The Girl on the Beach

by Morton S. Gray

  Her instincts had been right all along; Rushton Jacob leaned nonchalantly against the wall. He had a horrible smirk on his face as he ran a finger down the edge of one of Ellie’s paintings, making it tilt alarmingly.

  She sat up against the wall, dustpan and brush raised as a lame protection. He looked just the same as when she had last seen him and, of course, matched Nick’s description of tall, rugby player shoulders and black hair, although his hair was tinged with new grey and he was unshaven. Unhappy memories flooded her mind and body, making the tension more acute.

  ‘Hello, Ellie. Nice gallery. Doing well for yourself by the looks of things.’

  Even now, the deep gravelly tones of his voice drove daggers of fear through her.

  ‘Rushton! What do you want?’

  ‘That’s not a very nice way to greet your long lost husband.’

  ‘Ex … Ex-husband,’ she stuttered. She’d divorced him while he was in prison. He’d signed the papers for goodness’ sake.

  ‘Come on, Ellie. Divorce or no divorce, you’ll always be mine. You know that deep down, don’t you? You’re mine.’ He took a step forward and laughed when she scrabbled to get away.

  She managed to get to her feet using the wall as support, trying to keep her wits about her and assess escape routes. Rushton was a big man. How could she once have thought his solidness meant safety? All she felt at the moment was an overwhelming fear that made her heart hammer in her rib cage. Nick had been right all along. The man who had been watching her was dangerous.

  ‘How did you find me?’

  How could she be safe, if a change of name and location didn’t work?

  ‘It wasn’t difficult. I made lots of amazing contacts inside, you’d be surprised what strings they can pull, even from inside a cell. Just needed to put out a few feelers and you were found. Could have had you dealt with, but I wanted to do it myself. You and, of course, Tom.’

  An icy chill travelled over her skin at the mention of her son. It was one thing threatening her, but quite another to threaten Tom. Every mother knew how far she would go to protect her child. Rushton was unaware that his words had flipped a switch inside her, a switch of determination to get out of this situation and get her son to safety.

  He put his head on one side and looked her up and down. It felt like he was mentally undressing her. ‘The medics made a good job of your face. Better than the original, I reckon. You should be thanking me.’

  Ellie’s legs began to shake. She had to move quickly or she would be incapable of getting away. She didn’t like to think what Rushton had in mind for her.

  ‘You broke my window?’ The comment seemed irrelevant, but came out of her mouth anyway. She had to find some fight from somewhere.

  ‘Have you proof?’

  ‘You broke my window! How dare you.’ She tried to summon anger, because she knew that the adrenaline would help her. He was blocking her escape route and was much too big and solid to push out of the way. She’d have to outwit him.

  ‘You stole my money! How dare you.’

  His eyes were bulging and he had a look that Ellie knew from experience spelled danger.

  ‘What money?’

  ‘Oh come on Ellie. The money you found hidden around the house.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean. I stopped renting the house we shared years ago.’

  She’d never been very good at lying. She focused on the pulse at the base of his neck, where his blood beat time.

  He looked uncertain for one second, before the leer returned to his face.

  ‘You owe me, Ellie.’

  ‘I don’t owe you a penny, given what you put me through.’

  What now?

  What next?

  Was he going to hit her again or maybe kill her this time?

  Would he finish the job he started when he rearranged her face and sent himself to prison?

  They faced each other in silence. He raised his fist and she saw he had a knife in the other hand. Her blood turned to ice. It wasn’t a large knife, but the blade glinted in the gallery spotlights.

  It was still early, Maeve at the gift shop didn’t open until ten thirty and the lady who ran the wool shop didn’t always open at weekends. Unless someone was browsing for art early, a rescue party was unlikely to arrive. It was all down to her.

  She couldn’t even scream and despite her earlier resolve, knew it was worthless to fight. A cold resignation settled over her and she raised her eyes to his, daring him to ignore any feelings he might once have had for her, if indeed he had ever really cared for her at all. She’d just been a cover, a veneer of respectability to fool the police that he’d turned a corner and stopped his criminal activities.

