The Deep End—S3¶
—Robyn —¶
😄🧵💛👭 💞 🖤 🍓 🌶 🚪 🔑 🛋 🫧 🌩 🌧 🧵 🪡 👗 👚 👜 👠 🩰 💄 💋 🎻 📒 ✂ 🩸 💧 🚺 ⚧ ♀ ⚜
Scene 03¶
☕🧠💻 ꧁ 🪷 🌷 🌸 🌺 🦩 ꧂——
[26-03-03]
[ Charli ]
Beat 1—Entry
I walked as tall as I could past the tradies along the unfinished street, trying to avoid the mud-puddles., My eyes were dry, scratchy from lack of sleep. I idly scratched a mosquito bite as I leapt from one dry patch of cobblestone to another, my hair doing its best to come undone from my hasty updo on the way out the door, hasty, because I had overslept.
Beat 2—Inciting Shift (PRIMARY)
Sarah was already there; introduced me to Brittany, Ellie and Natalie. I smiled bravely. The girls asked questions. I produced a paper with an outline and started to write the questions down.
Beat 3—Internal Calibration
The new wardrobe was dusty, with workmen talking loudly, drills growling at the walls, a skill-saw whining at a piece of plywood, a decisive hammer driving a point home. The ache in my stomach was not because it was empty, but from the heat of talking to new people. My ribs loosened more and more: Brittany smiling at me easily with kind eyes, my shoulders eased slowly down: the girls listened closely, leaning towards me with wide eyes.
Beat 4—Choice
At morning tea, Brittany sat next to me. Asked me a million questions.
Beat 5—Power Adjustment (TURN)
My entire body relaxed around Brittany. A warmth grew deep inside every time I heard her easy laugh, her bright eyes sparkling.
Sarah noticed it. She distanced herself more. I saw less of her.
Beat 6—Exit Note
I waved Brittany goodbye as she drove off with her workmates in her little mauve Dolphin with a little sigh, part of me wanting to be in that little car.
First Pass¶
[26-03-03]
🌷 🌸 🌺 Brittany 🌷 🌸 🌺
Beat 1—Entry
Sunshine can be cruel.
My eyes stung as I rolled away from the searing brightness, then suddenly sat bolt upright, my heart trying to exit my chest. I glared balefully at my phone and tapped the screen with an irritated finger.
And closed my eyes. Dead. Not plugged in.
My clothing resisted me, and the pins I hurriedly stuck into my hair seemed intent on punishing me. Grabbing the clipboard and my keys, I fled out the door. A glance at the kitchen clock gave my feet wings.
It was not far from the flat to the Faire site. The sun had done its duty waking me and had settled behind some clouds that promised rain. I entered the site. Last night's shower had turned dust to slime. Jerkily, I picked my way as quickly as I could manage along an unfinished cobblestone street. Large workmen stood staring at me. Every instinct said shrink. I clamped my teeth together, hard, squared my shoulders and strode. Strode avoiding mud, but with head held high, wearing my best commuter face. Every step I took held more impact.
Beat 2—Inciting Shift (PRIMARY)
Sarah was already there; introduced me to Brittany, Ellie and Natalie. I smiled bravely. The girls asked questions. I produced a paper with an outline and started to write the questions down.
Beat 3—Internal Calibration
The new wardrobe was dusty, with workmen talking loudly, drills growling at the walls, a skill-saw whining at a piece of plywood, a decisive hammer driving a point home. The ache in my stomach was not because it was empty, but from the heat of talking to new people. My ribs loosened more and more: Brittany smiling at me easily with kind eyes, my shoulders eased slowly down: the girls listened closely, leaning towards me with wide eyes.
Beat 4—Choice
At morning tea, Brittany sat next to me. Asked me a million questions.
Beat 5—Power Adjustment (TURN)
My entire body relaxed around Brittany. A warmth grew deep inside every time I heard her easy laugh, her bright eyes sparkling.
Sarah noticed it. She distanced herself more. I saw less of her.
