Ellie’s frustration morphed into annoyance. Why didn’t he notice her? Her only consolation was that he didn’t date or attempt to flirt with any of the other girls. She should know, as she watched him all of the time. Ellie began to fantasise about other ways to grab Ben’s attention and capture his affections.
He was a master on the surfboard. She’d watched him riding huge waves, dipping and somersaulting, often to the applause of the other surfers. Would he rescue her if she got into difficulties in the surf? Would he dive in and drag her to safety?
If she pretended to hurt her leg on the beach, would he help her to the beach café and buy her a drink? Or, would someone else beat Ben to it? Annoying Colin had started to show an interest in Ellie. She’d have to be careful that these imagined plans didn’t backfire.
What if she went to see a witch and asked for a love potion? Ellie had laughed to herself, these ideas were getting out of control. Her imagination supplied moving images of her administering the procured love potion and Ben suddenly finding her irresistible. But, where would she find a witch, if they even existed at all? She was more likely to be taken for a ride by a fake.
Her ideas might be getting more outrageous and desperate, but she had to have Ben hold her and kiss her. He was the one she wanted to give her virginity to. She had made her decision and it became an obsession.
Her fascination with Ben had even kept her in the group, largely consisting of people she knew from school, when some of them had started taking drugs. Now they were eighteen, they could go into bars. The one nearest the beach was most popular, run by a guy called Norrie. Ellie recognised him as a sleaze. He took every opportunity to touch the girls on their bottoms and breasts. It was he who had introduced Louisa and Fran to Ecstasy tablets. Ellie managed to avoid taking any, her parents’ warnings ringing in her ears, but the others quickly became hooked. How they acted when they had taken the stuff frightened Ellie and despite the peer pressure she had resisted.
If Ben hadn’t died, she liked to fantasise that maybe they would have stood a chance at making a go of a relationship after their brief encounter on the sand or else it would have all been over completely after that night.
Just a one-night stand.
Not even that really, more a fumble on the beach.
Then, he was dead.
Or, so she had believed.
She had spent nearly fifteen years wondering what happened after they had made love and she had left the beach. If Harry refused to admit his previous identity as Ben, refused to discuss what had happened in the past, she would never know. Equally, however much she fancied Harry, she wasn’t sure she could pursue a relationship with him on anything more than a superficial level.
They could never be lovers or real friends, could they?
She turned over in bed, trying to find a comfortable position and eventually cried herself to sleep with confusion and frustration.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Where’s Mr Dixon?’ asked Tom, when he came downstairs the next day.
‘He went home as soon as I got up.’ Ellie didn’t add that Harry had been walking very stiffly and his face was badly bruised. He’d refused breakfast, drank a large glass of water, asked her to be careful and observant, then left.
Since he’d gone, she’d been sitting at the dining room table sketching designs. Throughout her life, she had taken refuge in drawing and painting. Whatever difficulty beset her life, she could escape for a while by putting pencil or paint on paper. She had wondered at one time about becoming an art therapist, as it had helped her so much with her own problems.
She would have to make, glaze and fire a completely new batch of pots, it seemed a little early to put out the Christmas ones, and she had decided to make the new pots very different to the first lot. She had been pleased with the original design, but it would forever remind her of Rushton and his actions, so she didn’t want to make and sell any more of that type or even use the same colours. The new design centred around stylised gold and silver pine cones.
‘Mum, shall I come and help you clear up at the gallery?’ Tom was watching her sketch.
‘Thank you. That would be great. I’m not looking forward to the job at all.’ Her pencil pushed a little harder into the paper at the thought.
Tom went to get a bowl of cereal, returning to sit at the table with Ellie. ‘Do you think Rushton might still be around?’ His voice betrayed his wariness.
‘I’m hoping not. The police have promised to keep a more open presence in Borteen for a while. Having said that, make sure you carry your mobile phone everywhere, in case you spot him, but promise me you won’t challenge him on your own. He’s dangerous, remember?’
‘Was he trying to kill you?’
‘Who knows what he was thinking.’ Ellie averted her eyes, so that Tom wouldn’t see the depths of her fear.
‘It somehow all seems like a dream this morning, or a nightmare.’
‘I know what you mean, but I’m sure it doesn’t to Harry Dixon; he came off worst from the fight.’
‘I did do the right thing though, didn’t I, Mum? I was on my way to meet Mr Dixon for a run when I popped into the gallery, so I bumped straight into him when I went for help. He was looking in a shop window around the corner from the gallery.’
‘Of course you did right, darling. Harry was marvellous. He saved me from serious injury or worse. I just feel terribly guilty he got hurt.’ Ellie gave Tom a brief hug.
‘He didn’t hesitate, when I told him you were in trouble he just ran towards the gallery. I think he’s got a soft spot for you.’ There was a twinkle in Tom’s eye and a cheeky smirk on his face, when Ellie looked up.
‘Don’t be silly, Tom. He was doing what he would have done for anyone.’ She rubbed the plaster on her arm, her cuts were beginning to itch.
‘Yeah, right.’ He stopped smiling, his face becoming serious. ‘But why would Rushton be so angry with you after all this time? Why would he risk being sent back to prison by attacking you again?’
