Page 12 of Love Is: Two Bodies One Soul

‘Was that you? Sorry, I didn’t know.’

‘You were out of your mind. Tell me, why were you so smashed?’

‘Margaret.’

‘That bitch!’

‘Yeah.’ Owen nodded and changed the topic. ‘I’m grateful, George, despite seeing the mess I was in then, and now, you’re still offering me work, but I wonder if you’re making a mistake.’

‘I’m not. We can help each other like we always did. Remember Christmas 2001? If it hadn’t been for you, I would have lost Millie.’

Owen shook his head.

‘It’s true, you were going through hell after your mother’s death, but you still stood by mum and me, braved the police raid and my criminal relatives and got Millie back for me when it looked as if I’d lost her. So, I owe you everything. Besides, looking back on last year, I know I should have followed through after putting you in the cab – got the photographer meeting out of the way, then headed over to your place to get you sorted. I feel bad that I didn’t.’

‘Stop it! You’re going to make me cry in a moment.’

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to embarrass you, but it’s the truth. I feel bad about not helping you when you needed it. But better late than never, eh? You can stop trying to brave this out on your own. You need some work, and I need your help. I really do. Take the job, Owen. It’s a good one. Tailor-made for you. Especially the Paradise feature. That’s going to call for all your old eco-warrior skills. Don’t tell me you’re not tempted to brush off your crusading armour. I know you’d love to prevent those money-grasping bastards from destroying a small part of heaven on earth. And when you succeed, you’ll be a hero again.’

‘I was never a hero,’ Owen argued, refusing to be flattered into accepting the offer. Leaning forward, he stared into the remains of the coffee. The Paradise feature did sound interesting. It would be good to get away from the English weather for a while. Feel some sun on his skin. And then there was Emi – if he took this job, maybe Margaret would relent, let him see his daughter again.

Owen swirled the coffee as uncertainty replaced his fleeting interest. He might be desperate to work again, but could he do it? He’d not written for months. Even the fourth revision of his novel sat untouched on his laptop, the victim of fading confidence.

George continued, ‘I want you to cover the big social issues – the stuff we haven’t had the manpower and talent to do. Brexit, austerity – men’s health, the NHS, dental services or lack of. Drugs, addiction?’

‘You intend to keep me busy,’ Owen interrupted.

‘I certainly do,’ George replied, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. ‘No point in having a genius on payroll if you don’t use him fully. I’ll be asking you to cover all the problems of modern society – gang violence, zero-hour contracts, the gig economy, knife crime, terrorism, racism, politicians.’

‘Ha!’ Owen let out a mirthless laugh. ‘You’re a brave man, letting me loose with politicians.’

‘I must be.’ George smiled the same puckish grin Owen remembered from the past. ‘So, will you do it? Can you start Monday?’

Owen turned the mug in his hands. Again, he thought of Emi. What if this job was what he needed to turn his life around? Get his daughter back.

George scribbled something on a scrap of paper, then went to open the blind that blocked the view of the general office. ‘There!’ he said, holding out a hand towards the glass wall. ‘That’s my problem, and I need you to solve it.’

Owen stood unsteadily. He saw a small, open-plan space with more desks than workers. A tall, thin man, trying to look important, had his phone pressed to his ear, and occasionally flicked an eager glance at George’s office. Nearby, a youth fiddled with a mobile phone. A couple of harassed women wearing headsets, their mouths moving, probably to a script – telesales most likely. A young woman in a figure-hugging red dress flirting outrageously with a fair-haired man, who seemed vaguely familiar. George’s assistant sending barbed looks designed to kill the red dress wearer. Not much work going on. A load of office politics.

‘I’ve already had to let three people go last month,’ George said, giving Owen a doleful look. ‘I need your help. That’s why the salary is higher than I would normally offer.’ He passed over the note he scribbled. Owen’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at the figure written on it.

‘It’s higher than the magazine can afford,’ George explained. ‘My last throw of the dice, and I’ll even let you take Xander to Thailand.’ He pointed to the young man with wavy fair hair walking out of the office with the red dress woman.

‘You think having him tag along is going to make this job more appealing?’ Owen shook his head, wondering where he might have seen the man before. There was definitely something familiar about him.

‘Hear me out. Apart from the fact Xander’s a talented photographer, there is another reason to get him out of the way for a while.’

‘What reason?’

‘The girl who brought in our coffee, Kate. She’s in love with him, and he’s getting bored. I knew he would. Remember, I went to college with the king of commitment-phobes.’

‘Who was that?’

‘You!’

Owen recoiled. ‘I’m not afraid of commitment,’ he argued. Sometimes he wondered if George knew him at all. ‘I even got married, for Grist’s sake.’

‘Yeah, and how did that work out?’

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