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 for older cords. The latch and sneck are again

peers inside; a lounge or waiting area perhaps, with low settees, a coffee table

But no people.

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

This time,

around a corner and to the rear, away from the eyes of the world.

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

building is

other side.

passes through then

broken glass. An old mattress lies soaked and stinking, surrounded by foil and hypos. In one corner, a drain blocked by rotted newspaper and plastic bags

wall and wide enough to take vehicles, are barred on the inside. The only clean thing to be seen is a car, a top-end model,

the outside. There is only one door, solidly constructed in steel although rusted in

Mitch hovers. This

What did she expect?

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

tentatively, she reaches, pulls the door

Lift Bar. Stone steps lead up and forward to some brighter light, perhaps a hallway. What might be sunshine spills from

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

… upwards…

is dark, dank. It smells of mildew and abandonment, rats and hopelessness. Ragged holes gape through the plaster,

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

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

The sound of

up or you'll know about it.” Another

the metallic clang

stamping away to…

… and silence.

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

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

the length of the corridor, doors; steel, set in heavy metal frames and with sliding peepholes. Heavy bolts at top and bottom partner a

language; the kind that cheapens speaker and listener. But it comes no closer. Mitch tries to suck

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

noise is no closer than it was. Slowly, carefully, she slides the peephole. Well-greased,

Some pretty. Some not so much

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

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

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

It’s alright.

barely women, some

and drawn. Eyes red with tears and hopelessness. Some bear bruises to limbs or face. Many stand, reaching out hands; imploring, weeping, a

let

others, waving down with

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

It doesn’t matter. A black hush 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 taut

The door opens.