Skinny Dipping (Skinny Sagas) Read online

  But Jessica interrupted, her arms flapping with agitation. “Sophie you’ve an urgent call,” Jessica said. “It’s your dad.”

  Sophie dropped the whiteboard pen and hurried to take the phone call. Her dad insisted she meet him outside the office building immediately. Then he hung up without further explanation.

  She looked at the telephone receiver wondering if she’d heard right. Her father never visited her workplace because his job was on the other side of town. She hurried towards the lift and stepped inside.

  The lift dropped to the ground floor. She dashed to the building exit.

  Reaching the pavement outside, Sophie’s eyes darted, searching for her dad. Her eyes clamped onto the recognisable figure. Mr. Roger Smart stood hunched, dressed in a tattered shirt. With a thin hand he raked his wispy, grey hair. Relief washed over Sophie as she sprinted to him. She threw her arms around his body, gathering him into an all-encompassing hug.

  “Dad,” she said smiling. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too,” he grunted.

  He felt bony. Sophie released him and stepped back. His jaw line was sharp and the fabric of his shirt swum over his slight frame. She noticed his belt was frayed. Why hadn’t her mum taken him shopping?

  “You look lean.”

  His skin was dry and sallow, like he needed to lather up with a whole tub of moisturiser. “Hmmmm. I hadn’t noticed,” he replied, his gaze directed somewhere else, past her shoulder.

  “What’s up?” she asked, but he simply shrugged.

  She frowned at his explanation and examined her watch. He’d just asked her to meet him downstairs at her office and the day had only just begun.

  “Is there something going on?”

  Her father shook his head and his lips creased upwards stiffly, reminding her of an estate agent. There was nothing genuine about his smile.

  Sophie tapped her foot in slight irritation. “Shall we share a slice of cake then, while you’re here?” Sophie suggested, wondering whether he needed a sweetener to explain his unpredictable behaviour.

  Yet he avoided making eye contact.

  “The café here has a wonderful chocolate cake,” she teased, searching for some kind of reaction. “Your favourite. Remember?”

  He licked his lips but didn’t speak.

  “Dad?” He didn’t answer, or move. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” he grumbled.

  Sophie placed a hand on her hip and regarded him. There it was again. He glanced over her shoulder. Sophie swivelled on her heels and turned around, trying to figure out the subject of his attention.

  “Sophie,” her father squeaked and tugged at her arm. An overweight man stood a few feet away, monitoring the scene. The man wore a radio on his upper lapel and gripped a black hat with a white checkerboard band. He was a bobby, a law enforcement man.

  “Officer.” Sophie nodded with a stiff smile, hoping the policeman would move along and focus on catching criminals.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Miss Smart,” the rotund policeman said hesitantly.

  Sophie's mouth dropped open, slightly agog. “Um…, yes,” she replied with almost hostile politeness. “How do you know I’m Miss Smart?”

  “You should take a seat.” The officer indicated a nearby bench.

  She looked around. “Me?” she faltered, her hand came to her chest. She obediently sat down. What in the devil did he want?

  “I haven’t done anything wrong.” She stared at the policeman. “Have I? Dad?” Her gaze flicked over towards her father. His face was as white as chalk. Something was wrong. She stood up from where the policeman had indicated she should sit.

  “Dad?” Her voice ascended a few decibels. With haste she returned to his side to inspect his expression. His face was tight and pinched. A thought dawned on her.

  “Oh my God, it’s Mum. What’s happened?” She stepped backward, her body crumbled, dropping down onto the bench.

  She felt too anxious to sit still for even a second. She leapt back to her feet like a jack-in-the-box. Her heart raced. Blood rushed to her head and she felt light headed. Her knees buckled. She clutched at the seat, holding the bench for support to sit back down.

  Breathing hard, thoughts of her mum flew through her mind: all the birthday parties she'd insisted on throwing, the time they went on a holiday to Rome together. There was an incident when they’d argued over the price of patent blue shoes. Her mother wanted her to get married (even if it was to Derek). Sophie had always imagined her mum would one day help her buy a wedding dress.

