Of all the cruel twists of fate and unforeseen circumstances life has thrown at us, this has been the most unequivocally devastating of all. I warn you, this blog post might be difficult to read, especially if you've ever had a dream that was viciously snatched away from under your nose by the cold and cruel hands of fate.
Isn't it incredible how the incompetence, disregard for ethics, and arrogance of others can all come together to destroy the hopes of two innocent people who've done nothing wrong but dared to dream? Two people, a young couple, who've put everything they have to make a dream, their dream, come true. A dream that now seems ever out of reach, when it was robbed from their loving hands.
PART I: THE DREAM
Henry and I had a dream, a business plan, together. When I met him, he was a resourceful young man who at the age of 23 was running an online boutique Regimental; selling vintage military clothing and vintage clothing on ASOS Marketplace to people around the world. That he did in the evenings when he wasn't breaking his back lugging the entirety of his stock (stunning military tunics as old as 19th century, contemporary camouflage clothing, immaculate peaked hats that belied their vintage) down to the basement of Brick Lane Vintage Market where his rare and sought-after military clothing was snapped up by fashion enthusiasts, collectors, and Blitz party-goers alike. Henry's love and passion for the trade was infectious; he'd regale to me the history and function of his clothes (his knowledge aided by his and his family's military background) and it rubbed off on me - soon I found myself helping him out with Regimental. Little things at first; like going down to Brick Lane Vintage Market with a packed lunch for Henry knowing that the market would get so busy that sometimes he wouldn't have time to eat. Then I started getting properly involved with Regimental, the online version that is, by offering to refresh the boutique on ASOS Marketplace. I sourced pretty young things to model (I begged my beautiful friends to help out, and they always obliged. Although the business was not yet in any position to pay them, I'd treat them to lunch and pay for their taxis because it was the least I could do) and I lent my photography and editing skills to the cause. With my involvement, Henry's stunning military tunics were showcased to the best of our ability with his styling, my photography, and our models in creative outdoor locations chosen as the backdrop for the labours of our love. Soon, Regimental was rebranded Regimental Vintage and shoppers on ASOS Marketplace took note. Sales were better than ever before, coming from afar as Singapore! Even the editorial team at ASOS took notice of Regimental Vintage - we were selected for cover shoots and editorial shoots, which sadly fell through thanks to reasons beyond our control. That in itself is another upsetting story, but one I will tell another day.
Henry and I soon realised that the dreams and hopes we had for Regimental Vintage had outgrown the modest marketplace; both the stalls of Brick Lane Vintage Market and that of ASOS Marketplace. We were determined to bring our love for history, fashion, and rare beautiful things to a wider audience. So Henry bade farewell to Brick Lane Vintage Market. It was time for Regimental Vintage to fly solo.
Opening a boutique in London, as you can imagine, costs a lot of money. Money that many young people our age (Henry is 24, I am 28) do not have. Some of my friends are incredibly fortunate to be blessed with the sort of fortune others can only dream about and so can pursue their dreams at a younger age. The rest of my friends, who I daresay represent the majority of 20-something year olds, simply do not have the tens of thousands of pounds it costs to get a startup off the ground. I am somewhere in the middle. I am going to make a confession and clear up once and for all the many rumours surrounding my alleged wealth. While there are considerable assets in my name, mostly property in London and abroad, I am for lack of a better word 'cash poor'. I get by with a combined income of several freelance jobs; including the money I make from Regimental Vintage. So yes, I think I can say with some authority that I am Posh, Broke, & Bored: Posh- I have had a good upbringing, Broke - I often worry about when my next paycheck will come in, Bored - I am never satisfied with the fruits of my labour, always seeking to better them. So, then, what will I do about the money Henry and I need to open a shop in London? I sought out a loan. Henry and I, business plan in hand, approached one of Malaysia's most financially-savvy self-made business-doyennes - my mother. Mother listened with great interest as we described with confidence how, with some help from her in the form of a loan, that we would invest that money into procuring even better stock (we added vintage designer clothing; Burberry, Aquascutum, Givenchy, Gucci, Pucci, all the hoochies) which we would sell from a small but stunning boutique in one of London's trendiest shopping destinations - Brick Lane. We held our breath as my mother considered our daring idea, the machinations in her extremely astute business-oriented mind processing the viability of our plan. Then she said "Yes. I support your dream. Take what you deem necessary, I wish you both god speed and good luck."
