Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

Mitch - Twenty-Six Years Ago

Has she been hasty?

Over-reacted?

Mitch wanders the lovely apartment. Light and airy. Just what she would have chosen for herself once she’d earned the money.

He's taken notice of her tastes.

In the one bedroom, the double, clean white linen. In the other, the same but on the twin beds.

He volunteered to sleep alone…

He gave her choices…

She makes herself tea, sits on the window seat looking out over the marina…

That wonderful Christmas…

That beautiful ship…

Another harbour…

His love-making…

She sets down the teacup, placing it carefully on the saucer. A finger stroking the line of her jaw, she watches as a rowing eight makes its way between pleasure-boats, the hull slicing through the water with surprising speed. Sailing yachts and motor cruisers line this side of the harbour wall, some with proud owners waxing decks or touching up paintwork.

To the far side, fishing boats bob in their moorings beside stacks of nets, coiled ropes, hydrants and hoses.

Tall masts reach for the sky, mirrored down into shimmering water, their pennants and flags rippling. Gulls screech and as one of the small day-ferries pulls between the harbour walls, its horn blasts.

She's been foolish…

… Panicked.

This man isn’t her brother. He isn’t Stephen. He doesn’t want to cage her. He wants to set her free.

He loves her?

Really?

Really.

Can she catch him before he leaves? Talk with him?

Maybe…

Spinning, Mitch snatches up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and heads out.

*****

The frontage is bright with new paint and freshly cleaned brick and stonework. A small lawn area is neatly clipped, scented of fresh hay. A tall billboard stands by the entrance, painted in cheerful colours; cartoon cows and sheep frolicking in a bright green meadow under a daffodil sun. “Blessingmoors…”

Mitch stands on the doorstep, raps the well-polished brass knocker, smart against its dark green background. There is no reply. After a few moments, she knocks again.

Still no answer.

glass. The sashes on the inside are new, replacements probably for older

lounge or waiting area perhaps, with low settees, a

But no people.

again. Still with no reply, she tries the

other side. This

to the rear, away from the eyes of the world. Crossing tidily mown grass she comes to a concreted area

and the unknowing, sits by crude images; coarse,

building is

old and rotted. When she tries the latch, something resists from the other side. But as she tries again, pushing harder, screws suck out from sockets in ancient timbers and, screeching

through then

glass. An old mattress lies soaked and stinking, surrounded by foil and hypos. In one corner, a drain blocked by rotted

clean thing to be seen is a car, a top-end model, new and freshly waxed

itself are black at the base, glistening green above, and dark-glazed windows are barred on the outside. There is only one door,

hovers. This isn’t what she

What did she expect?

smallest of whines, the door swings slightly ajar.

heart drumming, tentatively, she reaches, pulls the

dimness; a peeling notice on the back of the door: Emergency Exit: Lift Bar. Stone steps lead up and forward to some brighter light, perhaps a hallway. What might be sunshine spills from the

left, more steps, narrow and winding, leading both up and

… upwards…

smells of mildew and abandonment, rats and hopelessness.

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

stygian well of the stairs. A voice screams, pleads and ends in a

sound of

fuck up or you'll know about it.” Another scream. A

the metallic

stamping

… and silence.

armpits drenched and with the cold reek of sweat on her skin, Mitch takes a step up, then another. Her heels click

corridor stretching right and left. To one end, darkness, perhaps another stairway. To the other, a window; small, the glass whited over and with the silhouette of bars cast over the paint. A single bulb

metal frames and with sliding

the corridor comes the sound of laughter and cursing; crude language; the kind that cheapens speaker and listener. But it comes no closer. Mitch

fist to her mouth to suppress the shriek. Eyes darting, she follows the movement, but the rat isn’t interested in her. It goes about its business, vanishing into a crevice in worm-infested floorboards while

rebounds once more down the passage and she freezes, but the noise is no closer than it was. Slowly, carefully, she slides the peephole. Well-greased, it opens with

Some not so much so. But all frame eyes wide with

To the far end, a window, painted out and barred. Lined along either side are metal-framed beds. Even from here, Mitch can see that the frames

the ankle. Some lie on the thin

Mitch peers into the gloom, one of the girls opens her mouth as

It’s alright. I’m

barely women, some

Eyes red with tears and hopelessness. Some bear bruises to limbs or face.

let

fore turns, yammering something to the others,

through the draw-hole. “I’m coming. I’ll help. But

open. The bottom bolt too. But she struggles with the bar which grates a

Nothing…

a

The door opens.