The Girl on the Beach

by Morton S. Gray

  ‘I can reassure you that the teaching staff and I will do everything we can to help him. Hopefully, with John Williams as his mentor, we can make real progress.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ellie studied the tiles on the floor.

  ‘Did something in particular happen to make him like this? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but it might help.’

  Ellie closed the door again. Her heart began to drum, as she thought what to say. She was alone in the room with Harry, but the huge boardroom-style table was between them and she had her hand on the door handle.

  ‘Most of the problems stem from him witnessing an attack. Rather a violent attack. He was six. He must have been so scared and there was nothing he could do to help against a big, angry man. I also believe that at the time, he must have thought he was next for the same treatment.’

  Harry dropped down into one of the chairs. ‘My God, Ellie. I … I had no idea. Has he had counselling?’

  ‘Yes, he saw a psychotherapist for four years. The counselling stopped when we moved here. Maybe I should consider more intervention, although I have to say that having a girlfriend over the summer has done more for his attitude and state of mind than anything or anyone else ever has.’

  ‘He’s dating Louise Stevens isn’t he? Was the attack he witnessed on someone … close to him?’

  She paused. ‘Yes, it was … me.’

  Harry visibly blanched.

  She couldn’t continue the conversation. Her chest tightened with panic. ‘I’m sorry, Harry. I still find this a difficult topic of conversation, it’s painful in many, many ways, but at the same time, it might tell you something about my own trust issues. I’ll say goodbye for now.’

  She wrenched open the door, hurting her fingers on the handle and fled down the corridor with tears in her eyes. Maybe she was the one who needed more therapy.

  Harry sat in the meeting room for a long time after she’d gone.

  Who had attacked Ellie? Her ex-husband seemed the most likely culprit. As she had suggested, it explained some of the behaviour he had observed in her, but not this deep distrust of himself.

  Harry wasn’t a violent man, not unless his life depended upon it or that of someone he cared about. He couldn’t imagine beating a woman that badly. The way she touched her face as she was speaking suggested that she’d taken blows there. Could this be why he didn’t recognise her?

  He had been genuinely disappointed not to be assigned Tom Golden as a mentee. He asked himself the reasons for this. Was it because he wanted to know more about Ellie? No, he concluded that he had formed a bond and rapport with the lad, mainly though sport. If he’d had a son of his own, Harry would have wanted him to be like Tom.

  Chapter Fourteen

  If Ellie was totally honest, she wasn’t looking forward to being Zack Martin’s mentor. If only they’d let her look after Nick Crossten. She could relate to Nick.

  Harry had probably been right though, even if she hated to admit it; she would have been in danger of getting too close to Nick. Something about him ignited her maternal instincts.

  Her charge, Zack, looked just as she remembered him, when he slunk into the office Ellie had been allocated for the meeting. Cheeky round face, overweight, shirt untucked even though school rules were strict on neatness, and his tie deliberately tied to be jauntily too short. On first appearance, he was brash and cocky, but as the boy sat down in the chair opposite to her, Ellie could see fear in his eyes. He seemed to shrink as he settled on the edge of the seat.

  ‘Miss, what’s this about? Have I done something wrong?’

  ‘What makes you think that, Zack?’ Ellie smiled as broadly as she could, hoping to reassure him.

  ‘No one said why I’ve got to come and see you.’

  ‘Really, oh dear. What exactly was said to you?’

  ‘Mr Dixon shouted across to me in the playground and told me to go to room G45 right away.’

  Ellie made a mental note to raise this issue at the next mentoring meeting. Pupils must be aware of why they had been singled out for mentoring, as it was supposed to be a two-way process. She smiled again in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

  ‘You’ve been asked to see me because you are special, Zack.’

  His expression changed to puzzled and then his face split in an answering grin. ‘You mean, because of my pottery?’

  ‘Partly, Zack. The idea is that you and I meet every week and at those meetings you can tell me about anything bothering you, or anything that is stopping you being the best you can be at school. We’ll work together to change anything you’re unhappy about. We can talk about your pottery too.’

  ‘You mean you’re like an American shrink?’

  She was taken aback by his terminology, but could see what he meant. ‘More a friendly auntie I suppose.’

  ‘My aunties aren’t friendly. They hate dad’s guts.’

  Ellie chuckled and retreated to familiar territory. ‘Are you enjoying your art classes? Is it just pottery you like, or painting as well?’

  ‘Art’s my favourite lesson, Miss. I love working with clay, but I already have three pictures to choose from to enter in the next competition and it’s only September. I want to win the next one. I can hear everyone in the school clapping and cheering.’

  Ellie was touched that her competition was so important to him. Despite her initial wariness, she began to warm to the boy. ‘That’s great, Zack. We could see if we can find other art competitions for you to enter, if you like.’

  ‘Seriously, Miss? There are other competitions around here?’

  ‘Let me have a look and I can tell you at our next meeting.’

  She made a note on her pad.

  His eyes assumed a dreamy look and she wondered if he was seeing his artwork illuminated in a spot light, or on a news report on television. Nothing like having ambition.

  ‘Is there anything you’re worried about at the moment, Zack, anything you want to talk about?’