Beat 6—Exit Note
I waved Brittany goodbye as she drove off with her workmates in her little mauve Dolphin with a little sigh, part of me wanting to be in that little car.
Scene 3¶
Prose Try 1¶
Highlighted = Review/Change
The sun drove hot needles into dry eyes. I squinted and rolled away, then sat bolt upright.
Reached for my phone. Tapped.
Dead.
Heart thudding in my throat, I pulled on black leggings and green smock. The pins I'd shoved into my hair clawed at my scalp. I glanced at the kitchenette clock, clutched the training clipboard and my keys and ran out the door.
Last night's shower had lubricated the clay-covered stones. My thin-soled shoes slid on slippery cobblestone as I hurried past workmen. One nudged the other. Their eyes stuck.
My neck shortened.
Jaw set, I tucked my chin.
I didn't run. I didn't slow, just lengthened my stride until I reached Wardrobe.
I pushed the door in and stepped into grit and noise. Dust and body odour bit my nose. Drills whined and circular saws screamed, the noise vibrated in my teeth. The workmen didn't even glance at me.
I saw Fiona and Sarah at the far end and my breathing eased.
"Sorry I'm late, my phone…"
Fiona smiled, shook her head.
"It's all good, Charli," she said. "Brittany and her troupe aren't here yet. Besides, I'm not sure how much work anyone is going to be able to do, today." She shrugged and grinned at Sarah and an electrician. The 'sparkie' was wiping sweat from his neck. "Except Sarah, of course. Ah! Brittany!"
I turned. Three young women were approaching. The shortest one wore a lopsided smile. She ducked her head.
"Sorry, Fiona.."
Fiona held up her hand, then waved it at the dust and racket.
"Can't even hear myself think in this mess. Why don't you girls go grab a coffee somewhere? Like, Montville… there's that lovely café you told me about. 'Poets', wasn't it?" She placed a gently hand on my shoulder. "Take Charli with you."
I bit my lip.
"Um, I forgot my purse…"
"Not to worry. My shout," Brittany said easily. "Do you want to leave your clipboard?"
"I'll take care of that for you," Fiona said. "You girls run along. Enjoy your coffee."
I tried to catch Sarah's eye. Failed.
Fiona noticed.
“I’ll let Sarah know where you are,” Fiona said. "Run along, now."
As we approached Brittany's car, my jaw dropped.
"Wow! It's so pretty," I said.
"And, it's electric," Brittany said proudly as we climbed in. After the dust and sweat, the car not only smelled new, but pleasant— gentler than I expected. "Seatbelts."
The windows shut out construction noise and morning heat. We floated out of the carpark, the turn indicator clicking softly as we turned onto the main road.
The tyres made a steady hush on the ridge road to Montville. Green paddocks streamed past my window, and every so often the land fell away into cliff and cloud. Behind me, one of the women finally spoke.
"Hi, I'm Natalie," she said.
"Sorry I can't shake your hand," I said. "I'm Charli."
I caught Brittany's lips twist a bit funny.
"The shy one is Ellen," she said.
"Ellie!" the shy one protested. I turned and smiled, tiny wave.
"How are you liking Queensland?" asked Natalie.
"Your mosquitoes are bloodthirsty!" I said. "The itch is awful, and you don't even see them biting."
The bite on my wrist was a round red dot. Brittany glanced over, shook her head.
"Those aren't mozzie bites, Charli. They're from midges. They're worse!"
I stared out the window and ignored the itch.
"Queensland is beautiful… so lush and green."
"You got here during our wet season," Ellie said. "Green hills, mozzies, midges… all goes together."
The car stopped in front of a Salvation Army store. My hands searched for something that wasn’t there. I checked my hair in the visor mirror. As I got out, a middle-aged woman in a paisley caftan exited the store and smiled at me, her auburn Carole King hair radiating from her head. I smiled back.
"Very alternative town," Brittany murmured as we crossed the street. "I love it here."
