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.

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

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

But no people.

Still with no reply, she tries the handle, but

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

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

sexually unlikely suggestions, racial slurs and the political comment of the unthinking and the unknowing, sits by crude images; coarse, badly drawn. At the top, sunlight glints from jagged edges that poke

the building is still being

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 protest, the

through then

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

clean thing to

walls of the building itself are black at the base, glistening green above, and dark-glazed windows are barred on the outside. There is only one door, solidly constructed in steel although rusted in places. There

This isn’t what she

What did she expect?

whines, the door swings slightly ajar. A black slot beckons

heart drumming, tentatively, she reaches, pulls

door: Emergency Exit: Lift Bar. Stone steps lead up and forward

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

… upwards…

and hopelessness. Ragged holes

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

stygian well of the stairs. A voice screams, pleads

The sound of metal on

loud, violent. “Shut the fuck up or you'll know about

metallic

Boots 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

corridor stretching right and left. To one end, darkness, perhaps another stairway. To the other, a window; small, the glass whited over and with the silhouette of bars cast over the paint. A single

length of the corridor, doors; steel, set in heavy metal frames and with sliding peepholes.

the end of the corridor comes the sound of laughter and cursing; crude language; the kind that cheapens speaker and listener. But

mouth to suppress the shriek. Eyes darting, she 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,

at her soles. Laughter rebounds once more down the passage and she freezes, but the noise is no closer than

so

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

the thin mattresses, others sit on the bed, a

the gloom, one of the girls

Shhh... It’s alright. I’m

some

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

Don’t let them

girl to the fore turns, yammering something to the others,

I’ll help. But you have to

too. But she struggles with the bar which grates a protest as she first lifts, then yanks it from tight sockets. She stiffens at the slight noise, air juddering from her lungs

Nothing…

but a taut

The door opens.