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.

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

perhaps, with low

But no people.

back to the door and knocks again. Still with no reply, she tries the handle, but the door

to the window on the other side. This

eyes of the world. Crossing tidily mown grass she comes to a concreted area ending

suggestions, racial slurs and the political comment of the unthinking and the unknowing, sits by crude images; coarse, badly drawn. At the top, sunlight glints from jagged edges that poke from moss

the building is still

resists from the other side. But as she tries again, pushing harder, screws suck out from sockets in ancient

through then

old mattress lies

gates, as high as the wall and wide enough to take 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 tyres splashed green by

are black at the base, glistening green above, and dark-glazed windows are barred on the outside. There is only one door, solidly constructed in steel although rusted in places. There is no handle, just a lock; large, heavy-duty, intended

hovers. This

What did she expect?

of whines, the door swings slightly

she reaches,

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

inside; to right and left, more steps, narrow and winding, leading

… upwards…

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

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

well of the stairs. A voice screams, pleads and

clang. The sound of

or you'll know about it.” Another

metallic

Boots stamping

… and silence.

her skin, Mitch takes a step up, then another. Her heels

cast over

the length of the corridor, doors; steel, set in heavy metal frames and with sliding peepholes.

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

noise is no closer than it was. Slowly, carefully, she slides the peephole. Well-greased, it opens with barely a sound, but nonetheless, faces swing her way at the slight

Some pretty. Some not so

To the far end, a window, painted out and barred. Lined along either side are

the thin mattresses, others sit on

one of the girls opens

It’s alright. I’m a

some barely women, some barely children.

bruises to limbs or face. Many stand, reaching out hands; imploring, weeping,

let

yammering something to the others, waving down with her

through the draw-hole. “I’m coming. I’ll help. But you have to be

which slides smoothly and silently open. The bottom bolt too. But she struggles with the bar which grates

Nothing…

but a

The door opens.