The studio room of the building was where she felt most at home. A square room, it housed her pottery wheel in one corner and easel and paints in another. Sometimes customers would wander through from the gallery to watch her working. She wasn’t terribly comfortable with people spectating, but, on the other hand, it reassured customers that the designs were original and made them more inclined to buy from her after they had watched her with a brush or wet clay in her hand.
Beyond the workroom lay the kitchenette and toilet. In the yard outside the back door was a stone outhouse into which her kiln just fitted with necessary ventilation around it. This outhouse would once have contained an outside toilet and a coal shed.
Ellie moved to the easel and placed a blank canvas on the stand. She needed to work out her pent-up emotions and she was determined to use these unsettled feelings to fuel her creativity.
Pausing to put on her paint-daubed overall, which she didn’t always remember in her enthusiasm to get going, she picked up a large brush and covered the canvas with water. Working quickly, she added different shades of blue paint. The brush strokes merged, carried by the water on the surface, blurring the hues together in a pleasing chaotic mix. At the bottom of the canvas, she painted sandy shades and as the canvas began to dry, she detailed footprints along the sand, emanating from a small running figure in an orange T-shirt.
She stood back, astounded at what she had just painted, as her canvases were usually more abstract, but pleased nonetheless with the resulting image. Oh that every canvas filled as quickly. She chuckled, wondering if Harry Dixon would recognise himself in the window of the gallery when she displayed the painting. If he was going to unsettle her mind, she may as well earn some money by translating her churning emotions about him into artwork.
She finished several canvasses, each very different, working swiftly and decisively as her mood began to calm and lighten. When they’d dried she’d see if she needed to add more detail with paint or ink.
By the time she turned the gallery sign to open, she was feeling much more serene and ready to talk to prospective customers.
When Ellie returned home from the gallery later that afternoon, Tom was in a foul mood. He banged around the house and refused to speak to her. She had learned over the years to let him burn out his anger and only to try to talk to him when he was ready to communicate. Stamping up and down the stairs was his usual method of tension release.
As she prepared their evening meal, mushroom risotto, she noticed a change in his behaviour. He came to sit at the dining room table, resting his chin on his hands. He looked exhausted, dark rings circling his eyes. Ellie stopped what she was doing and came to sit opposite to him. She mirrored his posture, resting her chin on her hands.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s eating you?’
He met her gaze with those huge brown eyes.
‘You know me too well, Mum. I’m just angry with myself for being played like a fool.’
‘In what way, love?’ Ellie believed she could already guess, but wanted Tom to tell her the story himself.
He banged his fists on the table, making her jump. ‘The lads I thought had made friends with me yesterday. They … they didn’t want to speak to me today. It was just the fact I had money to buy them ice creams. Tossers, the lot of them.’
‘Oh, Tom, I’m sorry. That’s so unfair.’ She clenched her fists in a frustration magnified because someone had picked on her beloved son.
‘Bollocks to the lot of them, I don’t need them.’
Tom stretched out his long legs and arms in a huge yawn. She could almost see the tension flowing out of him. The crisis was over.
Ellie’s heart felt as if it had been wrung out. Tom had been so happy the previous evening when he’d believed he’d made friends. Children and young people could be so cruel to each other. The times she’d wished she could wade in and sort out injustice metered out to her son. She hated him to be hurt, hated him not to be loved and accepted as the wonderful creative being that he was. Just when she was feeling so upset, Tom flashed her a huge smile and changed the subject.
‘The new headmaster, Mr Dixon, is cool though. He came into school this afternoon to meet us properly. He’s running sports events in the summer holidays. Can I go, Mum?’ Tom virtually bounced up and down with excitement flowing out of every pore.
‘What kind of sports events?’ She hoped her overwhelming suspicion for the man didn’t show in her voice as much as she was feeling it in her body.
