The Girl on the Beach

by Morton S. Gray

  Would she be able to speak, now that she knew for certain?

  His name wasn’t Harry Dixon.

  It was Ben Rivers and Ben Rivers was dead.

  Chapter Two

  Ellie gathered all her reserves of strength to stand and smile at the expectant audience of young faces. She took the name Ben Rivers and by the time she’d reached the lectern, she had buried it in the deep recesses of her mind underneath a large pile of art canvasses.

  ‘Thank you, Headmaster. I would like to praise all of you who have entered the Art Exposium competition. The artwork is fantastic. This school is lucky to have so many talented students. It’s been very hard to decide on a few winners given all of the brilliant pieces on display.’

  Was that really her speaking? Her commanding voice belied the nervousness she’d felt earlier. Maybe Harry had been a useful distraction.

  She waved her clipboard, knowing full well that the students would be unable to read it, but hoping to reassure them that the wad of scoring sheets meant that their own individual pieces had been taken seriously.

  ‘I just want to take a moment to explain how we made our decision.’ She included Harry, even though he hadn’t really contributed to the scoring.

  The audience were held in a kind of numb silence, hanging on her every word.

  ‘The competition has been judged anonymously.’ Ellie gestured towards the school secretary at the side of the stage. ‘Each piece entered was given a unique number and that is all Mr Dixon and I have seen. Mrs Gibbons has the list of names. Everything entered was given marks for categories such as use of colour, portraying the title and finish. These scores have been totalled to arrive at a final ranking.’

  She paused for effect. The tension was building in the hall. Inevitably, someone giggled at the back.

  ‘I shall award three prizes. In third place, entry number fifty-two – “Autumn Sunrise”.’

  Ellie glanced over to where the school secretary rustled through the lists marrying the entry numbers and student names.

  ‘Louise Stevens,’ she announced in a squeaky voice.

  ‘Would Louise Stevens please come to the stage?’

  Ellie began applauding as a tall, spiky-haired girl with freckles stood up. The audience joined her clapping. Louise picked her way through the students on either side of her and came forward, her face as red as her school cardigan.

  ‘Congratulations, Louise.’ Ellie shook the girl’s limp hand and presented her with an envelope. ‘Third prize wins a fifteen pound voucher to buy art materials.’

  The girl’s beaming face reminded Ellie of one of the reasons why she’d wanted to run an art competition in the first place. She remembered winning prizes for her own artwork at school and the vital encouragement those awards had given to her. She waited until the clapping had subsided, before she spoke again.

  ‘Second prize, of twenty-five pounds goes to entry number twenty-two – “Green Pot”.’ Ellie felt a shiver of the memory of Harry’s hand meeting hers when she reached out to touch this exhibit. She wondered if he remembered too, but didn’t dare to look at him for fear of destroying her focus and dissolving into stuttering confusion.

  The secretary rustled through the entry sheets again. ‘Zack Martin.’

  The school hall erupted into cheers, as a cheeky-faced boy, his shirt untucked and his tie deliberately tied too short, bounded up the steps to the stage.

  Zack pumped her hand enthusiastically, leaving Ellie’s palm feeling uncomfortably moist. However, handing him his prize envelope, her heart contracted at his obvious joy. Zack paused at the edge of the stage to bow and pirouette to the wolf whistles of his friends.

  Silence descended once more. Ellie wished that she could give everyone a prize.

  ‘And the winner of the Art Exposium competition for this year is entry number ninety-nine – “Street Dancer”.’

  Ellie watched the secretary studying the name sheets carefully. Did she imagine the look of surprise that crossed the woman’s face as she found the name listed for the entry? ‘Nicholas Crossten.’

  The students appeared to freeze. With shock? Amazement? The reaction puzzled Ellie. There was no movement from the hall and everyone remained completely silent.

  ‘Would Nicholas Crossten please come to the stage?’ Her voice had a slight wobble. ‘For those of you who haven’t seen it, his painting is a wonderful modern piece in black and white and depicts the title “Street Dancer” with few strokes, but maximum energy and passion.’