  ‘Don’t think so, Miss. I enjoy school most of the time. It’s better than home anyway.’

  ‘And you’ve got some good friends at school?’

  ‘Ish, Miss. Not sure you can really trust anyone.’

  She explored his comment a little, wishing that she’d had her second training session before the meeting. She was making it all up as she went along.

  When their time was up, Ellie emerged from the room a little breathless. It was the result of the unpredictability of the subject matter and the way your brain had to move from subject to subject so quickly. Still, the first meeting had gone far better than she’d imagined. She laughed that Zack would have been surprised if he’d been aware how nervous she was.

  After her initial explanation, he seemed to have taken it in his stride that he’d been chosen for the mentoring scheme because he was special.

  Unlike Tom, who was not best pleased to have been put on the list at all. He’d stood in the kitchen doorway when he returned from school with a look like thunder on his face.

  ‘Did you put me forward for it?’

  ‘No! The teachers made the nominations.’

  ‘So, the teachers think I’m a repro.’

  ‘Repro?’ Ellie was mentally trying to keep up with Tom’s explosion, but didn’t recognise this expression.

  ‘A lost cause, a good for nothing, mental problems …’

  ‘Tom Golden! It’s not about that at all.’

  But then, he had been put on the list because he was withdrawn at times. Even Ellie had difficulty getting a response from him if he was in one of his moods.

  ‘Why then?’ He pulled his school jumper over his head, then yanked off his tie.

  ‘As far as I understand it you were nominated for extra support because of your sports ability.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  He stormed off upstairs and didn’t speak for the rest of the evening. Ellie sketched on page after page of art paper, trying to distract herself from her feelings of
helplessness and frustration. The path of a single parent was far from easy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ellie’s after school art class was very popular. She felt flattered to have a waiting list for the club. At these sessions, she felt truly alive, wondering, not for the first time, if she should have become a full time teacher. She’d finished a teaching qualification in the month before Rushton’s attack and after her recovery, they’d moved several times, so she’d never applied for a teaching role.

  Nick Crossten was blooming. Ellie had encouraged him to stick with the theme of the street dancer in his art, but to include splashes of colour to accent his work. His canvases were truly amazing and each one seemed better than the last. Ellie decided to discuss options for funding his work with the mentoring group. He was skilled enough to gain a scholarship or grant to continue learning and developing his artistic skills.

  There could be other possibilities to provide funds for Nick. Up until now, she’d kept the gallery exclusively to promote her own work, but she was tempted to try selling a couple of his pictures to give him money for things he needed and possibly, more importantly, to give him encouragement to continue. She wished Harry Dixon wasn’t Nick’s mentor, because it meant she would have to discuss her ideas with him.

  As if her thoughts had conjured him yet again, Harry walked into the classroom at that very moment. The noise level in the room diminished immediately. Harry nodded to Ellie, smiled at Nick, admired his work, and did a tour of the other desks to see what the students were working on. Ellie noticed that he focused exclusively on each child, one at a time, giving the individual his full attention. He managed to skirt around Ellie and only came to where she was working when he had done a complete circuit of the room.

  ‘Everyone’s having such fun. Can I have a go?’ he asked. The expression on his face was like that of a cheeky schoolboy.

  Ellie was surprised. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. She wasn’t sure if he was joking, but wordlessly, she spread a large sheet of paper on a spare desk, put a water pot and paints next to it and held out a brush. He took the brush and his eyes seemed to hold a challenge. He was wearing the aftershave she had come to delight in. One day she must ask him for the name of it, so she could get a bottle just to sniff.

  Harry exchanged a grin and a wink with Nick, who was working on the opposite table. ‘I’ve not done painting for years. Can you give me some tips please, Miss?’

  Nick laughed aloud. Ellie couldn’t help but smile too. ‘Do you want to paint people, buildings, landscapes or abstracts?’

  ‘Too many questions. Can’t I just pick up the brush and see what happens?’

  ‘Of course, but painting is usually better with a theme or shape in mind. The mistake most people make is to think art is about daubing paint. Do you agree, Nick?’ She turned to her protégé.

  ‘Yes, Miss. I need to have in mind what mood or emotion I’m trying to show with the paint before I start.’

  Ellie stopped in her tracks. It seemed such a mature statement from a young lad. She exchanged a meaningful look with Harry.

  ‘So, Nick, what mood or emotion are you working with today?’

  ‘Joy!’

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she tidied the desk in front of her to regain control over her emotions. ‘How wonderful.’

  ‘Yes, I’m happy. I’m allowed to paint, what more could I want?’

  A mischievous thought went through Ellie’s head.

  ‘Mr Dixon, what mood or emotion are you going to be working with today?’ She winked at Nick.

  Harry’s face was a picture as he contemplated the question, she could almost see cogs whirring in his head. Ellie and Nick exchanged several glances before he replied and she wondered if she had been wise to ask the question.

  ‘I’d have to say surprise and hope.’

  The way Harry looked at her made a blush tinge her cheeks.

