The Girl on the Beach

by Morton S. Gray

  He still wondered if he should tell her the full story. She might empathise and be completely on his side, but could he take such a risk, particularly if she might have been involved with the drug ring? It sounded very much as if she too had needed to disappear and reinvent herself, but without the slick mechanisms that had helped him. Unfortunately, his training forbade any admissions about the past. Ben Rivers was dead and buried and would have to stay that way. He had to be wholeheartedly Harry Dixon, even when he was at home alone, for his life to work.

  He returned to his flat following his run and looked around with pleasure at the improvements he had made to the place. Immediate concerns that he was getting too comfortable rose into his mind. He’d never been able to put down roots. Contentment was alien. Would he ever be able to settle down fully and maybe buy his own property? Would he always have that feeling that he might have to move on at a moment’s notice, that he might be discovered and in danger?

  The relief at having broken the ice with Ellie after that terrible evening at the barbecue was physical. He hadn’t realised how much tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders. Despite this, he kicked himself yet again for the way he’d handled her accusations. He knew his shock and inappropriate words would have added to Ellie’s suspicions that she was right about his former identity. He’d become lazy, or rather he hadn’t ever had a direct challenge like this to test him. He’d found that most people were trusting and accepting of someone new to an area and, so far, he’d been taken pretty much at face value wherever he had been.

  His mother had always said that everything happened for a reason, particularly co-incidences. Why had Ellie come into his life at this point with knowledge of his past identity? Why here? And why a woman he found so intriguing and lovely, but might never be able to trust?

  Sinking down onto his new-to-him, battered leather sofa, he stared at the picture she had painted, as if he could trace the brush strokes and conjure the hand, arm and body that had made them. Ellie Golden in his flat, now there was a thought. Her essence seemed to invade his space and fill him with longing. Then, with a bump, he’d come back to earth as his questions about her resurfaced.

  Chapter Twelve

  After the coffee and unexpected encounter with Harry, Ellie returned to the gallery with John. When he’d gone, proudly clutching his wife’s birthday present, she set about rearranging the display room. It was exciting to rediscover work in her stock pile. Sometimes, she didn’t even remember painting the canvasses, as if she had pixies living at the gallery who came out at night to paint for her.

  The bell sounded on the gallery door. Ellie put down the canvas she was examining and went to find out who was there. Mandy and a dishevelled youth came into the display room. Mandy was holding the lad firmly by the shoulder and he was squirming in her grasp. ‘Caught this thing perving at you through the window.’

  ‘I was only looking at the art,’ he protested.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Mandy, causing the lad to squeal again as she pushed him further into the room.

  ‘Hey, Mandy, let go of Nicholas.’

  ‘You know him?’ Mandy let go and Nicholas Crossten leapt away from her. He stood out of reach of her grasp.

  ‘Nick, call me Nick. I hate Nicholas. It’s what teachers call me, and mum, when I’ve done things wrong, which according to them is nearly all the time.’

  Ellie laughed. ‘Mandy, meet Nick. He won the Art Exposium competition I ran at the high school.’

  ‘Really?’ said Mandy, looking at Nick as if he was an alien being.

  ‘I haven’t seen you around this summer, Nick.’ Ellie carefully repositioned the pottery she had been moving earlier.

  ‘No. I’ve just come back. Mum packed me off to stay with grandma for the holidays.’

  ‘Did you have a nice time?’

  ‘No. I hate gran. Doesn’t let me watch television or anything. Expects me to read books and play in the garden.’

  ‘Sounds a lovely summer to me,’ said Ellie.

  ‘I agree with Nick. It sounds like hell. Sorry about the pushing thing, by the way.’ Mandy was busy wiping her hand on the back of her jeans, as if she feared she might have caught something by touching Nick, who was scruffy and dirty as always.

  ‘I get worse at home.’

  Ellie exchanged a meaningful look with Mandy.

  ‘What did your parents say about you winning the art competition?’