We had the loan! Henry and I had the investment, the support, and the well-wishes of one of Malaysia's sharpest business minds! More than assured, more than relieved, we were ecstatic, and most of all we were confident. Mother would tell me if I was talking out of my arse, but for her to invest a substantial sum in mine and Henry's business plan was surely a sign that we had a real chance for success, to make our dream a reality!
Henry and I knew that securing a loan was only the first step. The more trying obstacles in our journey to success were yet to come. Emboldened by the optimism of youth, we flew from Kuala Lumpur back to London and searched for the perfect shop where we would set up our boutique.
Little did we know of the nightmare that was to come...
If you've read this far, I must reiterate - the rest of this post is going to be emotional and not an easy read. God knows my heart is breaking all over again as it pains me to explain what has happened. Just know that Henry and I are so grateful for all of your love, support, and kindness in this most difficult of times.
We had our loan. We had the most fabulous stock; vintage and contemporary clothing and accessories, both designer and military. All we needed was to find a suitable shop to showcase and sell our threads; the womb in which our baby would grow, as it were. Henry and I fell in love with 16 Cheshire Street, a bright blue-facade shop just off Brick Lane nestled among the other vintage shops on the street (Beyond Retro and Absolute Vintage to name two). It was love at first sight and a no-brainer. I gave the estate agent, Peach Properties, the go-ahead to tell the landlord to have his solicitors draw up the contract, paid a deposit, and we waited. While we waited for all the legalities to be sorted, Henry and I got busy preparing for the arrival of our baby. We bought furniture and paint for the shop; countless trips to IKEA mulling over floating shelves vs. bracketed shelves, comparing paint swatches at Homebase and bringing home Farrow & Ball sample pots to see whether Downpipe or Castle Gray best suited the door to our shop. Henry picked out an outdoor fireplace for the garden of our shop. We had always wanted to adopt rescued battery hens, so I signed up to adopt from The British Hen Welfare Trust while he chose coops for our chickens to roost in. I ordered thousands of pounds worth of clothing rails, mannequins, dummy heads, all carefully selected to best display the hundreds of vintage clothing we had so lovingly curated from sources far and wide. You could say that we were decorating our baby's nursery!
Eager to get into our shop and start setting up, we pushed our agent to beg our Canadian landlord to speed up our move-in date. We later found out that our landlord Michael* was just as keen to have us as his tenants and was doing everything in his power to facilitate our move-in as quickly and smoothly as possible. Meanwhile, I delighted and busied myself with planning the launch party of Regimental Vintage. I invited everyone I knew, by word of mouth, telling them to keep 13 May for our opening party. I approached sponsors for the party; beers, bubble tea, coconut water, and even a donut tower! Yes, donut tower. When the contract arrived, I had my mother's legal team in Kuala Lumpur look it over to be sure every single minute detail was satisfactory. Pleased that we were on the right track and that everything was done by the book, I headed down to Peach's office and signed my name on the contract. We had our shop. We had a legal and binding contract, stating in black and white, that 16 Cheshire Street was Regimental Vintage for 2 years, effective 29 April 2015.
I wept; tears of delight, relief, and hope. Henry patted my head and screamed "We're getting our shop! We're getting our chickens, chicken!" (His nickname for me is 'chicken') I started full-out sobbing. Who knew that those tears would turn so bitter, so soon.