‘Taster sessions of rugby, football, cricket, hockey, athletics and cross-country running. Oh and netball, but that’s for the girls. They’re sampler classes to help Mr Dixon spot talent for the teams he’s going to set up. We’re going to be competing with other schools. There will be league tables.’
‘It sounds fantastic. Of course you can join in.’
‘Awesome! I’ve got a form in my bag.’
He ran up the stairs to get it, his mood transformed in an instant.
She filled in the details on the form, as Tom stood over her watching.
‘Won’t you need extra kit for these sports?’
‘Mr Dixon says we can just wear a T-shirt and shorts for the taster days. If we’re chosen for the teams we might need proper kit, but he said he’s hoping to raise sponsorship for that from local businesses.’
Tom’s growing admiration for Harry Dixon shone in his voice. Ellie was pleased by his enthusiasm and wary all at the same time.
‘The summer season is my best chance for making sales, so I’m going to have to open the gallery every day anyway. I’d be happier if you were doing something interesting.’ Before she could stop them, words came out of her mouth. ‘Your dad was always very sporty.’
‘Really? I’d like to hear more about him, Mum.’ The expression on his face, full of expectation, tugged at her heart strings.
Ellie always tried to avoid the subject of Tom’s father if she could. Tom knew that her ex-husband, Rushton, was his step-dad and not his biological dad. A good job, given what had happened. Ellie thanked her lucky stars every day that she hadn’t had a child with Rushton.
‘Your dad loved surfing and running. I don’t know anything about his childhood though or if he played team sports at school.’
‘He died in a surfing accident in Cornwall, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, he did.’ Her heart began to thud.
She could see Tom’s mind working on the information. She turned away, a lump in her throat even after the passage of years. She could remember the day of Ben’s death as if it were yesterday; that’s why Harry’s appearance was so confusing. Who had been buried in Ben’s grave if Harry was actually Ben?
Tom’s voice brought her back from her reflections.
‘He never actually met me, did he?’ Tom’s brown eyes, fixed on her, were heartbreakingly similar to her memories of Ben’s eyes.
‘He died before you were born, love. I’d just fallen pregnant when it happened. Very sad.’
Tom sat down at the table again, deep in thought, folding and refolding the consent form for Harry’s sporting events. Ellie planted a kiss on his head and with a quick hug, went to finish preparing the meal. She was thankful that he hadn’t pushed her to answer any more searching questions. One day, she would tell him the whole story, but he seemed too young to understand the raw realities of life and the choices she’d made when she herself was only a few years older than Tom was now. She couldn’t bear the idea that her son might judge her and think badly of her.
How would she feel about Tom spending the summer in Harry Dixon’s sports classes? She was so distracted that she burned her finger on the hot pan. It was a small burn, but it sent her scurrying to the sink to run cold water over the reddened skin, batting away tears at the sharpness of the pain.
Ellie Golden you have to stop this. Forget that man and get on with your life.
Of course, keeping that resolution was easier said than done.
Chapter Seven
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The end of term came and went, along with celebrations for the retirement of John Williams at Borteen High. As Ellie had hoped, sales at the gallery began to pick up with more tourists arriving in the area for their holidays. The downside was she had to be more vigilant for unsupervised children near her paintings and pots. Thankfully, they were always fascinated by the jar of marbles she had near the door and these proved a useful distraction for keeping sticky fingers away from her art.
Tom relished the sports training sessions. He declared he loved every sport.
‘Even netball?’ Ellie asked, with a wink.
‘Mum, you know what I mean.’
Ellie laughed, pleased that Tom was happy.
A side effect of the sports training was that Tom had met genuine friends and spent more time out with them than at home. His skin bronzed in the sun, despite Ellie’s liberal application of sun cream every morning with her ears ringing with Tom’s protests.
Ellie tried very hard to let any references he made to Harry wash over her. At least he was having a positive effect on her son.
