Skinny Dipping (32 page)

The relationship was progressing into something she didn’t quite understand, and her feelings had caught her completely unaware. There was always a little niggling thought in the back of her mind. He was extremely good-looking and there was a definite chemistry between them. Did it matter that they were professionally involved as well? Could they just work that out?

She got to the cottage feeling like she was walking on air and as she parked her Volkswagen Beetle, and carried armfuls of presents.

Instantly she saw Roger pacing outside the front of the cottage. He was walking up and down the sidewalk, clutching a red Santa cap; he didn’t even see Sophie.

“Dad?” she said nervously.

He turned. “A cruise,” he spat the word out. He ran his hands from the top of his forehead through his hair, and repeated the word, again and again. He looked like his head was infested with nits. “She bought me a God-damn cruise for Christmas. Hallelujah.” The sarcasm was thick in his voice.

“It’s supposed to be partially for your anniversary,” Sophie said in a small voice.

“After all the conversations we’ve had now since she’s learnt I’ve lost my job. I mean, doesn’t she get it? We can’t really afford it. I know she’s paid only the deposit, but the timing feels totally off. I need to get a job pronto.”

He was gasping for a breath and leaned over, resting the palms of his hands on his knees. He breathed hard, like he’d run some type of marathon and was trying desperately to suck in air.

“Dad, are you okay?” Sophie quickly set down her packages and put her arm around his shoulder.

He stood up abruptly, shrugging her off. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look well.”

He was too thin, his face was knitted with stress lines.

“Just so you know – I’m not sure whether it’s any help at all – but when Mum told me about the cruise stuff..., well, I put money on your card the other day, to clear the amount for the deposit.”

He shot her a glare, and held his chest. “I saw that on the internet banking, too. You can’t keep bailing me out, Sophie. What am I going to do?” His face was contorted. “It’s been almost six months. I need to get full-time employment or we’re going to have to sell the house.”

Sophie bit her lip. “It won’t come to that. So you’ve discussed an action plan with Mum?”

“Yes, but she’s so hopeful.” He shook his head. “She’s so hopeful because I had a bloody interview and she got incredibly excited. Thought all our prayers were answered.”

“How did it go?”

He was shaking. “I don’t know. I thought it went well. They said they liked me. Then I didn’t hear anything back. I just don’t know what happened.” He visibly swallowed and then put his Santa hat back on his head. “I’ve had enough of this conversation today. We won’t speak any more of this Sophie. Today is Christmas. Okay? Christmas. Let’s both get into the Christmas spirit.”

“What are you supposedly doing out here?” she asked.

“Collecting firewood for the blooming fireplace.”

“I see…well Merry Christmas Dad.”

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “Merry Christmas.”

***

Sophie gave her Dad some of the gifts to carry, and they went into the cottage together. She was instantly accosted by her sister. Edith’s black hair was piled up elegantly for the occasion, in dark ringlets on top of her head. She was dressed in Christmas colours, wearing a sparkling red dress and green high heels, with tiny Christmas trees dangling from her ears. She was like Super Mum.

“You look fab,” Sophie said, scanning her outfit. “You’ve lost weight.”

“You know better than to just walk up with gifts,” Edith hissed.

Sophie shrugged, still in her blissful comatose state, dreaming of Matthew. “Sorry.” Not even the encounter with her father could make her forget Matthew Silver.

“The kids
believe
in Santa,” Edith insisted.

Sophie eyed her sister with a mixture of amusement and distain. Did they really? Her niece, Annie, was thirteen years old, and her nephew, Vincent, was ten. Sophie highly doubted either of them hadn’t picked up the fact that Santa didn’t exist. They would have to know. Edith who was a doctor was surely living in a world of denial. Or was Annie, with her innocent, round, green eyes, milking the system getting presents from Santa and from her parents? How clever. Sophie supposed it was possible, yet unlikely, that Vincent still believed in Santa.

Sophie remained sceptical and dumped the presents into Edith’s hands. “Want to handle it yourself then?”

“What’s
wrong
with you?” Edith looked at her strangely, thrusting the gifts back into Sophie’s hands. “I was trying to
explain
. Maybe you should
think
about what you do, before you just
do
it when kids are involved.”