Tuesday, 28 April 2015, the day before we got the keys to our shop was supposed to be joyous day. We had two weeks before the grand opening of Regimental Vintage. Two whole weeks to paint the facade of our shop, put up our signage, furnish it; make the garden a pretty, comfortable, and safe home for our rescue chickens. Oh, and I have a launch party to plan! There was a lot on our plates in a short space of time, but I was confident that we could finish it. I felt invincible; I had a loving partner in Henry, we had an incredible support system of friends and family who are cheering us all the way, and we also had the resources to make our crazy dream come to fruition. Henry flew his brother Ryan down from Germany to help us with the decorating; we paid for his flights and of course we would pay him for his work. The evening before we were to get the keys to our shop, I was giddy. It had been a perfect day thus far; Duck & Dry plaited my hair into a gorgeous fishtail braid, I had not one but two of my favourite lobster rolls from Well & Bucket, then Luxy texted me excitedly asking if I'd like to watch Phantom Of The Opera with her that very evening. Could this day get any better? Yes, coming home to my loving boyfriend after the theatre and counting one more sleep before we start work on our shop! Oblivious to the horror to come, I sped off to Piccadilly leaving Henry and Ryan to catch up and 'talk shop'.
Phantom Of The Opera was hilarious - I mean this in the best way possible, it is one of my favourite musicals - and although I did think Raoul's high notes were a tad thin and Phantom was more aggressive than I remember him, I applauded Christine (her vibrato was spot-on!). When the curtain or rather chandelier came down for intermission, I left Luxy in her seat to nip off to the ladies. I'm not one to look at my phone during a show, so this was the time to quickly check my messages. I saw a series of missed calls and texts from Henry, pleading me to call him; it was about the shop and it was urgent. My heart sank; had something happened to our shop? A vandal, a leak, a fire? I rang him. And that was when the nightmare started.
PART II: THE NIGHTMARE
Henry: "My love. The most worrying thing has transpired. Ryan and I have just come from the shop. I took him down there to take some 'mental measurements' for tomorrow's decorating work. I saw a couple inside our shop..."
Me: "SQUATTERS?!"
Henry: "No. I don't think so. This couple were decorating our shop, which I thought highly irregular. So I asked them "Excuse me, but what are you both doing in my shop?" and they said "Um, what are you talking about, this is our shop. Our names are on the contract."
Me: *incomprehensible strangled noise*
Henry: "The lady of the two said that she's renting the shop for two months as of tomorrow, and that she signed a contract with 'John*'. Well, we've signed a contract with the landlord via our estate agent, so I have no idea what is going on; who is John, why is he letting our shop to these people, does the landlord and estate agent know about this? I asked to use her phone to ring 'John', and it was quite disturbing. I'm not saying he threatened me, but his tone wasn't friendly, it was somewhere along the lines of "I know exactly who you are Henry. I know where you live. I know people who know you. I saw your name on the contract", which is impossible as my name isn't on the contract. And then he said "I know a lot about you, how else do you think I've got your number that I'm talking to you on?" I called him out and said, "Mate, this isn't my number, it's your client's, she rang you, you didn't ring me." It sounds to me like 'John' was just clutching at straws to be honest; he has no idea who I am but he did sound an awful lot like he was expecting something like this to happen."
Me: "That sounds incredibly dodgy! Right, I'm sure I have our agent's number somewhere. I'm going to go back to the theatre; make my excuses to Luxy, apologise, leave, and come straight home. I'm going to phone our agent right now and ask him why there are people in our shop claiming that they've let it off this 'John' fellow that we know for a fact isn't the landlord."