‘He wanted money. Maybe he didn’t mean to hurt me, but lost his temper, or perhaps he imagined he could get away before anyone discovered what he had done. I’ve also heard a lot of people get addicted to a life inside prison, so maybe he wanted to get sent back.’ Ellie didn’t want to explain to Tom the background of the money Rushton had been after.
‘He was involved with drugs before, wasn’t he?’
Ellie nodded.
‘If he was involved in drugs, do you think it could have been him selling them outside school a couple of weeks ago?’
‘Possibly, although it does seem a long time for him to be watching me without confronting me. Patience was never his strong point.’
Her hair stood on end at Tom’s next comment. ‘You know if you wanted to date Mr Dixon, I wouldn’t mind. It would be kinda cool to have him as my step-dad.’
‘Thomas Golden!’ Ellie was aware her face was the colour of beetroot.
They walked down to the gallery and, on the way, Ellie was heartened to see a policeman walking down the promenade. She used her spare keys to open the gallery door. She would have to retrieve the other set from the bakery on Monday morning. The gallery felt very dark with a large piece of chip board covering the broken window.
Ellie feared Rushton would have broken into the shop in the night and would be lurking in the shadows waiting to get her. She took a deep breath and tried to cover her trepidation from her son. Nonetheless, she opened all of the internal doors and put on the lights to illuminate the spaces, even though she caught her breath at the extent of the devastation.
She re-examined her conscience about the money she had found in the house she had once shared with Rushton. It had been hidden in several places in plastic bags, at the back of cupboards, wardrobes and drawers, never more than a thousand pounds’ worth of notes in each packet. Ellie was all too aware that it must be the ill-gotten gains from some scam or other, but she was packing up the house to move awa
y with Tom. What was she supposed to do, leave the money where it was for the next tenant to find? Invest it for her attacker? She knew that she should have handed it into the police, but Rushton had injured her badly and traumatised Tom. Didn’t she deserve compensation for what she had been through? She’d never had a moment’s guilt about using his money, or rather, the guilt she had felt was for the poor souls who must have been cheated out of it in the first place.
Rushton wanted his money back, but how could she possibly find such an amount? Would he ever let it go, or would he keep turning up in her life? She was just about making enough to live on from the gallery and even that meant she had to live frugally with Tom. Unless she became an overnight art sensation, she would never be able to repay the money, even if she wanted to. So, they were likely to be always in danger whilst Rushton was at large.
Tom had obviously had the same thought as she had about the possibility of Rushton lurking in the gallery. He did his own search, which included the cupboards, before returning to where she was standing and giving her the second long hug in two days. Ellie decided not to comment, just to be grateful and proud of her son.
‘He’s not here.’
‘You wondered if he was too though, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I did. Given what happened yesterday, it was highly possible he was hiding here. He’d think it was the last place the police would look for him. He always was devious.’
‘Why did you ever marry him, Mum?’
‘I’ve asked myself that question many times over the years. At the time he seemed to offer me protection and a sanctuary.’
‘Because my dad wasn’t around?’
‘It’s difficult to explain. I felt stunned when your father died and lost for a while. Rushton seemed to be the answer to my prayers. He was being kind to me, offered me a home. My parents weren’t nice when they found out I was pregnant, but they soon came round when you were born. I guess I went for the safety and survival Rushton seemed to offer … but then you know how that one ended.’
Tom hugged her again. ‘I’m sure you were just trying to do the best you could.’
Tears blinded her as she took out the two pairs of protective gloves and large black sacks for the debris she had brought with her. She couldn’t decide whether to say more to Tom or not. Things had become so much more complicated with the appearance of Harry Dixon, but how did she begin to explain that to her son? His father had come back from the dead, or at least that was how it felt.
Thankfully, he went through to the storeroom to collect the dustpan and brush.
In all her practical preparations, Ellie hadn’t reckoned on her emotional reaction to being back in the shop after the attack. Not only was a large proportion of her stock of pots and paintings damaged, but the memories of her tussle with Rushton, his fight with Harry and the overwhelming emotional fear rose up to choke her. She fought against the tears and couldn’t stop shaking. Tom seemed to sense what was happening to her.
‘Mum, let me clear up. You go next door and paint. Clear your mind and relax. It always makes your mood better when you work. I’ll sort out the mess and then we’ll need to re-stock so you have something to sell. The news about the broken window and the fight will get around town in no time. You need to use this as a marketing opportunity to sell things.’
‘Tom Golden! That’s mercenary thinking to take advantage of the pity of locals and sightseers.’ The smile was back on her face.
‘Yup! But, we need to eat, Mum. You should cash in if you can.’
They both laughed.
His caring attitude and mature thinking brought on a fresh batch of tears. For once, she didn’t argue with him. She went into the studio, but turned away from the easel. Instead, she set the potter’s wheel turning.
By the time Tom had dumped several black bags in the wheelie bin and swept and cleaned, she was well on the way to replacing the broken pots. In fact, the new batch was much better than the originals.
