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.

to a nearby window where clean white paint frames polished glass. The sashes on the inside are new, replacements probably for

area perhaps, with low settees, a coffee table and a

But no people.

and knocks again. Still with no reply, she

other side. This time,

the eyes of the world. Crossing tidily mown grass she comes to a

unwashed. Crudely sprayed graffiti; sexually unlikely suggestions, racial slurs and the political comment of the unthinking and the unknowing, sits

building is

side. But as she tries

passes through then

cartons and drinks bottles compete with cigarette butts, used condoms and broken glass. An old mattress lies

to take vehicles, are barred on the inside. The only clean thing to be seen is a

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 is no handle, just

Mitch hovers. This isn’t what she

What did she expect?

of whines, the door swings slightly ajar.

drumming, tentatively, she

Exit: Lift Bar. Stone steps lead up and forward to some brighter light, perhaps a hallway. What might

steps forward, inside; to right and left, more steps, narrow and winding, leading

… upwards…

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

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

stairs. A voice screams,

sound of metal on

or you'll know about it.” Another scream.

the metallic

stamping away to…

… and silence.

slick palms. Her breathing sharp 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 to slip

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.

corridor, doors; steel, set in heavy metal frames and with sliding peepholes. Heavy

that cheapens speaker and listener. But it

follows the movement, but the rat isn’t interested

biting down against revulsion as 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 slides the peephole.

faces. Some pretty. Some not so much so.

and barred. Lined along either side are metal-framed

occupant, shackled at the ankle. Some lie on the

the gloom, one of the girls opens her mouth as though to

alright. I’m

many: some barely women, some barely children. All

drawn. Eyes red with tears and hopelessness. Some bear bruises to limbs or face. Many stand, reaching out hands; imploring, weeping, a rising babble of words that Mitch doesn’t

Don’t let them

to the others, waving down

draw-hole. “I’m coming. I’ll help.

words? 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 as she first lifts, then yanks it

Nothing…

but a taut

The door opens.