  ‘I didn’t tell mum.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ exclaimed Mandy. ‘Surely she’d be pleased and proud.’

  Nick had a shifty expression. ‘Not sure she would.’

  ‘Have you painted any more of those wonderful monochrome paintings?’ asked Ellie, hoping to lighten the mood.

  ‘Can only paint at school. I’ll have to wait till the new term starts.’

  Ellie began to wonder about Nick’s home life. John Williams had hinted things might not be ideal for him.

  ‘Great news then. I’ll be running an after school art club from September. So if you join, you’ll be able to paint more, not just in lessons.’

  ‘Whee!’ Nick punched the air, making Ellie worry about the safety of her nearby pots. ‘That’s made my day, Miss. See ya.’ With that, he ran out of the door and was gone.

  ‘Sorry about that, Ellie. The way he was dressed and was behaving, I thought he was a yob planning on stealing something from the shop.’

  ‘Hmm, I don’t know his full story yet. The picture he put into the competition was brilliant. One of those minimal strokes, but maximum impact canvases. It would be a crime if such talent went to waste and his parents, or rather, his mum, because he only mentioned her, doesn’t sound very supportive.’

  ‘I wonder how many undiscovered artists there are out there. People whose talents were never recognised or nurtured?’ Mandy dipped her hand in the big vase of marbles by the gallery door and let them trickle through her fingers.

  ‘Far too many, I suspect. Even if you do get support, it isn’t an easy way to make a living. I should know.’

  ‘Well, at least you are doing your bit for the students at Borteen High.’

  ‘Yes, but is it enough, Mandy?’

  ‘Come on, you know succeeding in the art world has always been a mixture of talent and luck.’

  Ellie fell silent, wiping dust from the edge of a picture frame.

  ‘Are you up for a night out on Friday? That’s what I came to ask.’

  Ellie sighed and brought her attention back to her friend. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Not a lot of choice round here as you know. We could go to the wine bar or the pub. Or really push the boat out and get a taxi to the bright lights of a Sowden night club.’

  Sowden was the biggest nearby town, where Borteen residents had to go for bigger supermarkets and shops.

  ‘Prefer Borteen, if I’m honest. It’s a pain getting a taxi home.’

  ‘So be it. We’ll have fun anyway, no matter where we are.’

  Mandy had quickly thawed after being annoyed with Ellie for dancing with Harry, or rather, being peeved because Harry preferred her friend.

  Ellie knew that Mandy had never viewed her as competition before. Her reaction to Harry was the first time in a long while she’d been aware of her long dormant attraction antennae picking up and buzzing.

  Mandy had not asked any direct questions about why Ellie wasn’t dating the new headmaster, but she occasionally threw hints into the conversation that Ellie refused to comment on. She knew her lack of response must be driving her friend crazy.

  Mandy was fickle where men were concerned, but Ellie had quickly come to realise that her flirtatious nature hid a deep-seated terror of commitment. What a pair they made. One scared to give her heart, the other scared to put herself in a position where a man might have control over her life.

  Ellie considered her friend’s invitation to go out and laughed. ‘Why not, let’s go and have some fun. It’s about time I let my hair down and relax
ed. This summer’s been a bit intense.’

  The name Harry Dixon hung unspoken in the air.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Seemingly, in next to no time, the summer holidays had slipped by and the school term had begun. Tom had grown so much in size and maturity. He had needed a completely new school uniform and larger shoes. Ellie realised that when he grew out of the new ones, purchased on their school uniform shopping trip to Sowden, they would fit her, as they now had the same sized feet.

  Tom had also grown in confidence as a result of his relationship with Louise and his new-found sporting prowess. Ellie offered up a prayer that he would be able to maintain his blossoming self-assurance when faced with his classmates at the start of the new term.

  The date of the initial meeting of the mentoring steering group arrived. A gathering of teachers, ex-teachers and other people from the community sat around a table in the school library. The heavy oak furniture smelled of beeswax polish, taking Ellie right back to her grandmother’s house, where she used to polish the intricately carved oak sideboard on her Sunday visits.