An elderly couple sat near the entrance, carefully spreading jam on their scones as if nothing in the world required haste.
I was studying the chalkboard when Brittany spoke.
"What'll you have, Charli?"
I bit my lip. "Just um… just a small flat white, thanks. Oh, with almond milk, please." Heat rose in my neck. "And, thank you!"
Brittany nodded.
"Why don't you find us a nice table, Charli? Natalie and I can manage the drinks. Be with you in just a few."
Ellie and I sat down under a fan doing its best to even out the morning warmth. Brittany and Natalie appeared moments later.
"The barista said he'll bring our order out." She settled comfortably into her chair and leaned her cheek against her curled fingers. "So, tell us, Charli, how did you get into this job?"
I stared at the table.
"Well, it was a summer job thing…" I began, licking my lips. I looked up at Brittany's expectant face. "I mean, my Mum had me do some sewing before, so that helped." Brittany's eyebrows asked for more. “I guess I like figuring out how things fit together.”
"So, are you a costume designer?"
"Not really. I do repairs, and I'm a tester for new designs…" My breath caught.
"A tester?"
I bit a nail. Nodded quickly.
"Well, yeah." Her eyes flicked from one face to another. "Things like stays are impossible to get right at the first go."
"What's a 'stay'?" Ellie asked.
"It's sort-of like a corset. But isn't. It's supportive, not as constricting."
"Do our costumes include stays?" asked Natalie.
"Stays are from the seventeen hundreds. This Faire is historically set in the eighteen-thirties… so no. Technically, corsets." The women groaned. "But, we designed them for movement and breath," I said. "We were thinking of your humidity and everything. And they're not 'one size fits all'." The grimacing eased a fraction.
"Look, I get we won't be wearing them, except for testing," Brittany said. "But the actresses would whinge if the costumes are too uncomfortable. By the way, what are they made of?"
"A sort of cotton called 'coutil', and linen. And some light boning for structure."
"Have you worn one? Like, all day?" Ellie asked.
I nodded.
"I had to test every costume for at least a day, sometimes for longer, just to check seams and all that. So yeah, I wore one. And it was not tailored for me, either."
I bit the inside of my mouth. Brittany's eyebrows shot up.
"What do you mean?"
I held my breath for a long moment.
"We do special fittings if needed," I said. My lips stayed parted. I flicked a glance at Brittany. Her lower lip rose briefly into a puzzled frown and then she gave a tiny shrug.
I exhaled slowly as our coffees arrived. The barista had a white towel draped over his left forearm.
"Voilà, mesdemoiselles," he said. "I have an iced coffee… two Cappuccinos… and, a small almond flat white for?" My hand went up and down quickly. "You are… on holidays?"
"No, I'm here for work," I said with furtive glances in his direction. "You know, the new…"
"This Cappuccino is superb!" Brittany cut in. "I'm impressed!"
"Thank you! Will there be anything else?" he asked. I stared at my flat white, lips tight. Footfalls receded into the café. When I looked up, Brittany was eyeing me, her lips set in almost exactly the same curve as Sarah's yesterday. I grimaced. Brittany's smile broadened.
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
"I didn't realise your Wardrobe actually designed costumes," Brittany said. "Like, make your own patterns and everything?"
My chest eased. Slightly. My mouth tried a smile.
"Yes, we took a lot of museum images and Celeste drafted a rough pattern."
I stopped.
Brittany's eyes softened at the name, searching my face. My hands circled the warm cup. I felt heat build up behind my eyelids. A loud motorcycle roared by. I snorted.
"Sorry, just thinking of home," I said.
"Homesick already? You just got here!" Ellie said. I grinned at her.
"Designing costumes sounds exciting," Brittany said, taking a sip of her Cappuccino. "Would you suggest going to design school for costumes?"
"Yes, I would. Celeste didn't, though," I said. "She's just really clever. Mara taught her. She's our designer."
"Do you think Mara would teach me, Charli?"
