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.

then passes to a nearby window where clean white paint frames polished glass. The sashes on the

perhaps, with low settees, a coffee table and a

But no people.

back to the door and knocks again. Still with no reply,

This time, she can't see

corner and to the rear, away from the eyes of the world. Crossing tidily mown grass

racial slurs and the political comment of the unthinking and the unknowing, sits by crude images; coarse, badly

is

but old and rotted. When she tries the latch, something resists from the other side. But as she tries

passes through then

drinks bottles compete with cigarette butts, used condoms and broken glass. An old mattress lies soaked and stinking, surrounded by foil and hypos. In one corner, a drain blocked

vehicles, are barred on the inside. The only clean thing to be seen is a car, a top-end model, new and freshly waxed but with the

the outside. There is

This isn’t what

What did she expect?

of whines, the door swings

drumming, tentatively, she

lead up and forward to some brighter light, perhaps a hallway. What might be sunshine spills from

forward, inside; to right and left, more steps, narrow and winding, leading both up and down; a landing on some spiralling stairwell

… upwards…

and hopelessness. Ragged holes gape through the plaster, bleeding wires that anchor

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

stairs. A voice screams, pleads and

sound of

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

metallic clang

stamping away to…

… and silence.

up, then another. Her heels click on peeling linoleum and she pauses

over and with the silhouette of bars cast over the paint. A single bulb

along the length of the corridor, doors; steel, set in heavy metal frames and with sliding peepholes. Heavy bolts at top

cheapens speaker and listener. But it comes no closer. Mitch tries to suck

movement, but the rat isn’t interested in her. It goes about

nearest, biting down against revulsion as ancient carpet sucks at her soles. Laughter rebounds once more down the passage and she freezes, but the noise is no closer than it was. Slowly, carefully, she slides

not so much so. But all

barred. Lined along either side are metal-framed

ankle. Some lie on the thin mattresses, others sit on the bed,

one of the girls opens her mouth as though to

Shhh... It’s alright.

barely women, some barely children. All

to limbs or face. Many stand,

Don’t let them

something to the others, waving down with

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

door, Mitch eases the top bolt which slides smoothly and silently open. The bottom bolt too. But she struggles with the bar which grates a protest as she first lifts, then yanks it from tight sockets. She stiffens at the slight noise, air juddering from her lungs as

Nothing…

but a

The door opens.