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.

sashes on the inside are new, replacements probably for older

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

But no people.

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

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

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

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

the building is still

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

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 and hypos. In one corner, a drain blocked by rotted newspaper and

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 the tyres splashed green by the

on the outside. There is only one door,

This isn’t what she

What did she expect?

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

heart drumming, tentatively, she

grey 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. What might

inside; to right and left, more steps, narrow and winding, leading both up and down; a landing on

… upwards…

of mildew and abandonment, rats and hopelessness. Ragged holes gape through

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

well of the stairs. A voice screams, pleads and

sound of metal

up or you'll know about it.”

metallic

stamping away

… and silence.

and shallow, spine 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 and she pauses

a window; small, the glass whited over and with the silhouette of bars cast over the paint. A

metal frames and with sliding

that cheapens speaker and listener. But it comes no closer. Mitch tries to suck a little saliva into her mouth,

Eyes darting, she follows the movement, but the rat

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 barely a sound, but nonetheless, faces

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

long narrow room. To the far end, a window, painted out and barred. Lined along either side are metal-framed beds. Even

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

into the gloom, one of the girls opens her mouth as

Shhh... It’s alright. I’m

women, some

pale and drawn. Eyes red with tears and hopelessness. Some bear bruises to limbs or face. Many stand, reaching

let

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

the draw-hole. “I’m coming. I’ll help.

smoothly and silently open. The bottom bolt too. But she struggles with the bar which grates

Nothing…

a

The door opens.