I swallowed. "Well, I can't speak for Mara, but I'm pretty sure something could be worked out. For now, the focus is on costume maintenance and repair, which is what I'm here to help with."
"But wait. You were a tester," Natalie cut in. "No offence, but how would you know how to repair costumes?"
"I ended up testing costumes because I could tell where the weak spots were, but I started by repairing. My Mum taught me how best to make a seam stronger."
Brittany nodded, staring at a spot in front of her for a moment. Then her chin rose and a frown crossed her face.
"So, it's about seams?" Ellie asked.
"Yes. Keep seams flat, do not stitch in desperation, and the actresses' dresses won't fall off their bodies. That's it."
"Sounds easy," Natalie said.
"There's probably more to it than that," Brittany said with a huff.
When we got back to the car, I asked:
"When do you think we can actually get to work in the new Wardrobe? Any idea when it'll be ready?"
Brittany shrugged.
"I hate this sitting around," she said, shaking her head. "You can go for just so many coffees."
I stared out the window for a while as we drove back, gazing down on the lush pastureland.
My hands opened before me.
"Brittany, is there any reason we have to do those first training sessions in Wardrobe?"
She stared at the road, her lower lip pushing up a pout.
"Where do you suggest?"
"Look, all we really need is a costume and a clean room with a table and chairs."
"The costumes are meant to get here this arvo," Ellie piped up.
"So, just a clean room."
Fiona's office smelled of fresh plaster and wood dust. We had just settled into chairs when through the open window I heard a large diesel engine.
Beep-beep-beep.
Brittany's face snapped to the window.
"Our costumes!"
Fiona was standing in the loading dock, hands on hips.
"I'm going to need two of you to help Sarah," she said. "Brit, why don't you stay with Charli, make a start on your training? You'll be in charge of that part of Wardrobe, so I need you up to speed as soon as possible."
I stepped forward.
"Could we help unload a bit as well?" I asked. "I sort-of need to have a costume to demonstrate things."
Fiona had that Wardrobe face on—the one that didn’t invite discussion.
"We will bring one to you," she said.
In Fiona's office, I stared at my notes. The page suddenly looked… ambitious. I flicked a glance at Brittany. Her lips moved into a quick smile, her eyes on me, not on the clipboard. Studying.
I pulled in an unsteady breath.
"Our focus today is going to be on seams. That's where garments fail, if they fail," I said. A pause. Brittany's eyebrows rose.
"If."
"We spent a lot of time testing. Which meant wearing the costume during the day doing all sorts of things. Lifting, bending, carrying. And even having someone pulling at the clothing, because… people do. If we saw a seam that was weak, we first tried reinforcing. But sometimes, we had to re-design it for women today, which are different to the 19th century."
"How?"
"Well, people were smaller. Like, physically. To design for—like, today's well-nourished young woman…" Brittany giggled. "What?"
"Well-nourished! That's such a nice way to say—." She pursed her lips with a side-long glance. I shrugged.
"I could test for only a certain body type. I hope to have caught all the likely issues. But, well…"
Brittany nodded.
"We won't know until the actresses have worn them for a while," she said.
"That's right," I agreed. "And then, when they come in with a split seam, here's what to look for—" I began.
"What, what? If a seam is split, we just repair it, right?"
"Well, you actually want to document it," I said. "Take pictures. Write down as many details as possible: who was wearing it, what were they doing. That sort of thing. If a garment keeps failing at the same spot, the designers need to know."
"Oh." Her mouth stayed open, for a moment, and she smiled. "And so, we tell you about it?"
"Oh yes!"
"You have quite a system." Her voice was warm.
I looked down for a moment, because meeting her gaze felt like stepping on a stage.
"So I document it," Brittany said, "and if it keeps happening, I call you."
"Or email," I said. "Probably email."
“Email,” she echoed, like she was filing it away. She picked at the hem of her smock, then let it fall.
“I hate being new,” she said. “Not the work. The… feeling like everyone can tell I’m trying too hard.”
