Page 37 of Love Is: Two Bodies One Soul

‘You know which one.’ Owen threw the paper onto the desk, stabbed his finger at the words, and spat out the first three: ‘Join. Alcoholics. Anonymous. He glared at George and added, ‘Exactly what part of I’m not hooked on booze do you not understand?’

George shrank as Owen continued to glower at him. ‘I’ve said it before, George, and I sincerely hope I won’t have to repeat it after this. I. Am. Not. An. Alcoholic.’

‘Then it won’t change anything for you to attend a couple of meetings as if you were, will it?’

They locked eyes.

‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

‘If, as you say, you’re not an alcoholic, the meetings won’t do anything for you, good or bad. But you’ll be stone-cold sober, with a clear head, and it’ll be easy for you to get inside the minds of the real alcoholics.’ Squirming in his seat, George watched as Owen switched focus to the assignment list, glaring at it as if he wanted to set it on fire with the power of his eyes alone.

Flashing blue eyes briefly locked on him again before Owen grabbed the paper, frowned at it, and let out a stream of expletives as he noticed something else. ‘What’s this?’ he said, placing the list back on the desk and pointing to a topic named Well Man Tests.

George rose from his seat, and picking up the assignments list, he read the offensive item as if for the first time. ‘It’s a series of health checks. In Harley Street.’ He tried a smile on Owen. ‘Only the best for you, mate.’

‘Don’t “mate” me!’ Owen shouted. ’This is nonsense. I don’t need medical tests!’

George flapped his hands. ‘Keep your voice down, the rest of the office will hear.’

‘I don’t FUCKING care!’ Owen yelled and swung round on his heels as, glaring at George, he grabbed the list back, and shook it in the air. ‘I’m not hooked on booze, not sick, nor am I a bloody geriatric. Why the hell have I got to do this rubbish?’

George gulped and tried to ignore his racing heart. He’d never seen Owen quite this angry. Another deep breath and he answered: ‘Because the magazine has concentrated on women’s health issues for far too long. You’ve always been big on fairness and equality. Don’t you want to help men get an equal share of health care?’ That made sense he thought, it even seemed as if Owen was calming, a little. Then without thinking, George added, ‘Besides, the medical checks will allow us to have a shot or two of you with your shirt off.’

‘Gah!’ Owen’s eyes widened. George plonked himself down again, hoping Owen wouldn’t hit a sitting man.

‘And what is this?’ Owen shook the list again. It was getting ragged from the battering. ‘You want me to see a therapist? Are you saying I’m deranged?’

‘No. It’s part of the men’s health feature, that’s all. It seemed sensible to include everything.’

‘Sensible? SENSIBLE!’ Owen made a barking sound, screwed up the bedraggled piece of paper and threw it on George’s desk. ‘You can think it sensible IF YOU WANT, but I am not doing those assignments.’ He turned for the door.

‘Yes, you are, mate,’ George said, his voice quietly firm, though he could feel he was shaking.

Owen stopped, shoulders rigid, as he reached for the door handle.

George said, ‘I’m sorry mate, but while I’m paying your salary, you’ll do what I say. Like you said on Saturday, I’m the boss now. Or would you like to pay back the advance and walk?’

George waited for the bomb to really go off. And in the silence, he could almost hear his heart beating in fright.

Owen turned slowly. He was white with rage. Menacingly, he moved back to the desk. George sat motionless, keeping his eyes steady on Owen, hoping the strategy of sitting would work, praying Owen had already spent too much of the two thousand pounds to pay it back. Even though he had never known Owen to be a violent man, at that moment it was easy for George to imagine being hauled from his seat by the scruff of his neck and Owen planting a large fist square in the middle of the Halcyon nose.

Holding his breath, George watched Owen lean forward. He stopped himself from cowering, barely contained the squeak that threatened to escape from his mouth. Then Owen lifted one clenched fist and rammed it into the centre of the desk, causing the coffee mugs to tremble and topple over.

It must have hurt, but Owen didn’t seem to notice any pain. Instead, he just stared at the havoc. George grabbed some tissues to mop the spilled coffee and frantically tried to think of something calming to say. He’d not handled the situation well – he shouldn’t have given Owen the whole assignments list – drip-feeding the tasks each day would have been wiser.

Owen shifted; the energy seemed to have drained from him. He rubbed his forehead as if it hurt, then with shoulders sagging, he stared at the offensive list and said, ‘You bloody know I’ve got to do this job, you bastard.’

They locked eyes again, but George stayed silent.

Owen went on, ‘It’s the only chance I have of seeing Emi.’ He picked up the tattered paper and stuffed it into his pocket. ‘But don’t think I’ll forget this! Mate.’ With that, Owen slammed out of the room. The glass in the door and dividing wall shivered ominously from the shock wave.

After a short delay to settle his breathing, George followed Owen, opened the door and leaned against its frame. His legs felt weak. A furious Owen was terrifying, but George knew he deserved his friend’s rage. He had pushed Owen almost to the limit – hopefully, their friendship was not destroyed. The way Owen had sneered the word mate at him made George fear irreparable damage had been wreaked, but needs must when the devil drives and WIV had to be saved. Surely Owen would understand when he calmed down, George thought, and looked across the office.

Owen had reached his desk and flung himself down in front of his computer, scowling at the screen, ignoring the curious glances from the rest of the staff.

‘Kate, love,’ George said, his voice shaking. ‘Do me a favour. Give the agency a call and see if you can get us a temporary photographer.’

‘Temporary?’

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