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Chapter 9
“What about you?” I ask Toby. We’ve both had massages in the spa, and we’re now wrapped in our dressing gowns, lying by the indoor pool, which is deserted apart from us.
“What about me what?” he replies.
“I’ve told you my story. What’s yours?”
“Pretty uninteresting,” he says. “My parents aren’t well off, and I think I already told you they live in the same house that they bought when they first got married. I went to the local comprehensive, where I was ruthlessly bullied for being short. When I was in the sixth form, I started doing bits and pieces with Paul and found I was good at it. Things kind of went from there, and now photography is my bread and butter.”
“I’m guessing it doesn’t pay that well, if you’re stuck in a shared house,” I observe.
“It’s probably like journalism,” he tells me. “When you start out, you’re barely making ends meet, but if you’re good and you have the connections, the commissions start to come. I was lucky because Paul helped me a lot. You also have to be versatile. I do studio and location shoots for magazines like Voyages Luxes, I do a lot of celebrity photoshoots and weddings for Hello!, I do private work, and I sell images online as well. It all adds up, and I work hard at it. I could have moved out of the house ages ago, but I wanted to be able to buy my own place and kit it out with the best equipment without borrowing any money. I have an aversion to debt, it turns out.”
“But look at a trip like this. How many images is Mark going to buy? Five or six, maximum? That’s not going to make you a lot, surely?”
“You’re right. If you want to make loads of money from a single image, then becoming a paparazzo is probably your best option. Get a clear shot of a celebrity doing something revolting, or a high-profile criminal arriving at court, sell it to the papers, you can make serious cash. But, apart from the fact that it would make me feel grubby, that type of life absolutely relies on you being in exactly the right place at the right time, and you spend most of your time waiting around for something to happen. I don’t think I was designed for hanging around in the cold for hours on end.”
“So why did you agree to come here?” I ask him. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, there’s a lot of hanging around in the cold when you’re skiing!”
He thinks for a moment. “When Mark called me into that meeting room, you looked really tense. Totally different to how you were when we met in the lobby, and how you’ve been since. You reminded me of a friend of my Dad’s, who bet way more than he could afford on the outcome of a football match years ago. Dad told me they were in the stands together, and this guy was green, he was so anxious. Something told me that, whatever was going on in that meeting, you had a lot riding on the outcome, and I suppose I felt I wanted to help…”
“Oh God, I wish I hadn’t asked!” I interrupt. “If I’d have known you only agreed to come out of pity, I’d have told you where to stick it!”
“Hang on,” he admonishes me, “I haven’t finished. Yes, I might have felt a bit sorry for you, but I was also curious. The idea sounded interesting, and I thought it might be fun. I’ll admit it hasn’t been much fun so far but, although Mark will only buy a few of the images, I’ll put the others on various stock image sites I belong to and sell them there, so I’ll do all right financially out of it.”
“Thinking of which, I’m relying on you for all the boring shots that I normally do. Pictures of the rooms and so on.”
“Don’t worry about that. I took one of the room while you were in the shower last night, and I took exterior shots of all the places we’re staying, plus a few general ones of Courchevel, while you were having your lie-in this morning.”
“Cheeky bastard! I was up at a perfectly respectable time. It’s not my fault you’re an insomniac!”
“I told you, the light is best first thing in the morning or at the end of the day. At least the days are quite short here, so I didn’t have to get up that early. It’s not unusual for me to have to get up at three or four in the morning to be in place when the light is just right. Thinking of which, the sun is starting to dip, so I’d better get back out there.”
“What happened to your Dad’s mate?” I ask, as we’re walking back towards the lobby. “Did he win?”
“He won that time,” Toby replies. “But, of course, the win just went into more bets, and he lost it all again soon afterwards. He nearly lost his house before his wife found out what he was up to and forced him to sign up to Gamblers Anonymous. They had to do some pretty heavy debt restructuring and stuff to keep the bailiffs away. I think my fear of debt probably comes from seeing what happened to them.”
“I would have thrown him out,” I remark.
He studies me for a moment. “Would you though? If it was someone you really loved, and it was an addiction? Yes, if he’d refused to seek help then I can see there’s nowhere else you can go, but everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?”
“I think you might be a nicer person than me. I’m very much a ‘one strike and you’re out’ sort of girl.”
“And how is that working out for you?” he asks, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Fuck off!” I shove him hard on the shoulder, “Where is your army of admirers if you’re so bloody wise about relationships?”
“Fair point. However, I like to think my lack of allure is related to my lack of height and the fact that I’m not massively outgoing, rather than my unforgiving nature.” He laughs, knowing he’s got to me.
Back in the room I settle down on the bed to work and Toby sets off with his rucksack. I write my shorthand notes about the spa, and then turn my attention back to writing up the Istanbul trip. I’m in the zone again when Toby reappears, but I’m aware of him sitting down next to me and opening up his computer. After a couple of hours, I reckon I’ve pretty much got it. I just need to decide which pictures to send in with it, so I get out my iPhone and start scrolling through, sending any images I think might be worth using to my laptop.
“Can I see?” Toby asks, suddenly.
“What?”
“Your pictures, can I see them?”
“I suppose so. Don’t be too critical though.” I hand him the phone and he starts scrolling through.