  John Williams chaired the meeting with the directness and clarity that Ellie had come to expect from him. She respected the fact that Harry allowed John to take control. She’d made up her mind not to look at Harry at all, but couldn’t help sideways glances. The sight of him in a crisp white shirt, navy polka-dotted tie and a dark suit turned her insides liquid. There was something so alluring about a man in a smart suit and tie, well, this man anyway. It was difficult to concentrate on the content of the meeting when she kept remembering the warmth of his body against hers when they’d danced on the beach.

  Ellie would need to go on a mentors’ training course, but essentially mentors were to meet with the students they were assigned at least once a fortnight to give them the opportunity to discuss any problems and/or aspirations. The whole thrust of the scheme was to try to ensure that young adults facing life’s inevitable challenges had somewhere to go to discuss any issues that might be affecting them and their performance. The mentors were asked to be independent sounding boards and to encourage excellence in all aspects of school life.

  Harry sat near to John and took his turn to speak in support of the scheme.

  ‘I’ve asked the teachers to draw up a list of pupils who they think would benefit from mentoring.’ He waved a piece of paper. ‘I already have an initial file with cases that came straight to mind.’ He turned to John Williams. ‘How many mentees do you envisage us having each, John?’

  ‘I would think a maximum of two. We all have lives and businesses outside of this initiative and I wouldn’t want anyone to get overloaded.’ He looked pointedly at Ellie in acknowledgement of their previous conversations. ‘Of course, that means we’re likely to end up with a waiting list pretty quickly.’

  ‘Shall I read the first list of names?’ Harry put the sheet of paper on the table in front of him.

  Ellie glanced quickly away as their eyes met across the table. Would he be able to see the effort she was making to move on from her initial thoughts about him?

  ‘Good idea, if we can assign pupils to mentors, we can get going quickly and, hopefully, start to make a difference right away.’ John Williams looked pleased.

  ‘Okay, first on the list is Nicholas Crossten.’

  Ellie put her hand up and put it down again, aware she’d, unconsciously, fallen into schoolgirl mode. ‘Nick, he prefers to be called Nick. He told me only teachers and his mother, when they’re angry with him, call him Nicholas. I’d like to put myself forward as his mentor, as I know him quite well.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s wise,’ said Harry, straight away.

  ‘Why ever not? We’ve a link through art and he’s started to open up to me about his home life.’ Ellie felt almost as if Harry had slapped her. It seemed doubly sharp given her thoughts a few moments previously.

  ‘That’s precisely why not. You’re already too close to him to be detached. You’ll be more valuable to him as an art teacher.’

  ‘I’m not too close to him.’ Ellie’s hackles were rising. How dare Harry Dixon make judgments about her relationships?

  John held his hand up. ‘Okay, boys and girls. If we argue over every case, we’ll never get anywhere. I’m afraid I agree with Harry, Ellie. You can be of more use to Nick by nurturing his artistic talents and knowing too much about him, which inevitably happens with a mentoring relationship, might create a barrier to that.’

  Ellie didn’t agree, but recognised they would be getting nowhere fast if she continued to argue her case for mentoring Nick. She bit her lip to stop herself from continuing the argument.

  ‘I think I should mentor the boy,’ said Harry. ‘He’s the one every single teacher flagged up when I asked who to put on the list. There may be some serious interventions needed, particularly at the family end.’

  Ellie sank back into her chair feeling sulky. The list of children was read out and people were assigned as their mentors; Ellie was given Zack Martin, the cheeky-faced lad who had won a prize in the art competition too. She was ambivalent about this.

  She could see one name left on Harry’s paper. Before reading it, he glanced across at her and then away. Her suspicions were aroused and she sat up straighter in her chair.

  ‘And last, but not least, Thomas Golden.’

