making no recovery. Indeed my thighs still feel as though someone took a mallet to them.
‘Things are looking pretty good, Abby,’ Egor tells me, pushing his glasses up his nose. We’re in a small, hired meeting room on the top floor of our building – one, I can’t help noticing, that has been decorated significantly more recently than our office. ‘You had a lot of start-up costs to claw back, and now have four staff members on the payroll. But your client base and turnover are growing really nicely.’
‘Thanks, Egor.’
‘The business plan we drew up at the start of the year is well on course. If you continue at the rate we’re predicting, you’ll have a turnover of around two hundred grand by the end of the year and you’ll make a profit of seven.’
‘Seven thousand pounds’ profit,’ I repeat dreamily. ‘So when can I retire to the Bahamas?’
I’m only being slightly sarcastic, because the truth is, while seven grand may not sound a lot, it is a big deal, simply by dint of it being a profit . Which means it’s mine, all mine – apart from the massive chunk for the tax man, that is, but I try not to dwell on that.
‘It might be a while before you pack your bags yet,’ Egor laughs, ‘but if you end up in profit so early in your company’s existence, you should be very happy, Abby. Let’s not count our chickens though, shall we?’
Shoes aside, Egor is lovely. Utterly so. And I don’t only think that because he’s the guy who does the number crunching that I despise, everything from filing my VAT return to preparing my accounts each quarter.
I decided early on to take on a self-employed accountant like Egor, as well as an agency to do the payroll every month. Nobody would ever have been paid otherwise – including myself.
‘Well, I’m very glad to hear it,’ I tell him, ‘because frankly, the size of the overdraft being run by this company terrifies me.’
‘Ten thousand pounds is perfectly normal for a company of your size, Abby,’ he reassures me. ‘Start-up businesses couldn’t function without an overdraft, and most of the time you’re operating in the black; we only use the overdraft at the end of each month to cover the staff salaries while we’re waiting for the clients to pay. It’s all perfectly normal.’
My mobile rings and I ask Egor to bear with me while I take it out of my bag and glance at the number flashing up.
‘Oh no,’ I groan, before pressing ignore.
I recognise the number immediately, courtesy of the fact that they’ve phoned three times in twenty-four hours and left two messages: it’s my insurance company. I genuinely haven’t had a minute to return the call.
‘Well, Egor, considering my feelings about this side of the business, today has been painless. Thank you,’ I say, standing to leave.
‘Er, just a second, Abby,’ he says.
I pause and sit, glancing at his expression – which has suddenly shifted.
‘Now,’ he says with a tone I instantly recognise as tactful, ‘I know you don’t like admin, but there are certain jobs you can’t avoid. You’ve got to stay on top of your invoices, Abby.’
‘I send them out on time,’ I protest weakly.
‘The trouble is, not everyone pays on time, do they?’ he replies. ‘Look at the precision engineering company – Preciseco. We never seem to get their payment earlier than sixty days after you’ve sent the bill.’
‘That was starting to annoy me too,’ I mutter.
‘Look, I’m not having a go. Well, not really. Late payments are the scourge of the small business. But you must keep tabs on every bill you send out to a client. If they’re even a day late, get on to them with a polite reminder. That will usually do the trick, but if not, get on to them again – until they do pay.’
‘Okay, I’ll do that in future. Though may I point out that not all my clients pay late. Diggles are my biggest and they always cough up within seven days.’
‘Ah yes, your garden-centre chain.
‘Things are looking pretty good, Abby,’ Egor tells me, pushing his glasses up his nose. We’re in a small, hired meeting room on the top floor of our building – one, I can’t help noticing, that has been decorated significantly more recently than our office. ‘You had a lot of start-up costs to claw back, and now have four staff members on the payroll. But your client base and turnover are growing really nicely.’
‘Thanks, Egor.’
‘The business plan we drew up at the start of the year is well on course. If you continue at the rate we’re predicting, you’ll have a turnover of around two hundred grand by the end of the year and you’ll make a profit of seven.’
‘Seven thousand pounds’ profit,’ I repeat dreamily. ‘So when can I retire to the Bahamas?’
I’m only being slightly sarcastic, because the truth is, while seven grand may not sound a lot, it is a big deal, simply by dint of it being a profit . Which means it’s mine, all mine – apart from the massive chunk for the tax man, that is, but I try not to dwell on that.
‘It might be a while before you pack your bags yet,’ Egor laughs, ‘but if you end up in profit so early in your company’s existence, you should be very happy, Abby. Let’s not count our chickens though, shall we?’
Shoes aside, Egor is lovely. Utterly so. And I don’t only think that because he’s the guy who does the number crunching that I despise, everything from filing my VAT return to preparing my accounts each quarter.
I decided early on to take on a self-employed accountant like Egor, as well as an agency to do the payroll every month. Nobody would ever have been paid otherwise – including myself.
‘Well, I’m very glad to hear it,’ I tell him, ‘because frankly, the size of the overdraft being run by this company terrifies me.’
‘Ten thousand pounds is perfectly normal for a company of your size, Abby,’ he reassures me. ‘Start-up businesses couldn’t function without an overdraft, and most of the time you’re operating in the black; we only use the overdraft at the end of each month to cover the staff salaries while we’re waiting for the clients to pay. It’s all perfectly normal.’
My mobile rings and I ask Egor to bear with me while I take it out of my bag and glance at the number flashing up.
‘Oh no,’ I groan, before pressing ignore.
I recognise the number immediately, courtesy of the fact that they’ve phoned three times in twenty-four hours and left two messages: it’s my insurance company. I genuinely haven’t had a minute to return the call.
‘Well, Egor, considering my feelings about this side of the business, today has been painless. Thank you,’ I say, standing to leave.
‘Er, just a second, Abby,’ he says.
I pause and sit, glancing at his expression – which has suddenly shifted.
‘Now,’ he says with a tone I instantly recognise as tactful, ‘I know you don’t like admin, but there are certain jobs you can’t avoid. You’ve got to stay on top of your invoices, Abby.’
‘I send them out on time,’ I protest weakly.
‘The trouble is, not everyone pays on time, do they?’ he replies. ‘Look at the precision engineering company – Preciseco. We never seem to get their payment earlier than sixty days after you’ve sent the bill.’
‘That was starting to annoy me too,’ I mutter.
‘Look, I’m not having a go. Well, not really. Late payments are the scourge of the small business. But you must keep tabs on every bill you send out to a client. If they’re even a day late, get on to them with a polite reminder. That will usually do the trick, but if not, get on to them again – until they do pay.’
‘Okay, I’ll do that in future. Though may I point out that not all my clients pay late. Diggles are my biggest and they always cough up within seven days.’
‘Ah yes, your garden-centre chain.
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