  The headmaster rose from his seat, walked to the edge of the stage and beckoned to a boy on the front row. The youth got up slowly, almost reluctantly, and edged along the platform. His red jumper was washed out to pink and his trousers were dirty and too short.

  ‘Nicholas, how wonderful. Well done, lad.’ John Williams patted the boy enthusiastically on the back and raised his hands above his head to encourage the schoolchildren into clapping. They eventually put their hands together, but the noise level was nowhere near as loud as the previous applause.

  Ellie wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but the whole episode felt embarrassing. She gave Nicholas his envelope containing the voucher for fifty pounds’ worth of art materials from the big art shop in the nearby town of Sowden and told him about the gold rosette now gracing his painting. ‘You have real talent, Nicholas. I’m very impressed with your picture.’

  He half-smiled, pulled at the frayed edge of his jumper and wiped what Ellie suspected was a tear from the corner of his eye. As quickly as he could, he scuttled back to his seat on the front row. Ellie hoped that John Williams would explain the strange reaction of the students to his win.

  The headmaster shook her hand and asked for a round of applause for Ellie and Harry’s time and her donation of the prizes. The children began whispering and shuffling their feet, as they expected to be released soon and wanted to be ready to escape.

  Harry Dixon stood up and stepped to the front of the stage. He lifted his arms to call for silence. ‘If I may, Mr Williams, I’d like to speak to the students.’

  John Williams nodded.

  ‘Before you go, I want to make an award of my own. I can’t claim to have any artistic training, but I know the sort of art I like to hang on my own walls. There is one painting I would happily buy from a gallery and I want to show my appreciation to the artist.’

  Ellie held onto the edge of the lectern. Her legs had turned to jelly. Was that because she anticipated what Harry was about to say or because of her curiosity to see Tom and Harry together? Perhaps it just signified a release of tension now that her formal part in the proceedings was over, but she wasn’t doing a good job of fooling herself.

  ‘Entry number fifteen – “Fireworks”.’ Harry turned his head to the secretary in an echo of Ellie’s announcements.

  ‘Number fifteen was entered by Thomas Golden,’ said the secretary after fumbling through the sheets of names.

  Harry led another quiet round of applause. Ellie knew that Tom wasn’t one of the more popular boys and the insipid clapping seemed to confirm it. Her son came forward, hands in pockets. Tom’s large brown eyes were huge with surprise. She noted with pride that he was going to be tall.

  He walked up the steps to the stage and grasped Harry’s outstretched hand. It was a surreal moment. Ellie held her breath, but no one else appeared to be noticing what was so clear to her own eyes.

  ‘I love your picture, Tom. Please accept my special award of ten pounds. If you name your price, I will happily buy your painting when the exhibition closes. That is, if you’re willing to sell it.’ Harry handed Tom a crisp banknote.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Tom beamed a smile at his mother, walked down the stage steps and then disappeared, blending into the throng of red cardigans and jumpers making their way out of the hall.

  The tension drained from Ellie’s body. She turned to the headmaster. ‘What’s the story of Nicholas Crossten? Did I make a huge mistake? The atmosphere in the hall turned
very strange when I announced he’d won.’

  ‘No, no. I believe you might have made a big difference to the lad. He has an unfortunate background, doesn’t always come to school, a bit neglected. He was sitting on the front row so that the teachers could keep an eye on him. I think the students were just surprised, as he’s more likely to be handed a detention than a prize.’

  ‘Hidden talents then? There’s such energy in his painting and it shows him to be a great observer of life.’