  Harry brandished the paintbrush, dripping with blue paint, at the paper in front of him. He wasn’t sure what he was playing at. The art class was Ellie’s domain. They hadn’t spoken much since the mentoring meeting, just polite salutations in the corridor or town.

  He would prefer it if they were on better terms. It might be difficult for them to be friends, or anything more with Ellie’s suspicions about his past, but they, at least, needed to have a working relationship. He might have to talk to her about Tom, her art support or anything else for that matter.

  Since she’d told him about the attack she’d suffered, he couldn’t get imagined images and rising anger out of his head every time he looked at her or even thought about her, which was more often than he would allow himself to admit.

  He sat with the blue paint dripping onto his paper and froze. What now? All of the students were watching him and he was no artist.

  Ellie seemed to sense his confusion.

  ‘Do you need help, Mr Dixon?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, my mind has gone completely blank.’ He flashed her a ‘help me’ look.

  Taking him completely by surprise, she grasped his hand, complete with paintbrush and pulled it over the paper in a wide arc. Harry’s senses went into overdrive. Ellie’s skin was warm against his own, her perfume was floral and her body pressed against him felt heavenly. He had to remind himself that he had ten teenage pupils staring at him. Otherwise, he might have floated up to the ceiling in bliss.

  ‘Does that help at all?’

  She released his hand and moved away a little. The paper was three quarters covered in blue.

  Was she serious? His mind was further away from the painting than it had been when she’d asked if she could help him. He washed the blue from his brush and dipped it into the white paint, trying to cover up his state of confusion.

  ‘I need more help than I thought.’ He wondered if he had gone too far, whether she would walk away in disgust, but she was probably as aware of the students watching them as he was.

  She lifted her eyes heavenward and grasped his hand again. This time edging the blue sweep with a zigzag in white.

  Realisation dawned. She’d painted a wave. Not just a breaker, but a rolling wave fit to be surfed.

  ‘Now all you need to do is add a surfer to the picture.’

  The reference to her version of his past brought him back to the present with a bump. Her suspicions were still there, not far below the surface, and she was making that perfectly clear. He’d thought they’d made progress towards an understanding, but he’d obviously imagined it.

  ‘Wow, Sir, that’s really good,’ said Nick, wandering over to peer over his shoulder.

  ‘I haven’t exactly done any painting yet, Nick. The teacher’s done it for me. Isn’t that cheating?’

  Ellie had moved across the room and was busy discussing shades of yellow with another student. Harry could still feel the imprint of her body warmth beside him.

  At the end of the club time, he waited until all of the students had gone. Nick was the last out and almost had to be evicted.

  ‘That boy adores you.’

  ‘He relates to me, because I listen and encourage him. From what he’s said, I don’t think he gets either of those things at home, but I shouldn’t judge as I don’t know the full circumstances.’

  Ellie picked up Harry’s artwork. Instead of a surfer, he’d rebelled and painted the shape of a badly formed, but recognisable dolphin. Her eyes flared for a moment and then she laughed.

  ‘Touché.’

  ‘Ellie, I know you still don’t trust me, but please believe I have the best interests of the students of this school at the forefront of my mind.’

  She sighed and sat down opposite to him. ‘I don’t doubt it. I’ve watched you with them, watched you with Tom on the sports field. I have no issue with … who you are now.’

  He held his breath to stop from speaking until she’d had her say.

  ‘I’ve a few issues with your previous incarnation, but you obviously had your reasons for making the
change.’

  He was wary. Was she trying to trick him into an admission or was she offering an olive branch? What had appeared conciliatory suddenly felt hostile. He looked at her almond-shaped eyes and her curls, barely contained by a band. She had red paint on a strand near her ear.

  It would be so easy to reach out … and …

  Trust was most definitely the issue here. He didn’t trust her motivations and she didn’t trust him at all. Any friendship or working relationship was difficult without at least an element of trust. They had little, if any, between them. There was, however, obvious animal attraction, he believed on both sides. Where did they go from here?

  ‘Ellie, would you have dinner with me?’

  The response was instant and negative. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘I don’t mean a date dinner. I meant some time out to allow us to clear the air between us.’

  She was gathering her things to leave. Had he managed to destroy the fragile working relationship that had been emerging between them? He kicked himself, wondering what on earth he could say to bring her back on side. ‘You can bring Mandy with you too if it would help.’

  She stopped what she was doing. ‘There are things in my past that not even Mandy knows. I love her dearly, but she’s the biggest gossip in the area. Do you really believe we should discuss the subjects we need to talk about in front of her?’

  ‘Maybe not then. It was a long shot to try to get you to reconsider.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for reconsidering anything today. Goodnight, Mr Dixon. Please feel free to take your painting home.’

  She was gone, leaving him with the memory of a fleeting touch and a picture only fit for the rubbish bin, except he might keep it for a while, to remind him of the feeling of Ellie’s hand on his skin.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ellie and Mandy sat in their usual seats in the wine bar fronting the promenade. The nights had begun to draw in and it was already difficult to see the sea in the gloom of the evening. It had drizzled for days and the girls both had umbrellas propped against the bench seat opposite. Ellie’s hair was uncontrollable in damp weather. It stood out at strange angles from her head and refused to be tamed.