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.

clean white paint frames polished glass. The sashes on the inside are new, replacements probably

a lounge or waiting area perhaps, with low

But no people.

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

to the window on the other side. This time, she

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

and the unknowing, sits by crude images; coarse, badly drawn. At the top, sunlight glints

building is

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

passes through then

with cigarette butts, used condoms and broken glass. An old mattress lies soaked and stinking, surrounded by foil and hypos.

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

are barred on the outside. There is only one door, solidly constructed in steel although rusted in places. There is

hovers. This isn’t what

What did she expect?

her hair. With the smallest of whines, the door swings slightly ajar. A black

heart drumming, tentatively, she reaches, pulls

dimness; a peeling notice on the back of the door: Emergency Exit: Lift Bar. Stone steps lead up and forward to some brighter light, perhaps a hallway.

steps, narrow and winding, leading both up and down; a landing on some spiralling stairwell from basement

… upwards…

dark, dank. It smells of mildew and abandonment, rats and hopelessness. Ragged holes gape

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

down the stygian well of the stairs. A

The sound of metal on

voice; loud, violent. “Shut the fuck up or

metallic clang

Boots stamping away

… and silence.

sweat on her skin, Mitch takes a step up, then another. Her heels click on peeling linoleum and she pauses to slip them off. Then, shoes

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

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

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

to suppress the shriek. Eyes darting, she follows the movement, but the

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

Some not so much so. But all frame eyes wide

either side are metal-framed beds. Even from here, Mitch

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

into the gloom, one of the girls

Shhh... It’s alright.

some barely children. All

red with tears and hopelessness. Some bear bruises to limbs or face.

Don’t let

yammering something to the others, waving

“I’m coming. I’ll help. But you have to be

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

Nothing…

but a

The door opens.