‘I will, tomorrow.’
‘No, I think you should read them now actually,’ Helen urged.
Brad shrugged. ‘Okay.’ He sat down on the orange sofa and flicked through the pile, his hands slowing down and his brow furrowing as he began to take in the contents of the letters. Helen sank down into the chair behind the desk.
Brad let out a whistle. ‘Dearie me.’ Helen said nothing. He looked up at her. ‘Right old mess this, isn’t it?’
‘Not if you have the money to pay them immediately, no.’
There was silence as Brad looked past her. ‘I don’t think we do, love, I don’t think we do.’ He put the bills down and nodded, seemingly to himself. ‘Fancy a drink?’
He looked so desolate Helen felt she couldn’t refuse.
Half an hour later, in a bar around the corner, Brad was on his fourth whiskey.
‘The problem is, Helen, that I’m a record producer, not an accountant. I used to work for one of the big guns. My job there was spotting talent and producing their LPs. I was good!’ He took a swig of his drink. ‘I set up on my own a couple of years back because it all seemed so easy. I took out a bank loan, put all my savings into starting Metropolitan and things really have gone very well. I mean, The Trojans stand to make us hundreds of thousands if they conquer America, as it looks like they will.’
‘If that’s the case, why, if you don’t mind me asking, have you got a problem paying these bills?’
Brad sighed heavily and drained his glass. ‘Cash flow, love, cash flow. We’re owed thousands of pounds from record shops. Being a small outfit, we have to sell on a sale-or-return basis. Obviously, we want to get as many LPs as possible into the shops. So we have to absorb the upfront costs ourselves until we’re paid.’ Brad put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. ‘Also, the record business is all about speculating to accumulate. We give our groups advances, then pay for the recording, manufacturing, marketing and distribution of their records. All we can do is sit and wait until we start seeing the return. It’s just whether it’ll be soon enough to stop us going down the tubes.’
Helen nodded.
Brad was staring at her. ‘Any ideas? You’re the one doing a business course. Are we doomed?’
‘I’m no expert and I’d have to look at your bank statements to see what comes in and what goes out before I could give an opinion. To be honest, I think you should contact an accountant, someone qualified to make a real judgement.’
‘Yeah, but what do I pay him with? Buttons?’
Helen scratched her head. ‘Have you really got no money in the company account?’
Brad leant back on the shabby banquette and folded his arms. ‘Maybe a few hundred quid.’
‘Oh dear.’ Helen liked Brad and wanted to help. ‘Why don’t you pop across the road and get the cash books and I’ll get you another drink.’
‘It comes to something when your temp receptionist is having to sort out your finances and pay your bar bills. Yes please.’ He smiled gratefully.
Forty-five minutes later, the two of them were poring over the books.
Helen shook her head. ‘Oh, Brad, things really are dire. It seems the letters I uncovered today are just the tip of the iceberg.’
‘I know. We did have a part-time bookkeeper, but six months ago he left and I just haven’t replaced him. I thought I could do it myself, but I’m up to my eyes with other things and, to be honest, I was hoping that maybe if I didn’t face it, it would go away. It won’t, will it?’
‘No, Brad, it won’t.’ On home territory, her quick brain cleaving through the columns of figures, Helen was feeling more confident of her opinions. ‘It’s difficult to study these here with all this noise. I could take the books home with me tonight and try and go through them properly. I’m not saying I’ll have any answers for you, but I can at least give you a clearer indication of exactly where you stand.’
‘Helen, you’re a gem.’ Brad was looking at her as if she alone could save him. ‘You know I can’t pay you.’
‘Yes, Brad,’ she smiled, ‘I’ve just about gathered that much. Call it work experience. It’ll be good for me.’ Helen closed the two books and tucked them under her arm. ‘I’d better be going. Are you in first thing tomorrow morning?’
‘I think I’d better be.’
They stood up and walked towards the door of the pub.
‘Try not to worry. I’m sure there’ll be a way out.’
‘Do they have escape tunnels in debtors’ jail? Night, Helen.’
‘Night, Brad.’
