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.

frowns then passes to a nearby window where clean white paint frames polished glass. The sashes on the inside are new, replacements probably for older cords. The latch and sneck

area perhaps, with low settees, a coffee table and a stack of magazines and

But no people.

the door and knocks again. Still with

the window on the other side. This time, she can't

moving, following the wall around a corner and to the rear, away from the eyes of the world. Crossing tidily mown grass she comes to

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

is still

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

through

with litter: Fast-food cartons and drinks bottles compete with cigarette butts, used condoms and broken glass. An old

inside. The only clean thing to be seen is

building itself are black at the base, glistening green above, and dark-glazed windows are barred on the outside. There

This isn’t

What did she expect?

of whines, the door swings slightly

she reaches, pulls the door

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 be sunshine spills from the

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

… upwards…

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

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

stairs. A voice screams, pleads and ends in

The sound of metal on

up or you'll know

metallic

Boots stamping away to…

… and silence.

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 them off. Then, shoes in hand, stepping carefully

top, a 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 bulb dangles on a cord, casting a sparse light. Ancient radiators set against one wall give no heat. Stale cigarette smoke competes

corridor, doors; steel, set in heavy metal frames and with

at the end of the corridor comes the sound of laughter and cursing; crude language; the kind that cheapens speaker and listener. But it comes no closer. Mitch tries to suck a little saliva into her mouth, swallowing against a

by her, and she startles, pushing a fist to her 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, panting, stares

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 swing her way

Some not so much so. But

out and barred. Lined along either side are metal-framed beds. Even from here, Mitch can see that the frames are

Some lie on the thin mattresses, others sit on

the girls opens her

It’s alright. I’m

some barely women, some barely

hopelessness. Some bear bruises to limbs or face. Many stand, reaching out hands; imploring, weeping, a rising babble of

Don’t let them

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

“I’m coming. I’ll help. But

she struggles with the bar which grates a protest as she first lifts, then yanks it from tight sockets. She

Nothing…

but a taut

The door opens.