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 inside

area perhaps, with low settees, a coffee table

But no people.

moves back to the door and knocks again. Still with no

the window on the other side. This time, she can't see in. A

world. Crossing tidily mown grass she comes to a concreted area ending in a tall

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

building is still

side. But as she tries again, pushing harder, screws suck out from sockets in ancient timbers and,

passes through then

cartons and 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 by rotted newspaper and plastic bags centres a

take vehicles, are barred on the inside. The only clean thing to be

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

This isn’t

What did she expect?

hair. With the smallest of whines,

heart drumming, tentatively, she reaches,

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

narrow and winding, leading both up and down; a landing on

… upwards…

smells of mildew and abandonment, rats and hopelessness. Ragged holes gape through the plaster, bleeding wires that anchor ancient

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

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

sound of metal

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

metallic clang

stamping away

… and silence.

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

the top, a 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 dangles on a cord, casting a sparse light. Ancient radiators set against one wall give no heat. Stale cigarette smoke

of the corridor, doors; steel, set in heavy metal frames and with

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

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 worm-infested

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 peephole. Well-greased, it opens with

so much so. But all frame eyes wide

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

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

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

Shhh... It’s alright.

women, some

red with tears and hopelessness. Some bear bruises to limbs or face. Many stand, reaching out hands; imploring, weeping, a

Don’t let them

fore turns, yammering something to the others, waving down with her palms and the others fall

I’ll help. But you

her 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

Nothing…

a taut

The door opens.