  Rushton had hatred on his face, every pore proclaimed his anger and distaste. How had they come to this? Ellie remembered those dark eyes full of … what was it? Not love, but at least lust. She even recalled saying to him once, “I love it, when you look at me like that”, as he enfolded her in his arms. The smell of his blue denim jacket. The solid strength of him. She had never really loved him. She’d known even at the beginning that he was dangerous, that he was involved with a bad crowd, but that was somehow fine when he offered to protect her and her unborn child. It had been okay until he’d turned against her.

  He took a step forward and she jumped. She’d been free of him for nearly eight years. Did he want to be free of her forever? Was this where it ended?

  ‘Mum, what’s happened?’

  Tom shouted to her from outside of the broken window. He must only have been able to see Ellie inside the gallery.

  She turned horrified and Tom seemed to sense movement, saw Rushton and leaped back, his huge brown eyes wide.

  ‘Thomas! Come in and join the party.’ Rushton opened the gallery door and gestured for Tom to come inside. He held the knife behind his back so that Tom couldn’t see it. Ellie’s heart was in her mouth.

  A range of emotions passed over Tom’s face.

  ‘Run, Tom!’ she yelled.

  He turned and ran without saying a word. Her heart leapt in gratitude that he’d listened and not tried to protect her.

  ‘Goodness, he’s growing up, isn’t he? Good at rugby too.’

  ‘How long have you been watching us?’

  ‘Long enough.’

  A yelp escaped from her throat and she jumped up onto the window sill. She cut her arm on a shard of glass and blood began to ooze out of the wound. Her only chance was to make an escape through the broken window, but Rushton was too fast, he grabbed her hair and yanked her back into the gallery.

  ‘No! No! Let me go …’

  The blade glinted again in the spotlights. Ellie tried to twist away, but he had a big handful of her hair and it hurt as he pulled. She could smell garlic on his breath, see madness in his eyes, feel his strength.

  I’m going to die. A high speed film of his previous attack ran on a loop in her head.

  ‘Where’s my money, you thieving bitch?’

  Tears ran down her face. Tears of fear and pain as he yanked her hair again. The knife blade kept getting closer. She didn’t have his money any more. She’d used the cash, after much soul searching, to pay for things they needed and the lease on the shop. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut she resigned herself to her fate. She prayed for the end to be quick.

  Just when she’d given up, and the tension began to flow out of her, there was an almighty roar from nearby. Rushton let go and she fell to the floor. Opening her eyes, Ellie rolled away as Rushton smashed into the display table in the centre of the room, scattering and shattering yet more pots. Thankfully, she heard the knife skitter away across the floor.

  A man was wrestling with Rushton.

  Harry Dixon.

  How could that be?

  Ellie cowered against the wall. Her head hurt where her hair had been pulled. Blood smeared her jeans from the cuts on her arm.

  She was transfixed by the writhing men, grunting and struggling in front of her as t
hey tried to get handholds on each other. It seemed surreal. How had she ever trusted Rushton enough to marry him? She couldn’t even remember living with him now. And Harry … her heart went out to him for his bravery in tackling Rushton. What could she do? How could she help?

  She grabbed one of her pots and tried to get a clear view of Rushton’s head to smash it down on him, but the men were writhing together and she was just as likely to knock Harry out as Rushton.

  When the men rolled to one side, she could see a clear route to the door and ran outside screaming. She needed to get help. Tom stood there, white-faced. She flung herself into his arms, sobbing, the pot incongruously still in her hands between them. He clung onto her, trying to push her towards the alley entrance.

  ‘Mum, come on, we have to get away.’ He pulled at her clothing, imploring her to move, but she was frozen in fear and disbelief.

  ‘We can’t leave Harry on his own. Rushton has a knife. He’ll kill Harry. Phone 999.’

  She pulled away from Tom, pushed him towards the entrance of the alley and returned and tried to see what was happening inside the gallery. Harry and her ex-husband were still locked together, rolling around the floor.

  Heavy breathing and smashing sounds filled the air. They grappled with each other, pulling at clothing, trying to get a space to land a punch. Ellie’s gallery was being wrecked in front of her eyes, but none of it mattered as long as Harry was safe.