  ‘Hopefully, your recognition of his artwork will help him. I must go and have another look at the winning entries. Would you come with me, Ellie and talk me through what you admired about the winners? I’d also like your opinion on something else …’

  Ellie walked down the stage steps. Her movements felt deliberate and stiff. She would have to go with John Williams, but her whole being wanted to … wanted to what? Challenge Harry? Beat his chest and ask him why he had let her believe he was gone forever? Scream in his face, because he didn’t recognise her, although she knew logically he was unlikely to given she’d changed so much? Ask why he had cut his hair and got rid of his tattoo? Cry? Or, deep down, did she long to be enfolded in those strong arms once more?

  She shuddered, hoping John Williams hadn’t said anything important or asked her a question, as he chatted away beside her on the way to the art exhibition. She looked behind her, but Harry Dixon had melted away … again.

  Harry accepted a cup of tea from the school secretary. He juggled the cup and saucer, slopping some of the liquid into the saucer in the process, thinking it was rare these days not to be drinking from a mug.

  What now?

  Did he stay and see what Ellie Golden might say to him after that strange searching look on the stage, or did he leave?

  He’d hoped this move to Borteen signalled a new phase, a new start. If Ellie had somehow recognised him from the past, he might have to move on again and that filled him with horror.

  Decision made, he gulped his tea, which was tasteless and luke-warm, made an excuse about a meeting and strode out of the double doors at the front of the school. The school garden, car park, the drab housing estate, the Victorian shops and concrete wall that doubled as sea defence passed by in a blur. He didn’t stop walking until his feet were on the sand.

  Pausing to roll up his trouser hems, remove his shoes and socks, he headed for the water.

  Cool sea, stony sand, the smell of seaweed in his nostrils. He laughed despite his tumultuous thoughts. His mother had often speculated that he was the son of a merman, as he loved the sea so much. Or was that just a story she’d concocted to cover the embarrassment of him being the product of a drunken one-night stand and the fact that she had no idea of the identity of his father? Much easier to plant a romantic notion in her beloved son’s head of a merman coming out of the sea and seducing his mother on the sand.

  He trailed along the water’s edge trying to order his troubled mind. Ellie Golden. He said the name aloud slowly. Ellie Golden. As if voicing her name would help his recall. Why didn’t he remember her? She seemed to remember him, but from where? For what? He couldn’t recall an Ellie Golden in his past, but then that might not be her real name. Surely, he would have remembered her hair, if nothing else. She was an attractive woman; he wouldn’t have forgotten her, would he? Unless of course, he’d met her in that period of his life of which he had no recollection at all … that time he referred to as his black hole …

  He was tempted to return to his flat and pack up. It was probably an overreaction, but wouldn’t it be simpler to disappear before he took up his post at the school? Sighing, he kicked the water, succeeding in soaking one leg of his best suit. Perhaps he could deflect Ellie, maybe convince her she didn’t know him at all. Looking back along the beach, he resolved to brazen it out. He’d go and confront the woman at her gallery to see what she had to say. It would be easier if they were alone. He might be mistaken. She might be mistaken. He’d just have to find out.

  It was silly to make assumptions that could affect his life in Borteen. He must find out the facts before deciding upon an appropriate reaction. Hadn’t all his training for his former career been based upon that very principle?

  A group of lads in the distinctive red jumpers of Borteen High School were coming towards him across the sand. He’d been on the beach longer than he’d realised. School must have finished for the day. He turned around and passed close to the boys. Thomas Golden recognised him and raised his hand in acknowledgement. Harry waved back. As he was sure that Ellie’s son was out of the way, it might be an idea to go to her gallery right now. He needed to know as a matter of urgency whether Ellie Golden was a threat to his future in Borteen.

  Chapter Three

  Ellie enjoyed talking to John Williams about the art competition. Amongst the one hundred and twenty entries there were a number of students who showed real artistic talent in Ellie’s opinion. John, who had been the school’s headmaster for ten years, had his students’ best interests at heart and listened enthusiastically to her observations.

  ‘I’m really sad that you’re retiring,’ she said with genuine feeling.

  ‘I shall miss the school and the students, but it’s time for a change.’ A wistful look crept over his care-worn face.

