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There’s still a bit of time to kill before I’m due to meet Toby, so I decide to explore Sevenoaks and find him a studio warming gift if I can. I’ve already bought the champagne I promised; I picked it up at the same time as Ed and Charley’s, but I’d like to give him something a little more permanent as well. On one street I come across a hardware store, with bins and brushes displayed on the pavement outside. Looking through the windows, it quickly becomes clear that they sell all kinds of things for the home, so I wander inside. It turns out to be a real Aladdin’s cave, with lots of different rooms displaying everything from DIY stuff to kitchenware. Remembering Toby's comments about drinking from mugs, I buy him two pint glasses, two tumblers, two wine glasses and two champagne flutes.
I follow his directions and find the studio in a somewhat down-at-heel parade of shops near the station. It looks unloved; the sign above the door is cracked and peeling, making the swirly writing difficult to decipher. Eventually, I work out that it says ‘Dave Myers – Exquisite Memories’. In the window are a series of faded portraits, pet photos and wedding shots. I wouldn’t describe the photos as exquisite – clichéd and dated would be more accurate. One, featuring a faded image of a woman with big hair and shiny clothes, looks like it might have been there since the eighties. Next door on the left is a dingy-looking greasy spoon café calling itself Nora’s Diner. Large signwriting on the window advertises its ‘All Day Breakfast’s’ and ‘Traditional Roast Diner's’. I resist the urge to go inside and explain how plurals work or point out the unfortunate spelling mistake. On the other side of the studio is a dry-cleaner, which seems to be thriving, if the large number of garment bags visible through the window and strong chemical smell are anything to go by.
The studio door is locked, so I ring the bell next to it and wait. Toby appears after a few moments and lets me in. He’s dressed in overalls, which are covered in white dust, and there’s also dust on his face and in his hair. For someone who is normally so fastidious about his appearance, it’s a bit of a shock.
‘It’s OK, don’t dress up on my account,’ I snigger.
‘Ha ha. Be careful what you touch when we get in there. Everything’s very dusty and dirty.’
We pass through the front area (desk, couch for waiting customers, table with ancient magazines, more clichéd photos in frames on the wall) into the studio at the back.
‘Bloody hell, Toby, it’s massive!’ I exclaim, looking around at the enormous room.
‘Not bad, is it?’ he replies, with pride evident in his voice. ‘It needs a lot of work, but I could see the potential as soon as I saw it. I’m going to completely gut the place and start again from scratch. Paul came and helped me move, and then we couldn’t resist making a start on the studio. We’ve made good progress already.’
At that point Paul appears through a door at the other end of the studio. He’s also wearing overalls and is covered in dirt, like Toby. I feel suddenly out of place, like I’m distracting them from their work but, as Paul spots me, his face breaks out into a huge smile.
‘Hello again, Madison. Toby’s been telling me how much he enjoyed the trip with you, even if he’s not sure he’s a born skier,’ he says to me, before turning to address Toby. ‘That skip is already half full. I reckon we’ll fill it tomorrow. Have you got a replacement lined up?’
‘Yes,’ Toby tells him. ‘It should be here first thing on Monday morning, and I’ve got regular changeovers booked through the week.’
‘Well, if you boys fancy a quick break, I’ve got some champagne in here to celebrate,’ I tell them.
‘That sounds brilliant!’ Paul enthuses. ‘I’ll just go and wash out the mugs. Toby hasn’t got any glasses yet,’ he adds, by way of explanation.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve thought of that.’ I reach into the bag and pull out the bottle and the carefully wrapped glasses, setting them on the side in the kitchen area. ‘I’ve only got two champagne flutes I’m afraid, but I’m happy with one of the wine glasses.’
Toby does the honours, and we drink a toast to his future success. The champagne is still reasonably cold, and it slips down easily.
‘So,’ I say, after a couple of sips. ‘Give me the tour.’
Toby, Paul and I wander round the studio together, as Toby outlines his vision. Pretty much everything currently in here is going in the skip, apart from a hideous double bed in one of the corners. The frame is made from ornate wrought iron and it’s currently sporting black satin sheets.
‘Are you going to be shooting porn in here, Toby?’ I ask, indicating the bed. He doesn’t seem the sleazy type, but maybe I’ve got him wrong.
‘No!’ he laughs. ‘I know it looks tacky, but it’s one of the few things that Dave Myers, the previous owner, got right,’ he explains when he sees my raised eyebrows. ‘You’ll just have to trust me that it will look good with the right lighting.’
‘But what are you going to use it for?’
‘Boudoir photography. It’s surprisingly popular,’ he continues, obviously picking up on my scepticism. ‘Brides-to-be often like to have some sexy photos to give their new husbands. It’s quite a trend. It’s popular with models too, as it shows their versatility. The black sheets look tacky in real life, but they’re barely visible in the photos, which means the model really stands out. I can also change the black sheets for white and do nightwear shoots for magazines.
‘Now, over here is where the main studio area is going to be. I’ve got a big infinity wall arriving at the end of the week, and we’ll have a whole variety of different backgrounds available too.’
‘What’s an infinity wall?’
‘It’s a background wall that curves into the base, so there’s no join visible between wall and floor. It makes the model, or the object, appear to float because there are no reference points in the background,’ he tells me, as we walk towards the door that Paul came through earlier. It leads into a small corridor, and Toby ushers me through. There’s an open door in front of me, which is obviously the back entrance. I can see that there are two car parking spaces behind the building. One of them is currently occupied by the skip and Toby’s car is jammed into the other. To the right, there’s a door marked ‘Private’. Toby unlocks it to reveal a staircase.
‘This is the way up to the flat. Would you like to see?’ he asks.
‘Absolutely, lead on!’
The flat is even more unloved than the studio. It’s not damp or anything; in fact, it’s surprisingly warm in here, given the cold winter weather outside. It’s just very tired and dated looking, with textured ceilings and floral borders in abundance. There’s a good-sized sitting room, master bedroom with a horrible avocado green en suite, another bedroom, an equally horrible bathroom with pink units, and a dated pine kitchen. The carpets are tired and threadbare, which is a relief as it looks like the original patterns would have been migraine inducing. There’s almost no furniture; the master bedroom has a single mattress on the floor, and there are a couple of folding chairs and a table in the sitting room. Toby is full of enthusiasm, telling me about how he plans to modernise it and furnish it. It sounds like it will be lovely when it’s done. One thing niggles me though. Although it’s reasonably spacious, I can see that it’s nowhere near as big as the studio below. Toby sees my confusion and explains.
‘There are two flats. The other one is accessed from the front of the building and is let out. I own the freehold of both, so I’ll get some income from the rent. I haven’t met the couple that live in there yet, but they’ve been there for nearly three years and have been no problem, according to the records.’
We wander back downstairs and, after draining my glass, I start to gather my stuff.
‘Why don’t you stay and have dinner with us? We’re going to get fish and chips from across the road if you fancy some,’ Toby says.