I smiled, because it was either that or confess I was doing the same thing with my ribs.
Brittany looked up. “You don’t look like you’re trying too hard.”
“I did,” I said. “At first.”
Brittany leaned against the table, her head in her hands. "How long have you been doing this?"
"A while."
"And before? Was this your first job?"
"No, I worked in maint…" The word snagged like thread on a burr.
Brittany didn’t pounce. She just tipped her head a fraction. “Maint…?”
Heat climbed my throat. I stared at my notes as if they’d suddenly become urgent. My breath went thin.
A pause. The room didn’t move. Even the air-con sounded too loud.
“Maintenance?” she said finally—not accusing, just naming.
My neck tucked in on itself. When I exhaled, it shook.
“Yes,” I said.
Brittany’s expression didn’t change, but something in her softened at the edges.
“Oh, okay,” she said quietly. "Cool.”
Outside, the delivery van's diesel engine coughed to life, growled and cleared its throat.
“I’m not judging,” she added quickly, and then, with a little huff, “I was a tomboy for years. Board-shorts, surfing Bondi, black eyes. Wore my hair so short Mum used to think I liked girls.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Brittany smiled, but my cheeks burned anyway—not from shame, but from being seen.
“Liking girls is cool,” I said.
Brittany nodded. “True," she said, her eyes bright. "Girls like Celeste?”
The door swung open.
Fiona came in with a complete costume draped over her arms like it weighed nothing. Natalie and Ellie followed, each with a box of accessories pressed to her hip. The room filled up in three steps: fabric, cardboard, other people’s air.
My lungs finally remembered how to work. I let out a long breath that felt like it had been waiting behind my ribs for minutes.
Fiona’s gaze flicked from Brittany to me to the notes on the table—quick, competent inventory—then back to the costume.
“Right,” she said, brisk. “You wanted something to demonstrate with.”
Brittany didn’t look at Fiona. She didn’t look at the costume.
She looked at me.
Her eyes said, I’m glad for that, for you.
Published¶
6-Mar-2026¶
🌸 Brittany 🌸
[ Charli ]
The sun drove hot needles into dry eyes. I squinted and rolled away, then sat bolt upright.
Reached for my phone. Tapped.
Dead.
Heart thudding in my throat, I pulled on black leggings and green smock. The pins I'd shoved into my hair clawed at my scalp. I glanced at the kitchenette clock, clutched the training clipboard and keys and ran out the door.
Last night's shower had slicked the clay-covered stones. My thin-soled shoes slid on slippery
Les Mis Hist. Faire - Building Plant cobblestone as I hurried past workmen. One nudged the other. Their eyes stuck.
My neck shortened.
Jaw set, I tucked my chin.
I didn't run or slow, but lengthened my stride until I reached Wardrobe.
I pushed the door in and stepped into grit and noise. Dust and stale sweat bit my nose. Drills whined and circular saws screamed, the noise vibrated in my teeth. The workmen didn't even glance at me.
I saw Fiona and Sarah at the far end and my breathing eased.
"Sorry I'm late, my phone…"
Fiona smiled, shook her head.
"It's all good, Charli," she said. "Brittany and her troupe aren't here yet. Besides, I'm not sure how much work anyone is going to be able to do, today." She shrugged and grinned at Sarah and an electrician. The 'sparkie' was wiping sweat from his neck. "Except Sarah, of course. Ah! Brittany!"
I turned. Three young women were approaching. The shortest one wore a lopsided smile. She ducked her head.
"Sorry, Fiona.."
Fiona held up her hand, then waved it at the dust and racket.
"Can't even hear myself think in this mess. Why don't you girls go grab a coffee somewhere? Like, Montville… there's that lovely café you told me about. 'Poets', wasn't it?" She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Take Charli with you."
I bit my lip.
"Um, I forgot my purse…"
"Not to worry. My shout," Brittany said easily. "Do you want to leave your clipboard?"
"I'll take care of that for you," Fiona said. "You girls run along. Enjoy your coffee."