  ‘It must be difficult to leave a job you’re so dedicated to.’

  ‘Thank you for the compliment, Ellie.’ He smiled at her. ‘It is, but I have an idea that, hopefully, will help me to keep contact with the school. It’s what I wanted to discuss with you. I’d like to set up a mentoring scheme to encourage students, especially those with particular talent and those who are disaffected, like Nicholas Crossten.’

  ‘That sounds like a great scheme. Have you discussed it with the new headmaster?’ The mention of Harry Dixon, even if not by name, started an uncomfortable churning in her stomach. She hoped that John Williams hadn’t noticed the strained tone that had crept into her voice as she mentioned him.

  ‘I’ve yet to discuss it with Harry. He might be totally against the idea, but I couldn’t run the scheme single-handed, so I’ve been sounding out a few people to see if they’d be willing to help me by acting as mentors. I was wondering if you might be one of those people?’

  ‘What exactly would this mentoring involve?’

  ‘If I use Nicholas as an example. If you were his mentor, you’d meet regularly with him, probably once a week, to discuss his school work and any other concerns and, in his case, to encourage him with his art.’

  Ellie reached out to smooth her hand over one of the pottery exhibits, as she took a moment to think. She realised right away that this was a bad idea as it reminded her of the brush of Harry’s hand when they were judging the competition. She made an effort to bring her mind back to John’s question.

  ‘It sounds like a really good idea, but I’d have to be very strict on the time I could give to it. I’m a single parent, after all, trying to build up a business.’ She hoped her reply didn’t seem too sharp and negative, but she had to be realistic. She was the bread winner for her little family and she hadn’t chosen the easiest of careers in which to make a living.

  ‘Sorry, perhaps I’m asking too much. I’ll find out Harry’s thoughts first and, if he’s in favour, I’ll draw up clearer guidelines about levels of involvement. Then, maybe you’d give it some serious consideration?’

  ‘I’d definitely think about it, particularly if I can help with budding artists like Nicholas. Although, I’ll be running the after-school art class in September too, remember?’

  ‘I do hope Nicholas will come to that.’

  She smiled and decided to be brave. ‘Can I ask how the school came to choose Harry Dixon?’ Her heart began to thump. She glanced around to make sure Harry wasn’t lurking behind one of the display boards.

  ‘We advertised the post and interviewed the most suitable candidates. The school governors were keen to have a younger headmaster, had enough of old hands like me I suppose. Harry Di
xon was ideal with his sports background and interest in using digital technology in schools. He’s got impressive references and international experience.’

  Ellie pushed her thumb against a rough edge of a piece of pottery, using the slight abrasion to steady her nerves. ‘Sports background?’

  ‘Yes, he was a games teacher at the start of his career. Borteen High doesn’t have a strong sports tradition. Harry’s determined to change that. He wants the school to compete in team sports and athletics. Not something we’ve done much of in the past.’

  ‘Presumably anyone joining the school is thoroughly checked out?’

  The headmaster’s eyes widened. Maybe she’d gone too far.

  ‘Yes, of course, vetted and references followed up. Why do you ask? Do you think there’s a problem with Harry?’

  ‘No, no. I suppose I’m just a bit sensitive as my son’s at the school. I’m sure Tom will be more than happy to take part in more sport.’

  Ellie took deep breaths. She couldn’t continue her questioning without it appearing strange.

  John put his hand on her arm for a second. ‘Your son’s okay, Ellie. Tom’s starting to establish himself at the school.’

  It took Ellie by surprise. Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Thanks for saying that. I worry he’s still a bit withdrawn.’

  John knew more about Ellie’s life story than most people in Borteen. She’d shared most of her past with him at the point Tom joined the high school. Right now, that fact made her uncomfortable, as she knew his mind would be replaying the details and looking at her face more closely.

  She went to stand in front of the competition winner’s canvas, to give her time to compose herself. The depiction of a young man dancing in the street, his cap on backwards and a beat box at his feet was almost alive.