I sped home with a hundred questions racing about in my mind. Who is this John? Why and how are there people inside my shop, the shop I've paid six months rent in advance for? What is going on; is it somehow possible that Peach made a mistake and promised 16 Cheshire Street to both us and these mysterious 'tenants'? And most of all; what does it mean for Henry and I: aren't we, by the binding contract signed between myself and the landlord, the legal and rightful tenants of 16 Cheshire Street? All these questions Peach, myself, and Henry sought via constant phone calls and emails between us and Michael, made all the more complicated by the time difference as he is in Canada. All we were told by Peach was that John is the previous tenant of 16 Cheshire Street and that he had let the shop without Michael's knowledge, and that Michael and his solicitors were working on having the shop rightfully returned to us.
The next morning Henry and I headed down to 16 Cheshire Street to talk to the mysterious new 'tenants' and find out exactly what was going on. I tried not to scream - I felt violated! This was our shop, we'd spent weeks acquiring it; liaising with various legal parties, we'd put down half of our loan toward the deposit, I signed a legal and binding contract. My name was literally on the shop, or at least on the contract. Henry and I encountered the lady from the night before, Bella*. Bella seemed like a nice enough lady. She seemed honestly shocked at what was going on and just as confused as us. Bella explained that she had let 16 Cheshire Street via pop-up agency Appear Here who dealt with John as the executor (for lack of a better word). How highly irregular - if John was the previous tenant, wouldn't that mean he has no right to let it out without the permission of the landlord?I'm no lawyer but is or isn't that illegal subletting? We were told by Peach and Michael that that was the case, and they both assured us that Henry and I were indeed the rightful tenants of 16 Cheshire Street.
Even as Bella's contractors and decorators started moving into the shop I had to suppress my urge to scream. She was very apologetic and sympathetic, but of course she had to get on with decorating the shop so she phoned her agent from Appear Here to come down to Brick Lane and explain the situation to us. Several anxious cigarettes and foot-tapping later, a suavely dressed man Appeared (ha, see what I did there?!). Blonde, slim, well-dressed, not bad-looking, slick, you know the sort. He explained, Hello, I'm Ashton*, and I'm afraid this is not your shop, this is my client Bella's. Why don't we all head down to Peach and I'll explain to you why you have no rights to this shop even though you've signed a legal binding contract with the landlord and paid six months rent toward it?
With things as uncertain and precarious the way there were, Ashton's confidence and choice of words disturbed me. I must say though, that Ashton is a great salesman - not only did he essentially shoot down my agent in person (when we all gathered together to discuss this unfortunate situation) he also tried to 'poach' Henry and I. "Oh, it's a shame you can't have the shop you want so badly. But you know that 16 Cheshire Street is my client's now, right? And there's no way you're going to get it. Not until my client's lease ends, at least. And certainly not through the landlord, it's going to have to be through John (and through Appear Here, I imagine)" Ashton went on to assure us of his position: "None of you have any legal leg to stand on if you want to dispute the tenancy rights to 16 Cheshire Street. The law will be in the favour of Appear Here and John. Even if you do try to take it to court, it will be months of hassle and heaps of expensive legal fees (which it seemed he insinuated to me: If you want to try and fight for what you think is yours, good luck, you can't afford it)."Then Ashton delivered his final blow: "If you want a contingency plan, here's my card - maybe Appear Here can find you a place because there is no way you are getting 16 Cheshire Street. Good luck with everything guys, I hope it works out for you and I hope Appear Here can find a way to help you." Then Ashton departed ever so suavely; leaving my agent, Henry and I in a state of astonishment. Smooth! I have to give it to Ashton, he knows just what to say, how to say it, and when to say it. He's an excellent salesman and the perfect choice to represent Appear Here.
