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

a lounge or waiting area perhaps, with low settees, a coffee table and a stack of

But no people.

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

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

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

of the unthinking and the unknowing, sits by crude images; coarse, badly drawn.

is

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 protest, the

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.

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

walls of the building itself 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

This isn’t what she

What did she expect?

breeze ruffles her hair. With the smallest of whines, the

she reaches,

door: Emergency Exit: Lift Bar. Stone steps lead up and forward to some

and winding, leading both

… upwards…

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

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

well of the stairs. A voice screams,

clang. The sound of

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

the metallic clang

stamping

… and silence.

Mitch takes a step up, then another. Her heels click on peeling linoleum and she pauses to slip them off. Then, shoes in hand, stepping carefully on timbers which

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

metal frames and with sliding peepholes. Heavy bolts at top and bottom partner

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

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 Mitch, panting, stares

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

Female faces. Some pretty. Some not so much so.

long 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 the frames are bolted to the

the

gloom, one of the girls opens her mouth

Shhh... It’s alright.

women, some barely children.

bear bruises to limbs or face. Many

let them

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

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

But she struggles with the bar

Nothing…

a taut

The door opens.