure out how to approach the subject. She was worried about Diana’s choices in life. She had no stability. No foundations especially after Frank died, “Diana, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve been drinking tea with mystics in Mumbai. Are you chasing enlightenment?”

Diana didn’t flinch. “No, just stopping long enough to breathe.”

Margaret hummed, “Well, at least you haven’t joined a cult. I worry you’re too much of a gypsy now days.”

“I am just living my life,” Diana interjected, a little frustrated, “But you could be right.” She sighed, “Mumbai made me stop and think about my decisions in life.” She paused, taking a sip of wine, “I somehow got swept up by this group of eccentric bohemians who insisted I meet this guru, Pranav? Apparently, Pranav means sacred sound or primordial mantra in Sanskrit.”

Patty snorted. “Of course, you did.”

“Guru Pranav lived in this tiny house at the edge of the city, walls covered in faded tapestries, books stacked to the ceiling—very mysterious, very wise. And he served me tea so strong I thought I’d met my ancestors.”

Patty’s brow furrowed, “Was it spiked?”

“No, just profoundly caffeinated,” Diana said with a grin. “Anyway, we talked. Well, mostly, he talked. He told me I had been running my whole life, always looking for the next thing, the next place, the next adventure, like I was afraid of standing still. And I thought, well, that’s ridiculous—until I realized he was right. I had spent the entire year jetting from country to country, chasing experiences, but never really stopping to feel any of it.”

Patty gave her a long, knowing look, “And what did you decide?”

“That maybe stillness isn’t the same as being stuck,” Diana admitted. “That maybe, for once, I should actually take a moment to breathe.” She gestured around at the kitchen, at the warm, cozy familiarity of home. “Which is why I have returned.”

Patty smirked, “Did he tell you anything else?”

Diana hesitated, then smiled. “Yes. He told me that wherever I go, I should always carry my own tea.” She pulled a small pouch from her handbag and placed it on the table. “So, I brought some for us.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a clever way of telling someone to stop holding onto the past.”

Diana met her gaze. “Something like that.”

Patty, sensing the moment teetering on something too deep, interrupted. “Speaking of the past, Mum, you simply must share the latest gossip from back home. I need something scandalous to get me through the afternoon.”

Margaret perked up, her face alight with mischief. “Well, you’ll never believe it, but Mrs. Cummings from two doors down? Turns out she’s been running an underground gin operation from her laundry room.”

Teddy’s eyes widened. “No way.”

“Oh yes,” Margaret said, taking another sip of tea. “The women from her bridge club were her biggest customers. But it all came crashing down when old Mr. Davies mistook a bottle for tonic water and passed out in the middle of Sunday service.”

The table erupted into laughter, and for a moment, the tension between Diana and Margaret softened, replaced by the warmth of shared absurdity.

Patty set the tea down and leaned in, lowering her voice. “Speaking of disappearances, I’ve still not heard anything from Betty, but we often see her husband’s goons drive by the house.”

Diana raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So what was the husband like? You mentioned him briefly on the phone.”

“Intimating!” Patty said. “I have to admit a little bit of wee come out while facing him.”

Diana laughed, “And how long were you under that car before they left?”

“A few minutes! I didn’t dare breathe. I never intended to become Lois Lane,” Patty said, rolling her eyes. “It just happened that way. Honestly, I couldn’t stand by while some young kid was stuck in the boot.”

“Oh Patty! You used to think my life was so much more exciting than yours, now look at you? Outwitting thugs,” Diana grinned. She lifted her teacup in a toast. “To reinvention, resilience, and whatever on earth Betty is up to.”

Teddy, who had been waiting for his moment, suddenly sat up straighter. “By the way, I’ve been working on something. A comic. It’s going to be a whole series.” He pulled a few illustrated pages from under his chair and spread them across the table. “It’s about a masked detective in a futuristic city who solves crimes that the police won’t touch.”

Diana leaned in, examining the sketches, “Teddy, these are incredible.”

He beamed, looking both pleased and nervous, “I’m thinking of sending them to a publisher.”

Margaret nodded approvingly, “Ambitious. I like that.”

Lizzy, not to be outdone, waved her fork excitedly. “And I’m planning my science experiment for the National Science Prize next year!”

“Oh?” Diana grinned. “And what will it be?”

Lizzy’s eyes shone with determination. “I am working on a chemical formula to give my propulsion rocket height and stability.”

Freddie chuckled. “The cubby house will never be the same again.”

The afternoon stretched on with too much food, too much wine, and the comfort of family. Margaret and Diana’s conversation remained careful, but there were small, hopeful exchanges—a passing of the bread, a nod of agreement, a fleeting smile.

Patty lifted her own cup in agreement. She no longer felt envious of her sister. All those frustrations had diminished along with her need to take happy pills.

Patty collected the dirty plates and removed them from the table. She turned on the tap, letting the water splash into the sink. She looked out the window and grinned, “Oh, don’t think I’ve forgotten about you lot,” she murmured, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’ve been here all along, haven’t you? My invisible confidants. My audience.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, what a time we’ve had. Who’d have thought, hmm? I certainly didn’t.” She picked up a plate, scrubbing it with steady hands, “I suppose this is where I tell you it all worked out in the end. That everything is neat and tidy. But you know better.” She smirked. “It never really ends, does it?” She reached for a glass, “Merry Christmas, my dears. Now, if you’ll excuse me, these dishes won’t wash themselves.”

With a final wink, she turned back to the sink.

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