  Ellie didn’t know why she felt so stunned that her son was on this list. She knew he was troubled at times, but it was as if the air had been squeezed out of her lungs. She felt concerned for Tom and embarrassed for herself all at the same time. Colour rushed to her face and she couldn’t raise her eyes from the table for a few moments.

  ‘Tom shows some sporting prowess, so I’d propose to take him as my second mentee.’

  ‘No!’ The word was out of her mouth before she’d censored it.

  ‘Is there a problem, Ellie?’ said John, a concerned tone in his voice.

  She had to ignore her red face and marshal her thoughts quickly. ‘For the same reason as Mr Dixon stopped me being Nick Crossten’s mentor, actually. Mr Dixon would be better helping Tom with his sporting aspirations and, as they’re already close, it would be difficult for him to be impartial, in my opinion.’ Ellie uncrossed her arms as soon as she realised they were clasped defensively across her chest.

  ‘Touché,’ said Harry, with a shake of his head and a mock salute.

  It was a difficult moment. The other members of the mentoring team remained silent watching the drama unfold. Ellie had the feeling a spotlight was shining on her and it was not comfortable.

  John Williams broke the silence. ‘What about if I were to mentor your son, Ellie?’

  She smiled at the older man, grateful to have him on her side. ‘That would be lovely. I can’t think of anyone better for the job.’ She glanced at Harry, but couldn’t read the expression on his face.

  She had intended to sneak out of the meeting as quickly as possible, but when the formalities had been completed and she’d gathered her things, Harry stood in the way of her escape route.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Ellie, can I have a word before you go?’

  She hated being cornered. Every nerve in her body was telling her to push past him and run, but of course, you didn’t do such things in polite society, especially when your son’s headmaster wanted to speak to you. Instead, she squared her shoulders and stared up at him, trying not to notice the intensity of his eyes. ‘Mr Dixon?’

  He waited until the room had emptied and pulled out a chair for her. There appeared little choice but to sit on it.

  ‘I wanted to check that you are still going to be running the after-school art club.’

  ‘Yes, Tuesday afternoons at three forty-five, if that works.’

  His expression was guarded. ‘How soon do we need to advertise the next art competition? I mean, do you allow pupils to prepare work throughout the year, or is the point that they paint for the competition nearer the time?’

  ‘Last year, we a
nnounced we were running the competition at about this point in the year and put up a few posters. The art teachers in school kept an eye out for outstanding pieces amongst coursework throughout the three terms, so we ended up with a healthy number of entries in July.’

  ‘Great, thanks. That’s all I wanted to discuss.’

  All he wanted to discuss! All he wanted to discuss?

  Why then the rigmarole of getting her to sit down?

  Was he goading her?

  Had he let her believe he was going to confront her about her objection to him mentoring her son and then avoided the big issue? Or, had he accepted her arguments and moved on?

  Confused, and she realised, a little disappointed they weren’t going to discuss their differences, Ellie fought not to notice Harry’s aftershave. It was a delicious scent, which, combined with his big brown eyes, made it somehow hard to be angry with him.

  She picked up her bag and papers yet again and stood up.

  As she reached the door, he spoke again.

  ‘So, when and why did I become Mr Dixon and not Harry? I thought we’d agreed on a truce.’

  She turned to face him, fixing a smile on her face.

  ‘You’re the headmaster now, so Mr Dixon is the most appropriate title, especially in front of other teachers and at mentoring meetings.’

  ‘I’ll let you get away with that, if and only if you’ll call me Harry outside of those situations.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said Ellie, knowing she was pushing her luck.

  ‘Ellie, I’m truly disappointed not to be mentoring Tom. I’m sorry if it was a shock finding him on the list.’

  ‘Not a shock exactly, more an unwelcome confirmation.’

  ‘You’re aware he’s seen as withdrawn at school, not fulfilling his potential?’

  ‘Yes. It comes up on his reports time after time. I wish I could change things, but then you can’t change the past, can you?’