For the first time, Tom showed an interest in the gallery and took to coming down to the shop if he wasn’t training or socialising, wearing an open-necked shirt, his school trousers and shoes, to help with the customers. Ellie had never mentioned a dress code and found it touching he had thought about looking smart for the job, even polishing his shoes, which he never did for school.
Tom asked if he could have commission for any artwork he sold and Ellie readily agreed. She listened with pride to his sales patter, as she painted in the studio room. He was able to sell her work without the self-consciousness she herself displayed. It was a win-win situation and she loved spending time with him in this new business arrangement.
‘Mr Dixon’s coming into the gallery today,’ Tom said, arriving at the shop one afternoon. His hair was still wet from his shower after the morning’s sports sessions.
Ellie forced herself not to overreact.
‘Really? You haven’t been doing a hard sell on him too have you?’
‘No, Mum. He said he promised to come and look at your pictures ages ago. He needs a few to brighten up his flat.’
Ellie wondered if she could make an excuse to be away from the gallery when Harry arrived, but she decided she would have to brazen it out. She couldn’t avoid him forever. Borteen wasn’t that big.
A short while later, she returned from checking the kiln to hear Tom talking in animated tones. She knew exactly who she would see when she walked into the gallery, but still she almost dropped the large almond-coloured pot she was carrying. Harry Dixon was sitting on one of the leather seats in the gallery talking to Tom.
His hair slick from the shower, sunglasses perched on his head, wearing an orange T-shirt and blue shorts, he looked as if he’d come straight out of a magazine advertisement. Ellie couldn’t help following his long, muscular, tanned legs down to blue flip-flops.
‘Good afternoon, Ms Golden.’
Had he noticed her looking at his muscles? Embarrassing!
‘Ellie, please.’
He nodded his head in acknowledgement.
‘Ellie, your son is making an excellent job of selling me one of your paintings for the bare walls in my lounge.’
She turned to see the picture Tom was holding up and nearly dropped the big pot she was carrying once again. She put it gently on the floor, to keep it safe and to hide her reaction at the same time. Tom was displaying the picture of the runner on the beach. The runner she had modelled on Harry Dixon.
‘Tom, have you shown Mr Dixon a range of my pictures?’
‘Sure, Mum, but this one reminds me of Mr Dixon. He goes for a run on the beach every morning.’
Ellie willed her face not to colour. ‘I’ve seen him running a couple of times on my way to work.’
‘I’ve even waved to your mum,’ said Harry, winking at Ellie. The blush was now inevitable.
‘Can I ask about the colour scheme of the room you want the picture for?’ asked Ellie, in an attempt to divert her embarrassment.
Harry laughed. ‘I don’t believe there is one. The landlord must have shares in magnolia paint.’
Ellie was determined not to be unnerved. ‘So, you can choose whatever you want to display against the neutral background. What are your favourite colours?’ She’d gone into her familiar sales questions without thinking.
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, but Ellie couldn’t shake the feeling that he was observing her closely from under his lowered eyelashes. ‘Blue and orange, I suppose, and this picture has both of those.’
‘As long as you’re sure you like looking at it and haven’t let Tom talk you into buying one of his own favourites. You’ve got to live with it remember, not him.’
‘He’s got pretty good taste if this is his choice. By the way, your son is showing real sporting talent. If he carries on learning so fast and trying so hard, he’ll be in the school teams for several sports.’
Ellie saw Tom grow visibly taller in front of her as Harry spoke. This is what he needs, she thought, encouragement and praise from a male role model. Why couldn’t Harry Dixon be just any man?
At that moment, Mandy came flying through the door.
‘Hello … whoops, sorry, you have a customer. Oh, hello, Harry.’ The way she stressed the words hello and Harry made the sentence sound like a chat up line.
Harry nodded at Mandy and sat up straighter in the chair. He crossed his legs, as if he was afraid she might sit on his lap. To be fair, Ellie would not have been surprised if her friend had done just that.
‘You’re not buying my favourite picture, are you?’ exclaimed Mandy, looking at the painting Tom was holding.