‘Wow, that was quick work,’ said Tom, looking up and down the row of pots on the rack, drying before being loaded into the kiln.
‘A product of my bit of forward planning at the table this morning. I reckon these new ones will sell more easily than the ones that were broken. I’ve got to look on the bright side anyway.’
‘I’ve finished cleaning. The worst bit was collecting up all those marbles. Oh and throwing away your lovely art. Do you want to take a look at what I’ve done?’
She hugged him, keeping her hands away from his back because they were covered in clay.
‘Thank you, Tom. You can’t know how much this means to me.’
‘It means a lot to me that you are still here to tell me that.’
His words came out awkwardly. He smiled weakly, but Ellie could tell he had been badly shaken by the whole incident.
‘Haven’t you got a rugby match after lunch?’
‘Yes. I’d better get a move on. Do you want help hanging new pictures?’
‘I’ll wash my hands and tell you which ones I want to put up. It’s always easier to get them level with two people.’
‘Will you come and watch me play, Mum?’
Ellie had avoided the rugby matches up until now, because Harry was on the side lines, but confronted by her son, she had little choice but to say yes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ellie stood on the edge of the rugby pitch, hair standing on end, both because of the wind and the fact she was scared. She knew that rugby was a contact sport, but she hadn’t counted on her reaction to seeing huge towering members of the opposing team pushing and shoving her son, despite the protection of his rugby padding and scrum cap.
At one point, Tom had the ball and three players launched themselves on top of him. Ellie let out a yelp, fearing he would be badly injured. It was all she could do not to run onto the pitch and pull them off.
Why did people enjoy this game? Ellie couldn’t understand what was going on, despite having asked the man standing next to her to give her a potted version of the rules. It was cold, windy and the field was incredibly muddy. Most of the mud looked as if it was plastered all over Tom and his kit, and the rest was stuck to the bottom of Ellie’s boots.
Harry stood on the opposite side of the pitch, but he was too busy coaching the members of his team, or rather yelling unintelligible things at the players, to notice her. Or if he had, he hadn’t acknowledged her.
Tom’s team were eventually declared the winners. Team members and spectators retired to the hut at the end of the field, which doubled as the cricket pavilion in summertime.
To Ellie, the best part of the entire match was the cup of tea afterwards. It didn’t taste very nice, but at least it was hot and doubled as a hand warmer as she drank it.
Tom showed her his match wounds, various stud marks on his legs and arms. She winced at the sight of the circular black bruises and scrapes, some of which she could tell would be purple the next day.
Harry came over to speak to her, a tentative grin on his face. His eye was black, yellow and purple this afternoon, giving the impression of elaborately applied make-up. The swelling gave him a piratical air. Ellie felt a surge of attraction and hoped that Harry couldn’t read her reaction to him in her face.
‘How are you, Ellie?’
‘I should be asking you that question.’
‘I’m fine, just a bit battered and bruised. I could have come off worse on the rugby field if I’d played today.’
‘We’ve cleared up at the gallery, or rather Tom did it for me.’
‘He’s a great lad. Did you see his three tries? He was definitely man of the match.’
Ellie must have looked puzzled, because Harry repeated what he had said. ‘He scored three tries, sort of goals if that makes more sense. He played brilliantly. And we won.’ He did a jig on the spot, as if he’d regressed to being a schoolboy himself. Ellie liked his childlike reaction to the win.
‘You’ve done well getting the t
eam up to such a high standard in a short time. I won’t come to see him play every time though, as his mum I found it very difficult watching my son being pummelled by boys twice his height and width. I nearly joined the field myself at one point!’
Harry pulled a face. ‘I’d like to have seen that, but sad you won’t be joining us more often. We could do with more spectators.’
‘You’d have to give me rugby lessons, so that I could understand what was going on.’
‘Gladly. How are you in a scrum?’ He winked his undamaged eye. She fought a rising blush.
‘I led myself into that one didn’t I?’ She grinned at the infuriating man, aware her face was now bright red. Something unwound within her. Harry was flesh and blood and right here, Ben Rivers was dead. It was time to let him rest peacefully in his grave. She made a solemn vow to herself never to mention Ben out loud again, just to remember him in the deep recesses of her heart. But, could she keep to that promise?
Mandy had been very concerned about the events at the gallery. She hugged Ellie hungrily the first time she saw her after the attack and asked for a full description of Rushton so that she could be on the look-out for him.
There had, thankfully, been no sign of him since the incident at the gallery. She hoped he was far away by now, but Ellie was still extremely wary, especially when she left or arrived back at home, the school or the gallery. She wondered if she would ever relax again. It was tiring being on high alert all of the time.
Harry had somehow forgiven her for badgering him, yet again, about Cornwall; she still couldn’t understand why. He always made a point of visiting her after art class to ask how she was and to admire the artwork of the students. They were almost like moths and flames, as if they couldn’t keep away from each other.
Ellie recognised how much Nick Crossten came alive during the headmaster’s visits to the art class, as it gave him the opportunity to talk to the revered Mr Dixon and show off his pictures. Many of the children, including her own son, idolised the headmaster. Harry was good for Borteen High.
The Girl on the Beach Page 15