  Rushton head-butted Harry and he fell back stunned, but then leaped up again and grabbed Rushton, who pulled him to one side, stretching out his hand. Ellie realised in an instant what he was trying to do. She threw her pot on the cobbles, where it smashed, took a deep breath and dashed into the gallery, hearing Tom behind her screeching for her to come back.

  The knife lay against the skirting board, its blade glinting dangerously. Ellie made a lunge, picked it up and ran back outside. Her heart hammered. She stood against the wall, examining the weapon in horror. This was the blade Rushton had intended to use on her. She couldn’t believe he would want to risk going back to prison. Not familiar with the mechanism to fold the knife, she stood there holding the blade in front of her, fascinated.

  The sounds of the struggle intensified, punctuated by crashes, as yet more of her work fell to the floor to be trampled, smashed and ruined.

  Ellie came to her senses. ‘Tom, phone the police again. Quick, Rushton is going to kill Harry. Go out on the main street to guide them here and stay out of danger.’

  Her own phone was in her handbag in the studio at the back of the gallery. She felt vulnerable standing on the cobbles on her own, but she couldn’t bring herself to abandon Harry, her rescuer. She couldn’t believe Tom had found him so quickly, but she was sure that if he hadn’t, she could be lying with her throat cut in the broken shards of her own artwork right now. Tom would have found her dead when he came to look for her.

  As she went to peer into the window again, Rushton dashed past her. Dishevelled and bloodied, he must have realised that she would have alerted the police by now. He gave her an almighty shove against the wall.

  ‘Now I understand everything,’ he yelled mysteriously and ran off.

  Ellie banged her head on the bricks and it hurt. She slumped against the wall, wondering what Rushton had done to Harry and trying to gather her senses to go and find out.

  The same policeman, PC Giles, who had visited the gallery earlier, ran into the alley. His eyes widened when he saw Ellie holding a knife.

  ‘He ran away. You must have seen him. He would have run straight past you. He went that way.’ She pointed back the way the policeman had come.

  ‘Can you give me a description?’

  ‘Tall, dark-haired, broad chest. He was bleeding and his clothes were a mess. I have to check on Harry, he’s in there, and where’s Tom?’

  ‘One thing at a time. Let me have that knife.’

  She handed the weapon over gratefully and the constable wrapped it in a plastic bag he drew out of his pocket. He passed her some tissues from his other pocket and she dabbed at the cuts on her arm.

  As she went back through the gallery door, she heard him alert the control centre to the dangerous man on the run, giving Ellie’s description and Rushton Jacob’s name. He asked for back up.

  ‘Harry?’

  There was no reply. Fear spiralled up her body and she began to shake uncontrollably. Was Harry dead?

  She could hear sirens approaching. Her head reeling, she ventured further into the gallery, her shoes crunching on bits of pottery and glass.

  Harry lay curled up on the floor by the far wall. She went over and knelt down gingerly on the splinter covered tiles, almost frightened to touch him, but needing to know he was still breathing.

  ‘Harry?’

  She put her hand on his shoulder and to her relief, he turned and lay on his back. She launched herself at him, tears wetting his T-shirt as she clung to him.

  ‘Ow, Ow … sorry, Ellie, I’m covered in bruises.’

  ‘Sorry … of course … sorry. You came to save me. How did you know?’

  He pushed her gently off his body and sat up cautiously. ‘Of course I came. Tom said you were in danger.’

  A couple of policemen ran into the shop, faces serious, batons raised.

  ‘He’s already gone. Find him,’ Ellie yelled.

  They raced back out of the door. She almost laughed, as it was so like a scene from an old silent film.

  Paramedics arrived and began to assess Harry and Ellie for injuries. Mercifully, they had only suffered cuts and bruises.

  Rushton had escaped. She couldn’t believe it. He’d escaped and he was angry, vicious and quite likely a mortal danger to Tom and herself if he wasn’t caught.

  Where was Tom?

  Panic rose up in her chest and threatened to engulf her. She hoped to goodness he hadn’t followed Rushton. He could be in real trouble if he had. She turned to the nearest policeman. ‘Where’s my son?’