  Sophie hunched. The leaping up and down had stopped. She was almost hyperventilating in distress. “She’s dead isn’t she? Oh my God. I forgot to call her on her birthday this year.” Hot tears fell down her face. Her mother was dead. Her own mother was dead.

  “Sophie, stop.” Her dad placed a strong hand on her shoulder. “Stop. Your mum’s just fine.”

  A large lump formed in her throat and her eyes felt rather watery. “Then what is it?” Sophie's voice trembled and her gaze slid toward the policeman. “Why is he here? I mean no disrespect.” She shot a tight smile to the policeman and used every effort to refrain from scowling in his direction.

  “Look, I just lost my way for a bit.” Her dad’s eyes pleaded, flicking to the policeman.

  Sophie swallowed. “Is it drugs? Is that why you’ve lost all the weight?” Her neck craned forward. Without a doubt, he was much thinner than when she'd last seen him. “Have you got into drugs? Amphetamines? Crack? Heroin? We can work with this, together, get you clean. There are lots of support programmes. I’ve read all about them.” She grabbed his forearm, wanting to roll up his sleeves, the only way she would know if he was a…user. She shuddered.

  “Are you going to tell her the truth, or should I?” the policeman continued.

  Her dad shifted on his feet. “Everything’s fine now, officer, surely? I’m in capable hands. My daughter and I can work through this.” His voice was barely audible, a whisper caught in a windstorm.

  “The truth?” Sophie’s eyes shifted from her father to the policeman. She sniffed, folded her arms. “What’s going on? First I think Mum’s dead, then I think you’re a….” She swallowed. “User. That’s not the problem, is it?”

  The policeman cleared his throat. “It’s a criminal offence not to pay a train fare.”

  “Is that what all this is about?” Clarity washed over her. She rustled through her bag and removed her Velcro surf wallet. “You didn’t pay your train ticket? Let’s sort this out.” Sophie felt dizzy with relief. A train ticket, that was easy to pay, with an even easier solution. Easier than death or drugs or anything else.

  “Look, Miss Smart, I monitor Paddington Station. Your dad, he rushed past the turnstiles, practically hurdled over them in a frenzy. He caused quite a scene, yelling and screaming at the ticket collector. He didn’t have a ticket and almost turned violent to avoid paying the fare. It’s a criminal offence, you know. I had to get involved and pull him away from the attendant, flapping away like he was.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Sophie said shaking her head. “Not my dad.” The words ‘criminal offence’ played in her mind. She couldn’t imagine her dad yelling at anyone, gently spoken as he always was, not to mention refusing to pay the fare. He didn’t live on the edge; he was always straight laced, did everything by the book, with his strong code of ethics and conduct.

  “We have it on the security tapes, if you want to see them.”

  Sophie gaped, waiting for her dad to speak, to refute the words and plead that this was an incredible mistake.

  “Security tapes?” She glanced at her father and her resolve faltered. “I see.” She met the officer’s gaze. “You didn’t charge him?”

  “Your father, well, he broke down, had an anxiety attack. I’ve been with him for about an hour, waiting until he calmed down. He told me everything about his job. We decided it was better to work this problem out with support from his family. A
penalty isn’t going to resolve this situation, especially if he can’t afford to pay it.”

  “Anxiety attack?” Sophie’s brows knitted together. “What specifically happened?”

  “He was clutching his chest, kneeling on the ground at the station. Crying. I would strongly advise you to take him to see a doctor. My deeper concern, Miss Smart, is that he’s depressed. Suicidal even.” A vision of her father on his knees at Paddington station, blubbering like a small child with tears rolling down his cheeks, flew into Sophie's mind.

  “No, you’ve got the wrong man. My dad’s perfectly happy.” The word suicide kept revolving round Sophie's head like she was stuck in a spin cycle.

  The officer shook his head. “This is surprisingly common when people are made redundant after serving for a long period of time.”

