toward Melrose, borrows two hundred and fifty,’ I say. ‘The fifty grand left in the company account would then cover the stamp duty on Melrose, legal costs, everything – there might even be some left over for salaries.’ You have to laugh, don’t you, Kit? Or else you cry. ‘Soon as Nulli owns Melrose, it puts it up for sale. Shouldn’t take too long to sell. Someone I went to school with will buy it, or one of Mum and Dad’s friends who wants to downsize now that their kids have left home. Meanwhile, we’ll have got a lump sum from selling our house – we’ll have three hundred and fifty grand in cash. We put down three hundred towards 11 Bentley Grove and borrow nine hundred. ‘No,’ I correct myself. ‘Sorry. We put down two ninety, borrow nine hundred and ten. The sixty we don’t put down from the sale of Melrose covers stamp duty, which’ll be colossal, and legal costs. Soon as Melrose sells to a genuine buyer, Nulli gets two hundred and ninety grand back, and ends up only sixty grand out of pocket. And it won’t really be out of pocket at all, because it’s us and we’re it – we’ll have made use of that sixty grand already. Apart from anything else, it’s a brilliant way of getting a huge amount of money out of the company tax-free.’
Kit says nothing, doesn’t even blink. Perhaps he’s dead; I’ve shocked the life out of him.
‘At first I thought Nulli could buy 11 Bentley Grove, but that wouldn’t work,’ I say. ‘I need to move in, live there – I won’t find out anything if I’m not there. If Nulli owns the house and I live there, it becomes a taxable benefit in kind. Plus, a private bank wouldn’t lend Nulli anywhere near as much as it’d lend us, and it’d charge twice as much interest – the terms for commercial loans are much tougher than for personal mortgages. This way round, it’s perfect. Nulli buys Melrose, which we’re no longer living in, so it isn’t a taxable benefit – it’s an investment. We feed the bank some crap about maybe renting it out.’
‘Shut up!’ Kit bellows. ‘I don’t want to hear any more, just . . . stop.’
Obediently, I wait in silence for him to be ready to tear me to pieces. He’s not an impulsive person, Kit. He’ll want to rehearse his attack first.
Everyone in the restaurant is watching us and trying to pretend they’re not. I consider making a public announcement: Don’t bother with the subtlety. We’re beyond caring what anybody thinks of us.
Suddenly, desperately, I want a Kir Royale. This is a Kir Royale sort of place. Why would anybody want to drink anything else, in this lime and purple velvet room with its soft lighting and river views?
I can’t ask for a Kir Royale. It wouldn’t be right. Inappropriate. Crazy Connie.
‘Do you have any idea how fucked up this is?’ Kit says after a few minutes. He’s lowered his voice to a whisper; perhaps he does care about making a good impression, even now. I remind myself that I know nothing about him, nothing that matters. ‘You say, “We’ll have made use of that sixty grand already,’’ as if there’s a profit in this for us! Yeah, we’ll have made use of the sixty grand – hooray. We’ll have used it to buy a house we’ll lose within two to five years because we can’t afford it. And Nulli, that we’ve taken so long to build up and poured all our effort and energy into – Nulli’ll go down the tubes. By the time the sale of Melrose Cottage to a legitimate buyer completes, we’ll have had, what? Two, three months of not being able to pay anybody?’
‘You’re right,’ I cut him off. ‘Nulli will be a casualty of the plan, almost certainly. And we’ll lose both houses, Melrose Cottage and 11 Bentley Grove. On the plus side, if 11 Bentley Grove is repossessed, we might get some equity out of it, depending on what the bank sells it for. And when Nulli sells Melrose, even if it’s in the process of folding by then, that’s three hundred grand that’ll come back to us, minus the costs associated with going bankrupt.’
‘We’ll be left with nothing,’ says Kit, his voice leaden with misery. ‘That’s the one thing all people who go bankrupt have in common. Use your brain, for fuck’s sake.’