through interest is subject to income tax.’
‘OK, happy now?’ Jake challenges. I ignore him.
‘It’s very natural in circumstances such as yours that you start sharing and gifting.’
Jake interrupts. ‘Yeah, too right. We’re not tight!’
‘So, it’s a good idea to understand how that works in terms of tax.’ Jake shrugs, unconcerned. Certain that whatever the tax implications are, we can afford them.
‘Go on,’ I urge, grittily. My throat tight. The words just squeeze out. I hadn’t thought about the tax implications of gifting. I need to listen carefully, in case there’s anything I have to tell Toma.
‘You can give away three thousand pounds’ worth of gifts, every year, without the recipient becoming subject to tax. This is your annual exemption.’
‘Three thousand pounds? That’s like pocket money to us now, isn’t it?’ Jake laughs again. Shaking his head. ‘Loose change, down the back of the settee.’ Jake claps his hands together and rubs them gleefully. I should be relieved he has such an easy-come, easy-go attitude to three thousand pounds; maybe gifting three million won’t rile him either.
‘Some small gifts, such as Christmas and birthday presents, or those that you can afford out of your normal income, are also exempt. To avoid complications in the event of your death, it is a good idea to keep detailed records of any gifts you give to friends and family, so that they don’t unduly receive a hefty inheritance tax bill.’
‘OK,’ I nod, slowly. ‘And what about bigger gifts? What are the implications there?’ I cough.
‘We’re paying off my brothers’ mortgages and getting her sister a place,’ Jake beams, proud of his own largesse, unable to resist bragging about it.
‘Right. Well, they need to know, if you were to die within seven years of handing out gifts in excess of three hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds, the recipients of those gifts would be subject to an inheritance tax bill of up to forty per cent.’
Oh.
‘I’ve no plans to die, mate,’ laughs Jake. ‘I’m going to live to be a very, very old man. I’m going to make the most of this. This has not only changed my life, it’s given meaning to my life.’
The room feels heavy. The awkward silence slips down the walls. Leave it, I tell myself. Leave it. But my heart overrules my head. ‘Weren’t me and the kids meaning?’ My voice is quiet but determined and therefore powerful.
Jake colours. ‘Well, yes, of course. You know what I mean,’ he laughs again, but this time there is a distinct lack of bonhomie. He reaches out and takes my hand, squeezes it, brings it to his lips, kisses it. I let my hand go dead in his, a weight. Resistance. ‘But now there’s no struggle. Imagine that. We’re going to be OK for life and the kids too. We’ve changed their lives too.’
The accountant continues to talk about a sliding scale of tax, he tells us what the laws are between spouses and much more besides. I do my best to take it in but all I want is for the meeting to end. For people to stop talking about money. Just for a few minutes.
Finally, we are outside, on the busy London street, the wind whips at the skirt of my dress and bits of rubbish scuttle across the road with pedestrians. It’s a chilly day, the air pinches. It’s been a weird spring weather-wise. Bright one minute, wet and nippy the next. Sometimes we have all four seasons in a day. It seems the mercurial weather is reflecting our situation. Unprecedented. Unforeseeable. Gillian says goodbye and Jake hails a cab. Once inside, he asks the driver to take us back to Bucks.
‘I can do, mate, but it will cost you a few hundred quid.’
‘Let me worry about that,’ says Jake. He taps his breast pocket. A flair of frustration slaps me. He is behaving like a dick.
‘Don’t be insane,’ I snap. ‘Please just take us to Marylebone Station,’ I say to the cabbie. The cabbie nods, seemingly unconcerned about missing out on a huge fare that would have taken him far out of his usual zone. Most likely he is relieved; he probably thinks no amount of money is worth sitting on the A4, M4, M25 and A41 on a Friday afternoon, breathing in traffic fumes.
We sit in silence. I fiddle with the air-conditioning. I suddenly feel hot inside and out. I stare out of the window, not wanting to catch Jake’s eye but unsure why. Shouldn’t we be constantly celebrating?