Page 11 of Love Is: Two Bodies One Soul

Owen grunted. ‘Not now, I’m not.’

George leaned across his desk. ‘Owen, after the initial shock of seeing you in this state.’ He waved the biscuit at Owen. ‘I couldn’t believe my luck. You’re my miracle. Think of the publicity your return will generate?’

Owen slumped down on the chair again, feeling sick and weak. He was thinking of the publicity, and he didn’t like it. One of the few benefits of ruining a media career was the anonymity it eventually provided. His privacy had been won at a high price, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to give it up again for a magazine like WIV.

George continued: ‘Your fanbase will go wild. They’ll buy the magazine in droves, gobble every word you write, drool over your photo.’

‘Ha!’ Owen shook his head and hoping George wouldn’t start mouthing-off again about Owen, his friend, “the babe-magnet”, he drained the coffee and put the mug down. Leaning forward, hands clasped between knees, he scowled at the space in front of him. What George had said seemed sincere. Maybe this really wasn’t a pity offer. He looked up, focused on George, and asked, ‘Do you trust me?’

‘You’re talking about the drink?’

‘Obviously – after what happened on my last broadcast.’ Owen straightened and faced off his old friend, waiting for George to change his mind and withdraw the offer. Nobody could trust a journalist who could get so shamefully drunk on a mainstream news programme.

George banged his desk triumphantly. ‘There! See, you’ve just proved my point.’

‘What point?’ Owen gaped at George.

‘You won’t let me down. I’ve known you long enough to know you’ll always do the right thing, whatever it costs you personally. But I couldn’t ignore the possibility you might have changed. Just now, you proved you haven’t.’

Owen slumped forward again, with the feeling he’d lost control of this conversation and been tricked into a commitment. He wished he were sober enough to work out what had happened.

George went on: ‘Even now, you’ve identified the elephant in the room that neither of us has mentioned.’

Owen scowled. What elephant?

‘You might not want to admit it, Owen. I’m sorry, mate, but we both know your problem.’

Margaret?How does she come into this?

‘You can’t lay off the booze, can you? Because you’re an alcoholic.’

I’m not. Owen sat up abruptly, shaking his head. Grist! That hurt – so much it made his eyes water, but he had to put George straight. ‘I like a drink, that’s all. I know I made a fool of myself on the broadcast, and God knows, I paid the price, but I’m not an—’

George went on as if Owen hadn’t spoken. ‘I know you understand the risk I’m taking employing you. That’s why you asked if I trust you. A lesser man would have accepted the offer and not even mentioned the booze. Not you.’ George refilled the empty mug and passed it back to Owen. ‘I believe in you, and yes, I do trust you to save this magazine. You can do it. I know you can.’

‘You’re over-estimating my abilities.’ The panic Owen had felt earlier was changing to nausea. He didn’t want to let his old friend down. But .…

‘No, I’m not. I admit it won’t be easy. But you were one of the best journalists around not so long ago. You have the skills. You have the profile. And something else. It isn’t only your writing skills I need.’

‘I can’t tap dance.’

George didn’t recognise the joke. ‘No need … it’s your visual presence. You know the camera always loved you. I want you to do some videos for the website. Once word gets out you’re on it, that will lift it for sure and I need you to revitalise your social media.’

Owen could sense his skin turning green. Perhaps he should ask for directions to the men’s room before he chucked up.

‘Remember your Twitter fans?’ George said, cheerily snatching another biscuit. Owen had lost count of how many had been eaten, but he could see the plate was nearly empty. No wonder George had put on weight. ‘Got to get those female fans gasping again. All those exploding ovaries!’ George grinned, then cracked the biscuit between his teeth, finishing triumphantly. ‘If half of your Twitter fans buy a copy of WIV each week, we’d be home and dry.’

Owen took a deep swig of coffee to settle the churning in his stomach. Nearly a full pot consumed, and he was high on the excess caffeine and at last able to form a coherent argument. ‘You are aware of how effectively I trashed my reputation?’

‘Yes, Millie saw you on the TV telling one of our leading politicians he was an insufferable arse, a disgrace to humanity, as well as a liar devoid of any semblance of integrity. Well said! I wished I’d seen it. Half your audience probably agreed.’

‘I’ve heard rumours he’ll be prime minister one day, so my little rant didn’t do any good.’

‘Rumours aren’t reality.’ George snatched the last biscuit.

‘Whatever.’ Owen shrugged. ‘Didn’t Millie mention I was so drunk I could hardly stand?’

‘She did.’ George nodded gravely. ‘When I got home from meeting Xander Scott. But I already knew that. I’d seen you on Haverstock Hill. You may not remember me pouring you into a cab.’

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