I tried to catch Sarah's eye. Failed.
Fiona noticed.
“I’ll let Sarah know where you are,” Fiona said. "Run along, now."
As we approached Brittany's car, my jaw dropped.
"Wow! It's so pretty," I said.
"And, it's electric," Brittany said proudly as we climbed in. After the dust and sweat, the car not only smelled new, but pleasant—cozy. "Seatbelts."
The windows shut out construction noise and morning heat. We floated out of the carpark, the turn indicator clicking softly as we turned onto the main road.
The tyres made a steady hush on the ridge road to Montville. Green paddocks streamed past my window, and every so often the land fell away into cliff and cloud. Behind me, one of the women finally spoke.
"Hi, I'm Natalie," she said.
"Nice to meet you. Sorry I can't shake your hand," I said. "I'm Charli."
I caught Brittany's lips twist a bit funny.
"The shy one is Ellen," she said.
"Ellie!" the shy one protested. I turned and smiled, tiny wave.
"How are you liking Queensland?" asked Natalie.
"Your mosquitoes are bloodthirsty!" I said. "The itch is awful, and you don't even see them biting."
The bite on my wrist was a round red dot. Brittany glanced over, shook her head.
"That's not a mozzie bite, Charli. That's from a midge. They're worse!"
I stared out the window, trying to ignore the itch.
"Queensland is beautiful… so lush and green," I said.
"You got here during our wet season," Ellie said. "Green hills, mozzies, midges… all goes together."
The car stopped opposite Poets, outside a Salvos. My hands searched for something that wasn’t there. I checked my hair in the visor mirror. As I got out, a middle-aged woman in a paisley caftan exited the store and smiled at me, her auburn Carole King hair radiating from her head. I smiled back.
"Very alternative town," Brittany murmured as we crossed the street. "I love it here."
An elderly couple sat near the entrance of the café, carefully spreading jam on their scones as if nothing in the world required haste.
I was studying the chalkboard when Brittany spoke.
"What'll you have, Charli?"
I bit my lip. "Just um… just a small flat white, thanks. Oh, with almond milk, please." Heat rose in my neck. "And, thank you!"
Brittany nodded.
"Why don't you and Ellie find us a nice table, Charli? Natalie and I can manage the drinks. Be with you in just a few."
Ellie and I sat down under a fan doing its best to even out the morning warmth. Brittany and Natalie appeared moments later.
"The barista said he'll bring our order out." She settled comfortably into her chair and leaned her cheek against her curled fingers. "So, tell us, Charli, how did you get into this job?"
I stared at the table.
Charli and the new Wardrobe girls
"Well, it was a summer job thing…" I began, licking my lips. I looked up at Brittany's expectant face. "I mean, my Mum had me do some sewing before, so that helped." Brittany's eyebrows asked for more. “I guess I like figuring out how things fit together.”
"So, are you a costume designer?"
"Not really. I do repairs, and I'm a tester for new designs…"
"A tester?"
I bit a nail. Nodded quickly.
"Well, yeah." Her eyes flicked from one face to another. "Things like stays are impossible to get right at the first go."
"What's a 'stay'?" Ellie asked.
"It's sort-of like a corset. But isn't. It's supportive, not as constricting."
"Do our costumes include stays?" asked Natalie.
"Stays are from the 1700s. This Faire is historically set in the 1830s… so no. Technically, corsets." The women groaned. "But, we designed them for movement and breath," I said. "We were thinking of your humidity and everything. And they're not 'one size fits all'." The grimacing eased a fraction.
"Look, I get we won't be wearing them, except for testing," Brittany said. "But the actresses would whinge if the costumes are too uncomfortable. By the way, what are they made of?"
"A sort of cotton called 'coutil', and linen. And some light boning for structure."
"Have you worn one? Like, all day?" Ellie asked.
I nodded.
"I had to test every costume for at least a day, sometimes for longer, just to check seams and all that. So yeah, I wore one. And it was not tailored for me, either."
