Page 8 of Love Is: Two Bodies One Soul

Twelve months back on Haverstock Hill, he’d flapped his hands. ‘Jeez, Owen,’ he’d said, trying to step around his friend so he could get to the pub door. ‘I’m late. I’m sorry, I’d like to help, but I’ve got a meeting inside with a new photographer for the magazine.’

‘Not a problem,’ Owen slurred, swaying some more.

The memory of panic and helplessness washed over George, making him feel sick. He had wanted to help Owen, but he couldn’t arrive at a business meeting with a drunk. If he’d taken Owen back into the pub, they’d both have been chucked out. And he had to meet the new photographer for WIV. He’d heard great things about his work.

Uncoordinated by panic, he’d flapped his arms around. Then, spotting a passing cab, he hailed it. He lost a few more precious minutes trying to persuade the driver that Owen wouldn’t vomit on the backseat before a wodge of notes waved under the man’s nose made the difference.

Since then, Owen Kingsley’s name had been conspicuously absent in bylines and broadcast media. The Twitterati had fussed for a while, speculating on their hero’s absence, until even they quietened and ceased their sexual innuendos and promises of undying love for the star journalist. Roughly twelve months ago, Owen’s once stellar career had plummeted straight off a cliff and sunk without a trace. Standing on Haverstock Hill, George hadn’t known Owen was on the edge of destruction or the reason. Only after he got home to Millie, he learned the truth.

George forked a mouthful of pie but didn’t taste a thing. Indigestion lurked in his gut as guilt and anxiety took hold.

Could he have prevented Owen’s decline?Perhaps he should have spoken out more loudly when Owen married Margaret. That’s when the troubles began. But he’d stayed silent, and now he didn’t know if he could have saved Owen. He only knew he should have tried. On that night in Hampstead, he should have realised how broken Owen was, and he should have helped him. Bugger the photographer. Xander Scott had turned out to be an arrogant git, not worth putting ahead of a best mate. Looking back, George knew he should have gone with Owen. Or at least checked on him later. It was no excuse that Millie was waiting at home with their latest baby, Emily-Jane, barely three months old. Millie would have understood. She had always liked Owen. She would have known old loyalties counted. Or they should.

Ashamed that he had done nothing, George prodded the pie and congealing gravy, then dropped his fork and used the paper napkin to dab his lips while he flicked another surreptitious glance at Owen. Facts had to be faced. Owen was still broken, and he, George Halcyon, felt responsible. God damn it. He should have done more that night in Hampstead. When he learned what had happened at the broadcast, he should have done something then.

He dropped the napkin. Decision made. Maybe it wasn’t too late to put things right.

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