Sophie bit down hard on her lip, physically restraining herself from delivering a curt reply. It was Christmas after all, and time to keep the Christmas spirit alive. Besides, she couldn’t win when it came to Edith.

“I’m in the middle of cooking, helping Mum, like you should have been doing.”

“You’re lucky I’m here. My car almost didn’t start. Oh by the way, Merry Christmas Edith.”

“Yes,” Edith mumbled. “Merry Christmas.”

***

Still clutching the presents, Sophie wandered into the cottage living room, hearing the sound of a PlayStation being attacked by her niece and nephew. She stepped over mountains of torn, colourful Christmas paper discarded all over the floor. The cottage was an absolute mess – toys sprawled on the floor packages barely ripped open. Wasn’t the country in a recession?

There obviously had been some serious present-swapping earlier that morning. Edith always did this, always gave her a time to come, and then never waited for her. But Sophie pushed the thought aside. It was Christmas.

She smiled brightly. “Merry Christmas,” Sophie called out, seeing Annie and Vincent. “Santa left some presents in London.”

Annie jumped up from her PlayStation. “Aunt Sophie, did the reindeer get the address wrong?” Annie asked.
That was a clever one,
Sophie thought, looking at Annie’s large eyes, she was so convincing. But Sophie just couldn’t believe her thirteen year-old niece believed in Santa. “Wow you’ve gone blonde,” Annie exclaimed. “And you cut your hair.”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

Annie nodded. “I certainly do.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetie.” Sophie kissed the thirteen year-old cheek, noticing for the first time that Annie wore a little foundation over her clear skin and a touch of eyeliner and mascara. “You look gorgeous,” Sophie said, looking down at Annie and her tiny, heart-shaped face turned into a smile. Annie was dressed in a sleek pink dress, a change from the ruffles. “Nice lip gloss.”

Annie beamed, and removed something from her small pink handbag. “Do you want me to do your make up, too, and try out a few styles with your short hair?”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“
Dolly
magazine says when you change your hair colour, you also need to change your make up colours,” Annie quoted and produced a palette of eye shadow and lipsticks from her bag. “I got this for Christmas. We could try a few things out on you; Vincent’s hogging the PlayStation.”

“We’ll see.”

“Come on, Aunt Sophie. I need to practise on someone, because I’m not allowed to wear makeup to school.”

Sophie sighed, knowing that she might get bullied into getting a makeover from her thirteen year-old niece before the day was over.

Vincent with his dark-cropped hair, sat facing the television screen as he wrestled with a videogame controller, oblivious to them. Sophie covered his eyes with her hands, blindfolding him, so he couldn’t see the screen.

“Merry Christmas, Vincent.”

Vincent dropped the game controller and shrieked. “Sophie, don’t!” He squirmed on the sofa, twisting his neck and frantically clawing at her hands, trying to peel Sophie’s hands away from his eyes.

“I think when I say ‘Merry Christmas,’ you’re supposed to say ‘Merry Christmas’ back.”

“Yes, yes. Merry Christmas. Please, Aunt Sophie.”

Sophie dropped her hands from his eyes, so he could see. She released a low chuckle. It was only a video game after all.

“Oh Soph, I just died. Look what you did.” His dark, brooding eyes stared in horror at the television screen as his action figure died.

“Why don’t you both go and help out your Grandmother.”

Vincent scowled and shook his head. “There’s been quite a lot of yelling in the kitchen this morning. It’s safer here.”

“I see.” Sophie heard her mother’s voice in the kitchen. She kissed Vincent on the head. “You guys open these and I’ll go see Mum.”

Gloria was bent in front of the oven, poking at something with a long-handled fork. She turned when Sophie entered the kitchen, wisps of hair escaping from her thick, dark plait and framing her face. “This oven doesn’t work like my one at home. It’s not hot enough. Nothing’s cooking. The vegetables aren’t soft.” Her mother looked on the verge of hysteria. The tension in the air was all-consuming and claustrophobic. “I thought coming here would be nice you know? But this place is an absolute nightmare. Nothing ever works like you want it to.”

“Let me help. I can do roast vegetables,” Sophie said. “I brought salads.”