  “Dad, is this true? Have you been made redundant? Are you…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word suicidal.

  Her dad stayed tight-lipped with a face like stone.

  “Dad, say something,” Sophie begged. “He’s got it all wrong, hasn’t he? The facts. You’re okay. You’ve still got a job. You’re hardly…suicidal.”

  The policeman sighed. “He lost his job a month ago. With the recession, we’ve seen a few cases like this. We’re seeing more and more jumpers on the tube. People become depressed and can’t see a way out. I don’t want you to lose your dad….”

  Sophie ran her hands through her hair, absorbing the information. “Lose my dad? I’m not going to lose my dad.” She’d just lost Derek. She couldn’t lose her dad! No way. “You never said anything, Dad?”

  “Soph, I got laid off. I thought I would find another job pretty quickly and no one had to know. No one needs to be worried. I’ll sort it all out,” he murmured.

  His revelation was shocking and Sophie’s heart beat furiously even though the officer had just listed the same facts. A new concern formed in the back of her mind. “Mum doesn’t know?” Sophie knew the answer as soon as she’d asked it.

  “No.”

  “Oh.” She released a sigh, the problem was bigger than she'd imagined. Mum, her mum, Gloria Smart, didn’t know about her dad losing his job. “So where does she think you’re going every day?”

  “To work.”

  “So you’re not going to the office then but you’re still coming into London?” Sophie’s voice rose and she struggled to control her own panic. What was he doing each day? No wonder he’d lost so much weight, he was probably strolling the streets, losing calories by the second.

  “There was a redundancy programme that I attended. I was just trying to find a job, anything really. But I’m too old they say, they don’t want me behind a bar or labouring.”

  “You need to tell her.”

  “I can’t,” he said flatly.

  “Dad, you need to tell her. A problem shared is a problem halved.”

  “I am sharing it,” he insisted.

  “With me and not with Mum!”

  “Your mother doesn’t need to concern herself with things like this,” he said.

  “I see,” Sophie whispered. Her dad had a strong delineation of roles and responsibilities. “But you still need to tell her; she’d understand.”

  “She’d only be upset. What would she think of me if she knew I was unemployed? She’d think I couldn’t provide. I have a small redundancy payment due. Everything will be fine. What happened at the station and not paying the fare was an anomaly, a momentary over reaction to my credit card being declined. It was a slight hiccup and unlikely to happen again.”

  “Oh, Dad. Let me give you some money.”

  “I don’t want to take money from my daughter,” his voice grew firmer.

  “Your card has been declined, it might help.”

  “You’re my daughter.”

  They stared at each other, eyes blazing. Sophie knew she was proud like her dad and wouldn’t want help or handouts. She herself had moved out of Derek’s place and refused to tell anyone. Even so, when she'd finally told Mickey, Sophie had felt better.

  “What about a small loan?”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shook his head.

  “Dad, you’ve supported me my whole life. It’s only a small loan, just for a little while.”

  He became paler by the minute, and anxiety crawled over her body. What if he had another attack? Fear clenched at her heart and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

  The United Kingdom was in the midst of a banking crisis. The worst of the rippling effect hadn’t yet started and, according to the papers, darker times were still to come. Jobs weren’t exactly growing on trees.

  “Mr. Smart, I’m sure you’ll find a job soon,” the policeman had come forward. Sophie didn’t know how true the words actually were. “Your father explained he's worked for the Ministry of Defence for the last twenty years. He’s got so much knowledge. Someone’s going to want to tap into that.”

  “I can’t get an interview. It’s been a month, Sophie, one month.” There was real pain in his face. His stony expression was beginning to crack. The policeman was right, he seemed… unstable… his eyes glistened.

  Sophie took charge of the situation and set her jaw with determination. “I’ll help, Dad.” She tried to sound reassuring. “Are you coming into London tomorrow?”

  He swallowed. “Yes, Soph. That’s the routine. That’s what your mother expects. So I’ll catch the train into London.” He finally met her gaze and his shoulders squared back a fraction. How did he do it? He didn’t shed a tear. A pang ripped at her guts. She knew how, she did the exact same thing.

