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 cords. The

perhaps, with low

But no people.

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

the other side. This time, she can't

the eyes of the world. Crossing tidily mown

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 from moss

building is still

built but old and rotted. When she tries the latch, something resists from the other side. But as she tries again, pushing

through

butts, used condoms and broken glass. An old mattress

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 filthy

barred on the outside. There is only one

Mitch hovers. This

What did she expect?

breeze ruffles her hair. With the smallest of whines,

heart drumming, tentatively, she

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

to right and left, more steps, narrow and winding, leading

… upwards…

It smells of mildew and abandonment, rats and hopelessness. Ragged holes gape through the plaster, bleeding wires that anchor

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

the stairs. A voice screams, pleads and ends

sound

“Shut the fuck up or you'll know about it.” Another scream.

the metallic

stamping away to…

… and silence.

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

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 radiators set against one

heavy metal frames and with sliding peepholes. Heavy bolts at top and

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

the rat isn’t interested in her. It goes about its business, vanishing into a crevice in worm-infested floorboards while Mitch,

once more down the passage and she freezes, but the noise is no closer than it was. Slowly,

Female faces. Some pretty. Some not so

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

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

of the girls opens her mouth as

It’s alright. I’m

some barely women, some barely children.

bruises to limbs or face. Many stand, reaching out hands;

let

turns, yammering something to the others, waving down with

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

they understand her 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 from tight sockets. She

Nothing…

a taut

The door opens.