I bit the inside of my mouth. Brittany's eyebrows shot up.
"What do you mean?"
I held my breath for a long moment.
"We do special fittings if needed," I said. My lips stayed parted. I flicked a glance at Brittany. Her lower lip rose briefly into a puzzled frown and then she gave a tiny shrug.
I exhaled slowly as our coffees arrived. The barista had a white towel draped over his left forearm.
"Voilà, mesdemoiselles," he said. "I have an iced coffee… two Cappuccinos… and, a small almond flat white for?" My hand went up and down quickly. "You are… on holidays?"
"No, I'm here for work," I said with furtive glances in his direction. "You know, the new…"
"This Cappuccino is superb!" Brittany cut in. "I'm impressed!"
"Thank you! Will there be anything else?" he asked. I stared at my flat white, lips tight. Footfalls receded into the café. When I looked up, Brittany was eyeing me, her lips set in almost exactly the same curve as Sarah's yesterday. I grimaced. Brittany's smile broadened.
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
"I didn't realise your Wardrobe actually designed costumes," Brittany said. "Like, make your own patterns and everything?"
My chest eased. Slightly. My mouth tried a smile.
"Yes, we took a lot of museum images and Celeste drafted a rough pattern."
I stopped.
Brittany's eyes softened at the name, searching my face. My hands circled the warm cup. I felt heat build up behind my eyelids. A loud motorcycle roared by. I snorted.
"Sorry, just thinking of home," I said.
"Homesick already? You just got here!" Ellie said. I grinned at her.
"Designing costumes sounds exciting," Brittany said, taking a sip of her Cappuccino. "Would you suggest going to design school for costumes?"
"Yes, I would. Celeste didn't, though," I said. "She's just really clever. Mara taught her. She's our designer."
"Do you think Mara would teach me, Charli?"
I swallowed. "Well, I can't speak for Mara, but I'm pretty sure something could be worked out. For now, the focus is on costume maintenance and repair, which is what I'm here to help with."
"But wait. You were a tester," Natalie cut in. "No offence, but how would you know how to repair costumes?"
"I ended up testing costumes because I could tell where the weak spots were, but I started by repairing. My Mum taught me how best to make a seam stronger."
Brittany nodded, staring at a spot in front of her for a moment. Then her chin rose and a frown crossed her face.
"So, it's all about seams, then?" Ellie asked.
"Yes. Keep seams flat, do not stitch in desperation, and the actresses' dresses won't fall off their bodies. That's it."
"Sounds easy," Natalie said.
"There's probably more to it than that," Brittany said with a little snort.
When we got back to the car, I asked:
"When do you think we can actually get to work in the new Wardrobe? Any idea when it'll be ready?"
Brittany shrugged.
"I hate this sitting around," she said, shaking her head. "You can go for just so many coffees."
I stared out the window for a while as we drove back, gazing down on the lush pastureland.
My hands opened before me, and I knew, suddenly, what to ask.
"Brittany, is there any special reason we have to do our training sessions in Wardrobe?"
She stared at the road, her lower lip pushing up a pout.
"Can't think of any. Where do you suggest?"
"Look, all we really need is a costume and a clean room with a table and chairs."
"The costumes are meant to get here this arvo," Ellie piped up.
"So, just a clean room."
Fiona's empty office smelled of fresh plaster and wood dust. It features a desk and four chairs. We had just settled into chairs when through the open window I heard a large diesel engine.
Beep-beep-beep.
Brittany's face snapped to the window.
"Our costumes!"
Fiona was standing in the loading dock, hands on hips.
"I'm going to need two of you to help Sarah," she said. "Brit, why don't you stay with Charli, make a start on your training? You'll be in charge of that part of Wardrobe, so I need you up to speed as soon as possible."
I stepped forward.
"Could we help unload a bit as well?" I asked. "I sort-of need to have a costume to demonstrate things."
Fiona had that Wardrobe face on—the one that didn’t invite discussion.
