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.

where clean white paint frames polished glass. The sashes on the inside are new, replacements probably for older cords. The latch and sneck are again

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

But no people.

the door and knocks again. Still with no

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

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

the unknowing, sits by

is

is a gate, heavily built but old 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

through then

Fast-food cartons and drinks bottles compete with cigarette butts, used condoms and broken glass. An old mattress lies soaked and stinking, surrounded by foil

the inside. The only clean thing to be seen is

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

hovers. This isn’t

What did she expect?

With the smallest of whines, the door swings slightly

heart drumming, tentatively, she reaches, pulls the

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

left, more steps, narrow and winding, leading both up and

… upwards…

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

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

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

The sound of

voice; loud, violent. “Shut the fuck up or you'll know about it.” Another scream.

metallic

Boots stamping away

… 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

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.

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

that cheapens speaker and

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

she freezes, but the noise is no closer than it was. Slowly, carefully,

faces. Some pretty. Some not so much so. But all frame

far end, a window, painted out and barred. Lined along either side are metal-framed beds. Even from here, Mitch can see

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

gloom, one of the girls opens her mouth as

alright. I’m a

many: some barely women, some barely

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

let them

fore turns, yammering something to the others, waving

I’ll help.

But she struggles with the bar which grates a protest

Nothing…

a

The door opens.