Gloria scowled. “No, no, I’ve got it. Can you check whether the table has been set? Your father was supposed to do it, but I can’t talk to him lately. He’s been so… cantankerous.”

“He’s probably just stressed.”

“What with? It’s not like he’s working anymore. He could help around the house every now and then.” Gloria’s face was tense. “He keeps yelling at me over the tiniest thing. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells.” Gloria brought her hands to her face, dabbing her eyes. “Sorry about that dear.” With effort, Gloria controlled her face.

“Mum, I can help. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Leave it for the day. Let’s just focus on Christmas. It’s Christmas, after all, and not a day for complaining. Put your happy face on today. Merry Christmas, Sophie,” Gloria said firmly.

“Merry Christmas, Mum. We’ll work through this as a family.”

“Thank God it’s all out in the open now.”

The stress of Roger’s job loss was taking its toll. Sophie said a silent prayer, hoping her father’s interview had gone as well as he’d thought. A problem shared was a problem halved.

Chapter 25

They spent the week at the country cottage and the much anticipated day of New Year’s Eve arrived. This was also the day of Matthew’s party in Brighton.

They’d been writing text messages back and forth for the whole Christmas period. He’d opened her Christmas present, a surf wallet, like the one he tried to buy off her on their first encounter.

Sophie had arranged to drive Carol to Brighton, Mickey would meet them up there. After all there was an element of safety in numbers, especially when she was meeting Matthew.

Sophie’s phone beeped again. Another text message from Matthew. Carol snatched the phone, read the message. “Matthew says in his text, ‘meet in thirty minutes. Looking forward to seeing you.’ Whoo!” She shot Sophie a conspiratorial look. Sophie felt her stomach twist into an excited knot as they arrived in Brighton.

“Do I have to come with you?” Carol moaned as Sophie pulled up at the designated spot. Why can’t your Art Director just do this?”

“Because he’s lazy. Yet talented.” Sophie found a spot and parked her.

“Did you ever think maybe you’re teaching him to be lazy?” Carol insisted. “Doing all his work for him? And why are you working on New Year’s Eve day?”

“It is a work day.” Sophie pushed open her car door and walked out onto the promenade.

“So…he should be doing this rather than you?” Carol insisted as she jumped out of the car too.

“You’ve got a point. Maybe I’m a control freak. I’m really very detailed. Maybe that’s why I work so hard. I like to know everything about what’s going on in a campaign. Since the commercial is part of the campaign, I want to make sure the client gets exactly what we’ve promised. I need to make sure the director, the camera man, and everyone else involved knows exactly what we’re after. So when they read the shooting script, everyone in my team understands what’s expected.”

“What’s a shooting script?” Carol asked. “Sorry, I only do stage, really. I’d love to do a commercial though, I think.”

Sophie looked at Carol standing with Brighton beach in the background. She’d be good, and they were having so much trouble with that girl Samantha. “A shooting script has all the detail of the shots. The camera moves, the dialogue, instructions about any voice-overs or anything else that will be featured in the commercial. It even includes information about the costumes, and specifics about the props we’ll use. Having a shooting script means that all the people involved will be on the same page. It’s like a reference document, to make sure we achieve the right message when shooting the commercial.”

Carol was looking bored with all the details and then gave a shrill scream. “Matthew?” He was about one hundred metres away, sauntering on the promenade toward them.

“Girls.” Matthew waved to greet them.

Sophie watched as Carol ran to greet Matthew. She toyed with her camera, releasing her nerves. What did she have to be nervous about? She’d seen him so many times before. He was so attractive, his blond hair, bouncing wildly in the wind. She could tell from the bounce in his walk that he was in an exceptionally good mood.

“Happy New Year, Matthew. Is Josh going to be at your party tonight?” Carol asked.

Matthew nodded, his mouth wide in a large engaging smile. “He’s already at the hotel sitting at the lobby bar.”

“Excellent!” Carol shrieked, looking over his shoulder, hoping Josh might miraculously appear.

Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world Matthew reached for Sophie. He picked her up, and spun her around. She screamed in delight, and she suddenly felt flushed all over from where his hand rested on her.

“Welcome to Brighton,” he whispered in her ear. He shot her a dangerous grin, and seemed thrilled to see her. He gently put her down.