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.

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

around her face she peers inside; a lounge or waiting area perhaps, with

But no people.

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

side. This time,

to the rear, away from the eyes of the world. Crossing tidily mown grass she comes to a concreted area ending in

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

building is still being

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 gate

passes through then

used condoms and broken glass. An old mattress lies soaked and stinking, surrounded by foil and hypos. In one corner, a drain

clean thing to be seen is a car, a top-end model, new and freshly waxed but with the tyres splashed green by the filthy

walls of the building itself are black at the base, glistening green above, and dark-glazed windows are barred on the outside. There

hovers. This isn’t what she

What did she expect?

of whines, the door swings slightly ajar. A black

drumming, tentatively, she

up and forward to some brighter light, perhaps a hallway. What

forward, inside; to right and left, more steps, narrow and winding, leading both up and down; a landing on some spiralling stairwell from

… upwards…

stairwell is 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?

well of the stairs. A voice screams,

sound

“Shut the fuck up or you'll

metallic

stamping away

… and silence.

and armpits drenched and with the cold reek of sweat on her skin, Mitch takes a step up, then another. Her heels click on peeling linoleum

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

and with sliding peepholes. Heavy bolts at top and bottom partner a drop-bar in the

the dark hollow at the end of the corridor comes the sound of laughter and cursing; crude language; the kind that cheapens speaker and listener. But it comes no closer. Mitch tries to suck a

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,

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

pretty. Some not so much so. But all frame eyes wide

along either side are metal-framed beds. Even from here, Mitch can see that the frames are

the

of the girls opens her

Shhh... It’s alright. I’m

some barely women, some barely children. All so

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

Don’t let

turns, yammering something to the others, waving down with her

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 a protest as she first lifts, then yanks it from tight sockets.

Nothing…

but a taut

The door opens.