Part Two - Dark Under Currents

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

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

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

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

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

She glanced out the window, “There goes Betty again, parading her so-called nephew about the neighbourhood. He turned up yesterday.” Patty muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing with thinly veiled skepticism. “I smell something fishy just like a husband suddenly rising from the dead.” Patty backed away from the window, “Just looking at the woman gives me the urge to slap her.”

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

Yesterday, Patty found him sprawled out in Betty’s backyard, shirtless and soaking up the sun with the nonchalant confidence of someone who knew he was being watched.

His motorcycle, a sleek machine polished to a mirror shine, was his pride and joy, often receiving meticulous attention under the shade of a large gum tree.

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

Patty mused, enjoying the last dregs of her high ball. “I guess she won’t be pestering my Freddie any time soon.”

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Patty, I’m almost done here,” Freddie replied, looking up with genuine confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*********

That evening, after her pills finally took hold washing away her longings, and the house was unusually quiet. Patty sat in the living room, folding laundry. Freddie had gone for a beer with Phil and her children were once more down at the river.

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

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

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Teddy snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

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

Angelo laughed. “He does wear a lot of purple.”

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

“To be fair, that is more my opinion than the book,” Syd replied, slapping Teddy on the arm, “I got a rise out of you though. No hard feelings?” Teddy caved at that smile before Syd continued on. “I just think it’s funny how scared adults are of something they don’t understand.”

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

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

*Damper made from flour, water and a bit of salt mixed together into a dough than cooked in the coals of a campfire in tin foil. Damper was usually served with butter. Otherwise known as 'Bread of the bush'.

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

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

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

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

“That’s so cool!” Gina said, her admiration evident. “I wish I knew stuff like that.”

“Why don’t you?”

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

“But you don’t have to,” Lizzy grinned.

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

“A husband! But we’re still kids!”

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

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

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

“You know, my grandfather used to tell me stories about the island,” Syd said, nodding toward the overgrown mass of bushes and reeds.

“What kind of stories?” Teddy asked, intrigued.

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

Gina looked up, her eyes wide. “Like mermaids?”

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

“Great,” Angelo muttered, shaking his head. “Now every time I take a leak, I’ll think something might try to grab me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Teddy tensed, his shoulders stiffening.

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

Lizzy stood abruptly; her hands clenched into fists, “Why don’t you two get lost?”

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

Angelo’s expression darkened, “Why don’t you leave before I knock your block off?”

Reece laughed, “Maybe your sister should trade her skirt for your pants.”

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

Gina snickered, and Syd grinned.

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

Simo’s face reddened. “Shut up!”

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

“Shut up!” Simo’s face darkened. “That didn’t happen. You’re full of it, Love.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, please,” Simo scoffed. “What are you gonna do?”

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

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

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

“You’ve got quite the arm, Lizzy,” Angelo said, grinning.

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

“I’m gonna enjoy hangin with you kids,” Angelo said. “Best day I’ve had since coming here.”

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

*********

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

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

No one spoke of it, of course. The treatment they received in that house. The bruises, the shouting—they were secrets buried beneath layers of politeness and pressed linens.

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

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