Chapter 22
Brad appeared in front of Helen and dumped his in-tray on her desk. ‘Can you hold the fort for half an hour, love? I know it’s your lunch break but everyone else is out. You can take a break when I get back. I shouldn’t be long.’
‘Sure.’
‘Good girl. Oh, and can you sort out my in-tray if you get a chance? There’s stuff from months ago I haven’t got around to reading. Keep what should be actioned and bin the rest.’
‘But I—’
‘Use your common sense. You seem to have lots of it. See you later.’ Brad jogged towards the door.
The hour between one and two was always quiet. Helen had been looking forward to her daily salad sandwich at the cafe round the corner. Sighing, she pulled the in-tray in front of her and began to sort through its contents.
Thirty minutes later, her reception desk was covered with paper.
Helen was horrified at what she’d found.
Twelve unpaid bills stretching back over four months, and seven follow-up demands only now opened by her own fingers.
Several threatened legal action. But the worst, from the Inland Revenue, named a court date in two weeks’ time.
The amount the Revenue alone were demanding ran into thousands of pounds.
Helen couldn’t understand how Brad could have ignored such aggressive, threatening letters.
If he didn’t respond soon, surely Metropolitan would find itself in serious trouble.
Helen shook her head and began to sort the letters into three piles: urgent, very urgent and incredibly urgent.
She’d have to give Brad the bad news when he returned from lunch.
‘I like their sound, I like their look and I definitely think they’ve got something.’ Brad took a sip of his pint.
‘Good. So are you going to make us an offer or what?’
Brad shrugged. ‘I dunno. We’re a small company, Freddy.
We have four quite successful groups and one mega-seller on our label.
You’re asking for serious time and money to be spent on your lot.
Our resources are stretched as they are.
If this had been a year ago, I’d probably be snapping them up, but as it is, we’re at full stretch with the bands we do have. ’
‘Come and see them, Brad. They really are great live. Trust me on this,’ Freddy implored his old friend.
‘Sure, I’m willing to do that. The problem is, I know the kind of deal you’ll want financially, and I just don’t think Metropolitan Records can provide it at the moment.’
‘Look, you know how I admire you as a producer, Brad. You’re one of the best, and I really think Metropolitan is going to take off in the next couple of years.
Therefore, if you’re willing to give my boys a shot, we in turn might be prepared to come to some kind of a compromise on the financial side of things.
We could, for example, take less upfront for a larger royalty. ’
Brad drained his pint glass and smiled at Freddy. It was a decent compromise. ‘Okay, you win. I’ll come and see them at their next gig.’
‘Thursday night at the Civic. Should be a good crowd. They’ve gathered quite a following.’
‘Fine. I’ve got to run, mate, sorry. I’m late for my next appointment as it is.’
‘No problem. I’ll meet you at the Civic on Thursday at seven thirty. Try to make it as near to the start as you can.’
‘Sure. Cheers, Freddy.’
Freddy watched Brad leave the pub. He signalled to George the barman to pour him another pint. He hoped he hadn’t sounded too desperate, but Metropolitan Records really were his last port of call before he had to admit defeat.
It was 6.30 p.m. and there was still no sign of Brad. Everyone else had gone home. Helen prowled round the reception area wondering if she should just leave the bills on her boss’s desk with a note attached to them.
Just as she was putting her coat on and switching off the lights, Brad swung open the front door.
‘Hi, kid. You still here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Working overtime even as a temp, eh? Jilly will have to watch out for her job. She always vanished at five thirty on the dot. Go home now, love. See you tomorrow.’ He started to walk past her in the direction of the stairs.
‘Brad, I was waiting for you actually.’
He spun around. ‘Yeah? Why?’
‘Because of these.’ Helen scooped the pile of bills off her desk and handed them to him.
‘What exactly are “these”?’
‘The contents of your in-tray. I really think you’d better read them.’
‘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.’
The following morning, Helen entered Brad’s office. He was still in last night’s clothes, and hadn’t shaved.
She put the books on his desk and sat down.
‘Do you want the bad news or the bad news?’ Brad let his head drop onto his desk. ‘The company is over twenty thousand pounds in debt. Even if you collected every single penny that’s outstanding from your creditors next week, there would still be a five-thousand-pound shortfall.’
Brad nodded silently.
‘However, I did do a medium-term forecast for you last night, looking at a growth of sales of fifteen per cent a year, not even considering the large amounts The Trojans may well earn for Metropolitan if they take off in the States as you believe they will. As long as the company is run on a more prudent and sensible basis, the figures in the next couple of years start to look much healthier.’
‘That’s all well and good, but how do I get from here to there?’ sighed Brad.
‘Well, it’s only my opinion, and as I’ve said, you should seek the advice of a professional . . . but I think you have three alternatives.’