"We will bring one to you," she said.
Back in Fiona's office, I stared at my notes. The page suddenly looked… ambitious. I flicked a glance at Brittany. Her lips moved into a quick smile, her eyes on me, not on the clipboard. Studying.
I pulled in an unsteady breath.
"Our focus today is going to be on seams. That's where garments fail, if they fail," I said. A pause. Brittany's eyebrows rose.
"If."
"We spent a lot of time testing. Which meant wearing the costume during the day doing all sorts of things. Lifting, bending, carrying. And even having someone pulling at the clothing, because… people do. If we saw a seam that was weak, we first tried reinforcing. We had to redesign it for bodies now—different from the 1900s."
"How?"
"Well, people back then were smaller. Like, physically. We had to design for—like, today's well-nourished young woman…" Brittany giggled. "What?"
"Well-nourished! That's such a nice way to say—." She pursed her lips with a sidelong glance. I shrugged.
"Obviously I could test for only a certain body type. I hope to have caught all the issues. But—"
Brittany nodded.
"We won't know until the actresses have worn them for a while," she said.
"That's right," I agreed. "And when they come in with a split seam, here's what to look for—" I began.
"Wait, what? If a seam is split, we just repair it, right?"
"Well, you actually want to document it first," I said. "Take pictures. Write down as many details as possible: who was wearing it, what were they doing. That sort of thing. If a garment keeps failing at the same spot, the designers need to know."
"Oh." Her mouth stayed open, for a moment, and she smiled. "And so, we tell you about it?"
"Oh yes!"
"You have quite a system." Her voice was warm.
I looked down for a moment, because meeting her gaze felt like stepping on a stage.
"So I document it," Brittany said, "and if it keeps happening, I call you."
"Or email," I said. "Probably email."
“Email,” she echoed, like she was filing it away. She picked at the hem of her smock, then let it fall.
“I hate being new,” she said. “Not the work. The… feeling like everyone can tell I’m trying too hard.”
I smiled, because it was either that or confess I was doing the same thing with my ribs.
Brittany looked up. “You don’t look like you’re trying too hard.”
“Oh, I did,” I said. “At first.”
Brittany leaned against the table, her head in her hands. "How long have you been doing this?"
"A while."
"And before? Was this your first job?"
"No, I worked in maint…" The word snagged like thread on a burr.
Brittany didn’t pounce. She just tipped her head a fraction. “Maint…?”
Heat climbed my throat. I stared at my notes as if they’d suddenly become urgent. My breath went thin.
A pause. The room didn’t move. Even the air-con sounded too loud.
“Maintenance?” she said finally.
My neck tucked in on itself. When I exhaled, it shook.
“Yes,” I said.
Brittany’s expression didn’t change, but something in her softened at the edges.
“Oh, okay,” she said quietly. "Cool.”
Outside, the delivery van's diesel engine coughed to life, growled and cleared its throat.
“I’m not judging,” she added quickly, and then, with a little huff, “I was a tomboy for years. Board shorts, surfing Bondi, black eyes. Wore my hair so short Mum used to think I liked girls.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Brittany smiled, but my cheeks burned anyway—not from shame, but from being seen.
“Liking girls is cool,” I said.
Brittany nodded. “True," she said, then added, her eyes bright. "Girls like Celeste?”
The door swung open.
Fiona came in with a complete costume draped over her arms like it weighed nothing. Natalie and Ellie followed, each with a box of accessories pressed to her hip. The room filled up in three steps: fabric, cardboard, other people’s air.
My lungs remembered how to work. I let out a long breath that felt like it had been waiting behind my ribs for ages. Fiona’s gaze flicked from Brittany to me to the notes on the table—quick, competent inventory—then back to the costume.
“Right,” she said, brisk. “You wanted something to demonstrate with.”
Brittany didn’t look at Fiona.
She looked at me—just once.
Her smile softened, then she turned it down like a light dimmer and reached for the sleeve of the costume, making space for the room to fill up again.