Absolutely shaken (not least for the fact that I'd paid almost £15,000 for the shop) we walked back to my apartment in silence. It was Wednesday, 29th April 2015, the day Henry and I were suppose to get the keys to our shop. The keys that were now in the hands of Bella. The shop that we were told by the slick salesman agent from Appear Here that we had no claim to despite our name being on the contract that the landlord, his solicitor, and my solicitor had drafted. The shop that was supposed to open on 14 May, and the evening before throw open its doors for the launch party that I had already invited guests and press to, to say nothing of the sponsors I now had to explain that there was going to be no party. And the chickens, what of the chickens? We were so eager to adopt at least three rescued battery hens; give them a safe and loving home in the shop garden, and hope that by our example we could encourage more people to do the same. Of all the people I had to let down - my parents, my friends, my guests, my sponsors - I think the chickens was what hit me the hardest. I couldn't do anything for them now or even explain why I couldn't take them in, the poor sweet creatures. Then my phone started ringing. Deliveries for the shop; furniture, mannequins, electronics, decor etc. that we had arranged to sign for at 16 Cheshire Street. I had to explain, to many furious delivery men that we simply could not take delivery of the goods anymore as we had lost our shop. Thousands of pounds worth of merchandise we had to return, if we could even return them. Then there was the tens of thousands of pounds worth of stock, which we had nowhere to sell, that Henry and I had to move out of my cramped apartment into a storage unit. A sort of retail limbo as it were. More money down the drain, dwindling every single day that we couldn't get into 16 Cheshire Street. Every single day that by the sound of it was going to be a very long time, if ever at all. We were getting back the six months rent (every fifteen thousand pounds of it), that was certain, but again. Time is money. And every single second we don't have a shop is money Henry and I can't afford to spend.
That day, I suffered the worst anxiety attacks which brought on an asthma attack and gave me heart palpitations for the rest of the day. I'm no Mo Farah, but I like to think that I'm not the most unhealthy person in the world. Yet that evening, lying on my bathroom floor with the door locked, fighting for breath and consciousness even as my heart seized up, I clutched at my chest willing the indescribable pain to relinquish its vicelike grip. All while begging in my head for the shooting pains in my arms to take leave. Asthma attacks, I've had them all my life. But a heart attack before the age of 30? I wouldn't know how to handle that. I don't need my health to be yet another burden what with everything already on my plate.
Eventually I regained full function of my body. I got up and finally did what I should've done - I asked my agent for Michael (the landlord)'s number. I explained to him what I knew. That his tenant, John, had granted Appear Here the rights to let out 16 Cheshire Street. That John, according to Bella, drove down from the Midlands to London the night before and spent the night sleeping in the shop after changing the locks to 16 Cheshire Street. (Most irregular, I thought) That John, on Bella's phone to Henry, made up wild facts about knowing Henry's very personal details ie. John had gotten Henry's number from their 'mutual friends' (while forgetting that 'Henry's number' was actually Bella's, and it was Henry who rang John from Bella's phone, not the other way round). It seemed to us that this John was the central figure in all of this confusion, and I wanted to fully understand the situation. Well...what Michael told me about John certainly explained mine and Henry's impression of him and his actions ie. speeding down to London from the Midlands to sleep overnight in the shop, friendly reminding Henry "I know exactly who you are, where you live etc."I am not going to repeat what Michael told me about his experience with John as a tenant. That is between them both. I am not going to speculate publicly on the legal nature of John's previous actions, that is none of my business. (It might be the business of whoever does business with him, but their due diligence is not my problem).
PART III: WAKING UP TO THE FACTS
What I will speak about though, is what I have been told, and which I accept in good faith to be the truth.
