[Read] Hot Desk Extract: Libbie Chellew - The Act

As part of The Wheeler Centre’s Hot Desk Fellowship program, Libbie Chellew began working on new material for her novel The Act. In the dark comedy, an out of work actor invents a unique strategy for surviving motherhood, discovering the long days of parenting are an opportunity for extended exercises in improvisation. 

The following extract is her early draft of the opening pages of the The Act.

 

^{Image by Towfiqu Barbhuiya}

It all started when one of the mothers at kinder said, ‘We should all try to put in a bit more effort at pick up.’

            This mother’s name was Queenie, which probably told Boof all she needed to know if she judged people by their name, which she didn’t, for obvious reasons. She was the type of person who gifted people the benefit of the doubt, even though all evidence suggested Queenie was making a point to her, directly, because she was wearing thermals as pants and a puffer jacket over her braless torso.

            ‘That’d be fun,’ Boof said, giving her an out. ‘We could pick a date, and we can all dress up for the same pick up.’

            Thankfully, Boof’s seven-year-old, Ellie, interrupted. She wanted to know how old she needed to be to move out.

            ‘Eighteen,’ she answered, as they all headed to the playground next to the kinder.

            Queenie followed with her lace-collared daughter in tow, ‘We should make an effort every day.’

            Boof concentrated on opening up two muesli bars for each twin. She had a great excuse for wearing thermals as pants, fingerless gloves, and being generally unkempt. But she felt like if she shared this with Queenie, it risked condoning her judgement. She had approached her morning as she usually did, which was to drop the three kids off and shower after. But her Dad had called to complain during drop-offs, mentioning that he was waiting for The Junk Guys to come and clear out his mother’s house.  

            ‘I’m stuck here waiting, he’d said. ‘They didn’t give me a time, they gave me a window.’

            She had thought she misunderstood, so she clarified. ‘They’re coming to take everything from Nanna’s house?’

            ‘Everything except whitegoods and beds. They’ll be here by twelve, the latest.’

            ‘To the tip?’

            ‘Straight to the tip,’ her Dad had said, oblivious to her shock. 

            Once the kids were sorted, she had driven straight to the freeway, to Melbourne. And like those shoppers winning the prize of filling their trolley to the brim in two minutes, except with dread and guilt, she got to Melbourne and panic-filled her car with her Nanna’s things. She started with photo albums and framed watercolours that her late grandfather had painted, and ended with the rice cooker, cleaning products and mini quiches from the freezer.

            ‘We should make an effort every day,’ Queenie was telling Boof, who realised with horror that Queenie hadn’t dropped the subject yet. She knew she didn’t smell bad, Ellie would’ve told her, so it was only appearances Queenie was reacting to. 

            ‘Where are you going when you’re eighteen?’ Boof redirected the conversation to Ellie.

            ‘I’m going to travel around Australia with a rabbit, a cat, and a van.’

            ‘Tricky,’ Queenie said. ‘But still a good idea!’

            Boof nodded with enthusiasm, too, thinking of the peace and quiet. Then she felt bad and said, I’ll miss you.’

            Ellie ran off to pick up the wrappers the twins discarded onto the tan bark.

            She looked down, wondering what tipped Queenie over the edge into airing her judgment. Maybe the fingerless gloves, she thought. Otherwise, the contrast between her and Queenie was not that alarming. She had a hole in her crotch and hadn’t showered, but—

            'These thermals are merino,’ she said before she could stop herself. They sat down on the bench at the playground, and she dumped her twins’ bags on the ground.

            Ellie appeared with the rubbish and announced, ‘You can’t visit me because you need a proper bed and I'll only have a van.’

            'No room in your van for your dear old Mum?’ Boof asked.

            'Your neck.’ Ellie patted Boof’s neck, gently.

            Her neck was the reason she wouldn’t go with Ellie to the Scouts’ family camp. It’s too temperamental. She’d bought Nora Efron’s I Feel Bad About My Neck because she loves Nora and felt a spark of joy that Nora understood. But the book is about Nora’s jowls, her vanity. So then Boof was left feeling bad about her neck, her posture, her pain, and something new: her aging neck. She didn’t want to add feeling bad about her appearance at kinder pickup too.

            But Queenie was still going. ‘Comfort is good. Putting in effort can feel even better!’

            Unfortunately, Boof was ready to mark Queenie as another unsafe person on the internal map of her life. She was not particularly ashamed that she looked like a hacker. Is that what the fingerless gloves and puffer jacket reminded her of? A background character from Mr Robot? The character note would read: an edgy hacker, who got her start exploiting vulnerabilities in big Pharma security infrastructure, unlocking all the electronic cages of animals held for cosmetics testing. Wily and rough around the edges, she’s now one of the biggest threats to modern capitalism. Life would certainly be more fun as a hacker. She would actually have some power, rather than live at the whim of Ellie, the twins, and her imbecile for a father.

            ‘You’re really into this idea' Boof said, and tried eye contact with Queenie.

            ‘It’s not about me. It’s for you,’ Queenie returned the eye-contact too intently. ‘Do it to make yourself feel good.’

            ‘I felt good until this conversation,’ Boof said, and Queenie laughed. Then Boof lied and said, ‘I’m a mess because I got sidetracked by a vulnerability I found in the Reserve Bank of Australia configuration.’ She mimed the motions of typing incessantly. ‘It was too good to        resist.’

            She didn’t bother to assure Queenie it was a joke. She had committed to The Bit too well, too tired to give a facetious smile while she said the words.

            ‘Really?’ Queenie asked. 

            Ha! Boof thought. That must have been convincing. And it reminded her of a side of herself she hadn’t had the pleasure of being for years. A talent she hadn’t conjured since those glorious days before she had children. An urge she used to satiate. The urge to act.