Just My Luck(52)

There is a lot to take in. The financial advisor talks about managing risk while also tapping growth opportunities, words such as trusts, bonds, shares, options, diversifying global growth, equity investors, ISAs are all bandied about. I know what most of these words mean – in isolation – but I’m not absolutely sure I am keeping abreast of the context. My heart is thumping so hard that I imagine people can see it. I am terrified someone is suddenly going to ask how much money we have exactly, and I’ll have to confess to giving Toma the three million. I don’t regret doing so but I really should have told Jake. I should tell him what I have done before he finds out. Maybe he’s more likely to forgive and understand if I do that.

I don’t know.

Would I forgive and understand if I was handed a confession rather than having to discover something shocking? Or would I still feel enraged and vengeful? My eyes slide to Jake. He is sat forward in his chair, eager. He emits a new-found confidence. It borders on arrogance. I stay silent.

The accountant is easier to follow.

‘One of the perks of playing lotteries in the UK is that winnings are not subject to capital gains tax or income tax, regardless of how much money you win.’

‘I thought so!’ Jake punches the air. ‘Winning!’

‘Isn’t that weird, when you think about it. You know, up until now we’ve earned a combined salary of fifty-six thousand a year and had to pay a big chunk of that in tax and now we get given, just given, this money and no tax is due,’ I comment.

‘Are you seriously complaining because you don’t have to pay tax?’ asks Jake. He is laughing. At me.

‘No, of course not. I’m just observing,’ I say defensively.

‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,’ he mutters.

‘I’m not, I’m just. Well, I’ve always believed people should pay tax. It’s almost a privilege, isn’t it? It means you’re gainfully employed and that you are meaningfully contributing to society and…’ I trail off because I’ve lost Jake’s attention. He is shaking his head, grinning at the accountant who is holding his face in a polite, neutral expression. ‘Ignore her, go on,’ he urges.

The accountant throws an apologetic look my way. I don’t think he is the one who should be apologising for my husband’s rudeness, but I don’t want to get into it in front of strangers. I force myself to smile at the accountant to smooth waters, giving him permission to carry on.

‘However, once you’ve deposited the winnings in your bank account, any money earned 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.’