John had licensed, not sublet, 16 Cheshire Street to Appear Here. Licensing is not the same as subletting. While subletting a property without the consent of your landlord is illegal (to my limited understanding of commercial property law), licensing is in fact legal. Personally, I think that licensing and subletting sound like the same thing, but what do I know? To try and better explain this, let's say, hypothetically, that I am a tenant renting a shop. I have been defaulting on my payments; ie. rent for whatever reason. It makes perfect financial sense to me, the indebted tenant, to license my landlord's shop to make some money to pay off what I owe to my landlord, because licensing is legal (at least as far as I understand, please correct me if I am wrong). Suppose I can't keep up with the constant stress of having to find new people to license the shop I am renting. I could just about keep this up till I reach the 'break clause' of my tenancy, pay my landlord whatever I owe them with the money I've earned from licensing his shop, then end my contract with my landlord. Whether I charge my licensees more than what the rent is to my landlord is my prerogative, after all I have a debt to pay and I want to pay it off as soon as possible. Then I realise, actually, maybe I'll change my mind. Maybe I can actually make more money licensing out the shop; using it to pay the rent to my landlord and keeping the extra for myself. There's no need to inform the landlord that I've changed my mind about wanting to break my clause, right? Shouldn't he know what I want to do in regards to my contract? Anyway. Then my landlord realises that I still owe him months worth of rent and other fees which I somehow haven't paid him despite licensing. My landlord decides to evict me, but even though he has a case it will take months and months to obtain a court order. By the time the court order arrives for my eviction, I could have licensed my landlord's property for as much as I can get. And all within the law, as licensing is not the same as subletting. The agency I'm hiring to license the shop through doesn't need all the facts, as licensing is completely legal (as far as I know).
See, the problem with licensing, in my opinion, is that while most people know that subletting without permission of the landlord is unlawful, not everybody is as clear on the subject of licensing. Personally I had never even heard about licensing until this incident. This meant that I did not do any due diligence beyond my landlord because I didn't expect to have to. Peach did their job - they did their due diligence on Michael. They could not have foreseen John licensing Michael's property to Bella through Appear Here if Michael himself was unaware of it, and so Peach could not have told me that 16 Cheshire Street was unavailable to Henry and I. You might argue that Appear Here should have done better due diligence to prevent this awkward situation. But I think that they are within the law to license from Josh, whether or not Michael knew about it. Anyway, why should Appear Here care? At the end of the day their job is to provide a space for people in exchange for money and make money off a highly sought-after property. I think that Appear Here have no reason to care about a landlord's relationship with their tenant nor the tenant's motives for licensing. Those points are irrelevant for Appear Here, they have a business to run, within the law of course. They have money to make, and good money it is too - judging from Ashton's jewellery and the way he confidently assured me I stood no chance in fighting for the shop I love, Appear Here are clearly doing well for themselves. Maybe I'm in the wrong line of work.
Again, my points here are based on my limited understanding of commercial property law and what I have been told to be true, which I accept in good faith. Please correct me if I am wrong on this and I will amend accordingly.
So, what does this mean for Regimental Vintage? What does this mean for Henry and I?
Well, we've lost 16 Cheshire Street. Bella now occupies the shop, the shop I felt like we've been robbed off (to be fair to Bella, she seems perfectly nice and appeared genuinely shocked when she knew about how Henry and I were screwed over. But I'm sure she'll get over it, she has a shop to run). Even if by some strange twist of fate it transpired that 16 Cheshire Street is rightfully mine, I'm not sure I'd want it anytime soon. It feels 'tainted' to me - I don't think I could look at it the same way again, not after everything I know about certain parties' involvement with the place (do not ask me which parties and what about it. That's for the those involved to know).
This also means that our launch party and opening party, initially scheduled for 13th and 14th May will be delayed. For how long, that depends on how soon Henry and I find new premises. Until then, you can shop Regimental Vintage on ASOS Marketplace. Henry and I are upset about losing our chickens, the thousands we've spent, the deliveries we've had to postpone, the sponsors and the many people we have to let down about the launch party. But what can we do, eh? Maybe you can do something about it - legal advice perhaps? Any retail premises you know of that you think would suit Regimental Vintage? Or even just your kind words and your support that everything will be ok. Actually, yes, there is something you can do for Henry and I. Share this blog post - on Twitter, Facebook, word of mouth - if only as a word of warning to anything else who might well find themselves in a similar heartbreaking situation.
Thank you all for your support, kind words, and love. You have no idea how much it means to Henry and I. x
*some names changed, not because they're especially innocent or guilty of anything but because I don't think that their real names have anything to do with this.
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