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.

sashes on

around her face she peers inside; a lounge or waiting area perhaps, with low settees, a coffee table and a stack of magazines and

But no people.

and knocks again. Still with no reply,

side. This time,

around a corner and to the rear, away from the eyes of the world. Crossing tidily mown grass she comes to a concreted area ending in a tall brick

brickwork here is unwashed. Crudely sprayed graffiti; sexually unlikely suggestions, racial slurs and the political comment of the unthinking and the unknowing, sits by

is still

is a gate, heavily built but old and rotted. When she tries the latch, something resists from the other side. But as she tries

passes through then

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 by rotted newspaper and plastic bags centres a fetid

inside. The only clean thing to be seen is a

dark-glazed windows are barred on the outside. There is only one door, solidly constructed

This isn’t

What did she expect?

whines, the door

tentatively, she

the door: Emergency Exit: Lift Bar. Stone steps lead up

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

… upwards…

of mildew and abandonment, rats and hopelessness. Ragged holes gape through the plaster, bleeding

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

the stygian well of the stairs. A voice

sound

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

metallic clang

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 on peeling linoleum and she pauses to slip them off.

with the silhouette of bars cast over the paint. A single bulb dangles on a cord, casting a sparse light. Ancient radiators set against one wall give no heat. Stale cigarette smoke competes with

corridor, doors; steel, set in heavy metal frames and with sliding peepholes. Heavy bolts at top and bottom partner

the end of the corridor comes the sound of laughter and cursing; crude language; the kind that cheapens speaker and listener. But it comes no closer. Mitch tries to suck a little saliva into

by her, and she startles, pushing a 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

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 the

Some not so much so. But all

narrow room. 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

lie on the thin mattresses, others sit on the bed, a

the girls opens her mouth as

Shhh... It’s alright.

barely women, some barely children. All

bear bruises to limbs or face. Many

let them

yammering something to the others, waving down with her palms

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

words? It doesn’t matter. A black hush now from beyond the 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

Nothing…

a taut

The door opens.