  ‘He’s safe. He’s outside.’

  She let out a long breath and allowed the paramedic to bandage her arm.

  After what seemed like forever, Harry and Ellie hobbled out of the gallery. Ellie grabbed Tom and held him in a tight hug, before turning to look at Harry in the daylight.

  His face was dirty, bloodied and bruised; Ellie’s heart did a little skip. Gratitude that he didn’t appear badly injured flooded through her. Harry, who she had not trusted, and at times had not been very nice to, had saved her life, she was convinced. He was looking straight at her, with concern on his face. Then, he leaned in and put his arms around both Ellie and Tom. They clung together as a little group amongst the policemen.

  As he released them, he winced. ‘I seem to have bruises on my bruises.’

  Ellie started to dab at his face with the tissues PC Giles had given to her.

  ‘Hey, hey.’ He tried to fend her off.

  ‘Do I gather that this wasn’t the man who attacked you?’ asked PC Giles.

  ‘I told you. The man who attacked me was Rushton Jacob, my ex-husband. He’s just been released from prison. I had a letter to tell me he was out, but I never dreamed he’d find me here.’ She was aware she was babbling but didn’t seem able to stop.

  ‘Can I ask, Sir, how you came to be involved in all of this?’

  ‘I’m the headmaster of Borteen High school, Harry Dixon. I’d arranged to meet one of my pupils, Tom Golden for a run on the beach. I was walking down the promenade, when he ran up and told me his mother was being assaulted, so I came to try and help her. The man attacked me too, we struggled and then he ran off.

  Harry looked a mess. Ellie knew she didn’t look much better.

  PC Giles held up the plastic bag containing the knife. ‘Is this yours, Mr Dixon?’

  Harry’s eyes widened. ‘No, it’s not mine.’ He turned to Ellie. ‘He had a knife?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Rushton’s. He threatened me with it before you arrived.’

  ‘Mum, are you okay? I was
so scared. I tried to follow Rushton, but he ran too fast.’ Tom’s face was pale and he looked more child-like than he had for a long time.

  ‘Which way did he go? Tell PC Giles.’

  Tom turned to the policeman. ‘He ran towards the old church, past the library, but I lost sight of him in the churchyard.’

  PC Giles related the information on his radio.

  Tom hugged Ellie tightly and then turned to Harry and did the same to him. She watched them embrace and it felt surreal to see them so close together. Her heart filled with gratitude that her son was safe and unharmed.

  ‘Thank you for helping Mum, Mr Dixon. I was scared Rushton would hurt her … again.’

  Ellie glanced across at Harry and shook her head slightly. The last thing Tom needed was confirmation that Rushton had indeed intended to more than hurt Ellie.

  ‘You’ll all need to come to the police station in Sowden to make statements,’ said PC Giles. ‘If you would follow me.’

  ‘My gallery isn’t secure,’ Ellie said feebly, wondering at the same time if there was anything left of her stock to salvage after the ferocious fight inside.

  ‘I’ll leave an officer to look after it, while you make your statement.’

  She nodded gratefully. ‘I’ve already asked a window replacement company to come to board up the front window. They should be here soon.’

  Harry came over to her, wiping dirt from his face with the tissues.

  ‘Are you all right, Ellie?’

  She leaned in closer so that Tom couldn’t hear. ‘I’m alive. I don’t believe I would have been if you hadn’t come to save me. I’ve had my hair pulled, a bang on the head and cut my arm, but I think the worst thing is the shock. Shock that he’s found me here in Borteen.’

  She asked one of the policemen to retrieve her handbag from the studio. She couldn’t face seeing the state of the gallery right now.

  The policeman ushered them along the alley, just as Maeve arrived to open her shop. She stared at Ellie in disbelief.

  ‘Whatever happened here? Ellie, are you okay?’

  Ellie told her briefly that she’d been attacked in the gallery, before she followed the others to the police car, which took them to the police station in Sowden. The journey over the moor seemed to take forever, when all Ellie really wanted to do was to sink into a warm bath and go to sleep.