Tom took a step backwards, clutching the canvas and moving it away from Mandy.
‘Yes, I’m afraid it’s sold.’ Harry took his wallet out of his pocket. ‘You’ll have to ask Ellie to paint another one.’
‘Aww, Ellie would you?’
‘Bear in mind each picture is unique, another one wouldn’t be exactly the same.’
‘I’ll have a look when you’ve painted the new one to see if I like it. Anyway, I must dash. I popped in to invite everyone to a barbecue on the beach on Saturday night.’
‘I’m not sure I can get a sitter for Saturday.’
‘Nonsense, Tom can come too. He’s fourteen and he’s finished school. There’ll be people of all ages there. Harry, are you up for it too?’
‘Sounds great, I’d love to come. I’m trying to meet as many of the locals as I can before I take up my new post.’
‘That’s settled then. See you all on Saturday. Byeeee.’ Mandy winked at Harry and breezed out as quickly as she had arrived.
‘She’s rather a whirlwind, your friend Mandy.’ Harry uncrossed his legs and relaxed back in the chair.
‘Sure is,’ said Ellie, through gritted teeth. Why did it upset her so much when Mandy flirted with Harry? She should be used to her friend’s behaviour by now, but somehow this was different and personal.
Tom held up the picture of the beach runner once more. ‘Are you sure you want to buy this one, Mr Dixon?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please.’
Tom wrapped the canvas thoroughly in bubble wrap and Ellie dealt with the payment.
‘I’m really looking forward to putting your painting on my wall, some colour at last. See you on Saturday night, Ellie?’
She nodded and thanked him for his purchase, trying to keep her doubts about the beach barbecue under control.
As soon as Harry had left with the painting tucked under his arm, Tom studied her with an odd expression on his face. ‘Mum, why do you act so strangely around Mr Dixon?’
‘I do not!’ she exclaimed, horrified.
‘I think you fancy him.’ Tom dived out of the way in case she whacked him.
‘I do not, Thomas Golden!’ She crossed her arms tightly across her body, as if trying to hold in something she might reveal.
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nbsp; ‘Okay, I’ll believe you, thousands wouldn’t.’
If Tom was aware she acted and spoke differently with Harry around, would Harry himself have noticed too? Disturbed by the idea, she tried to distract herself in the studio.
Harry walked deep in thought towards his flat. The picture got heavier and more uncomfortable to carry the further he went. Ellie Golden was lovely. Surely, he would remember if he had met her in the past. It was Tom who looked familiar, but how could that be? Perhaps he’d met Tom’s dad before.
The thoughts kept circulating around his head. It was a mystery and no doubt the answer lay in that period of time he couldn’t recall. His own personal black hole. The medical professionals had told him he was unlikely to ever retrieve those lost memories, so he would have to get by without the knowledge of that time. It hadn’t seemed to matter much before, but somehow now it seemed vital to be able to remember what had happened back then. How did Ellie and possibly Tom’s dad fit into his personal history?
Chapter Eight
As Ellie pondered what to wear on Saturday night, she worried again about Tom’s comments regarding the way she acted around Harry Dixon. Others might notice too, if she wasn’t careful.
What if someone said something to Harry?
She’d have to be alert this evening.
Harry was the first man she had been remotely aware of for ages. Was it wrong to fancy him despite her confusion? She’d fancied Ben, so why shouldn’t she fancy the man she believed he was now? Maybe the whole thing was an illusion stemming from the fact she was attracted to him. After all, he reminded her strongly of the man she had believed at one time was the love of her life.
Could she finally let go of the memory of her infatuation with Ben Rivers and the trauma of her rebound marriage and allow herself to find love?
Was it possible that Harry might feel the same about her? She’d noticed, or rather thought she’d seen, his eyes lingering on her face on several occasions. Was it just curiosity triggered by her questioning, or the spark of an interest?
The Girl on the Beach Page 5