  “We’ll put together a strategy. I’ll help with your resume and applying for jobs. We’ll do this together.”

  “Miss Smart, I’d advise you to not only complete a work strategy, but get him some professional help. Jumpers do happen in this city. Don’t make your dad a statistic.” The policeman tipped his hat and left them on the pavement.

  “Can I trust you, Sophie? Trust you not to tell your mother? Please, promise me you won’t tell her.”

  Chapter 8

  That night after work, Sophie went to the Highbury Aquatic Centre. Her thoughts were crowded: her father’s unemployment, the possibility of his being suicidal, and the choice of whether to tell her mum or not. As she signed the book at reception, she didn’t even notice Matthew’s figure lingering behind the counter.

  Eventually she put the pen down and caught Matthew’s eye. He smiled and winked. His gaze deliberately drifted up at the clock. “You’re thirty minutes early. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you were excited to see me.” He grinned.

  “You’re hoping.” She laughed, tension eased away from her chest.

  “Here’s to hoping,” he chuckled.

  “It has been a hell of a day.” Sophie sighed.

  His face was full of concern. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  Before realising what she was doing, Sophie sat down at the little seat near the reception desk.

  Feeling the same safety as in a confessional booth, Sophie began. “This is kind of personal,” she started. “Someone I know might be depressed. Do you think swimming might help?”

  He paused. “I’m not a doctor or anything, but they say depression is a cycle people fall into.” A curious expression flittered over his gaze.

  “I’ve heard that, too.”

  “Getting active, apparently, gives people positive benefits and can help break the cycle. Don’t take that as medical advice or anything because I have absolutely no medical background.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard sport’s supposed to be good for depression.” Sophie released a breath. “Thanks for listening.”

  Matthew reached out and squeezed her palm. “Are you okay?” He squeezed again. “Are you depressed?”

  “No.” Sophie snatched her hand away. “It’s not me. I promise.”

  “You sure?” A line furrowed his brow. “The lead up to winter can be quite tough for a lot of peopl
e, with less and less light.”

  “I promise I’m fine.” With another sigh, Sophie revealed her problem. “I’m worried about my dad.”

  “Your dad?”

  “He lost his job about a month ago… didn’t tell anyone.” She swallowed. “He’s been acting strangely, coming into London every day. I only found out because….”

  “Because….”

  A lump formed in her throat. “He broke down at the train station. A policeman came to visit me at work and told me about his anxiety attack.”

  “Really?” Matthew’s jaw dropped, but recovering quickly, he pulled it back up. He smiled, but there was no mistaking the worry in his eyes. “Sport can be good for anxiety, stress relief, too.”

  She nodded. “Apparently since he lost his job he’s still commuting into London every day. God knows what he’s doing. I want to find an activity to help him. I'm terrified he'll become a… jumper.” Her head spun with the thought.

  “A jumper?”

  “Yeah, one of those people who jumps in front of trains.” Sophie’s stomach twisted and she tasted bile in her mouth. “It’s odd behaviour and I’m extremely concerned. The policeman suggested seeking professional help. My dad doesn’t seem keen on that option. Mum has to know if it's going to continue. I mean, she’ll find out eventually. When is it the right time to break someone’s trust? Should I tell my mum?”

  “I don’t know,” Matthew replied. “Are you honest with him? I mean, do you tell him the truth about things, even when it’s hard?”

  Sophie thought about her move. “I don’t know.” She shrugged.

  He shot her a strange expression. “Either you do or you don’t.”

  It wasn’t an easy answer. There was the slight issue of her break up with Derek. She hadn’t yet mentioned that.

  “Bring him to the pool and let's see if swimming helps. You can show him how you’re getting on. You have mentioned swimming to your parents, haven’t you?” Matthew’s face was a complete question mark but when she didn’t answer, he shook his head. “On that note, are you going to get into the pool today? You’ll be late if you don't go and get changed.”