Free What She Left: Enhanced Edition by T. R. Richmond Page A

and cure cancer, but I’ll probably end up unemployed or a permanent intern. And that’s assuming I even get my degree, right now I’m overdue with an assignment.
    Q: Describe yourself in three words.
A: Late, loyal, hard-working. (I figure hard-working is hyphenated so only counts as one.)
    Q: What would you change about yourself if you had a magic wand?
A: My feet, my hair, my shoulders … how long have you got?
    Q: What makes you angry?
A: All the usual things. Injustice. Violence. Selfishness. Myself. Plus cold coffee. I can’t stand cold coffee.
    Q: Most treasured possessions?
A: My iPod and my family and friends. Not necessarily in that order …
    Q: Best bit of advice you’ve ever been given?
A: Luck is believing you’re lucky. Someone famous said that, can’t recall who.
    Q: If you won £1 million on the lottery, what would you spend it on?
A: Do lecturers take bribes?
    Q: Biggest achievement?
A: Winning a writing competition when I was fifteen.
    Q: Biggest regret?
A:
Je ne regrette rien
. Or actually I do, but if I told you I’d then have to kill you …
    Q: Finally, tell us a secret about yourself.
A: When I was a child I’d pretend to be someone entirely different to strangers, make up new names and construct a whole new background and identity for myself.
Want to feature in this slot? You won’t get any dosh, but you will get to see your words appear in Southampton’s most exciting zine and you’ll get your fifteen minutes (well, fifteen questions) of fame.

Email sent by Elizabeth Salmon,
18 March 2012
     
     
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Stay Away
     
Same old Jem, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?
Your
work,
your
birthday,
your
wine – this isn’t about
you
. Don’t treat me like one of your students. Am I supposed to be impressed that you looked us up on the Internet? It’s hardly a revelation that we’re all there, you included. Some things haven’t changed. The undergrads clearly still regard you as detached and conceited. The breakthrough with your phonology research obviously eluded you. Ditto the once-talked-about MBE. Not nice to see your shortcomings in black and white in front of you, is it? Sounds to me as if it’s
your
life not Alice’s that’s in need of some reconstruction. Are you happy? How’s your marriage? Does your lack of children prey on your mind? See, having your existence held under a microscope is not pleasant, is it? I wouldn’t normally dream of asking such questions, but that’s what you’re doing with Alice; you’re the one who’s put us in this situation. We all have parts of ourselves we’d prefer to keep private. Isn’t one post-mortem enough? You quit this now … please … none of your fancy highbrow explanations or justifications but stop.
     
I bet you’ve never had anyone knock on your door asking for a quote about a dead relative, have you? David and I have. Journalists call it the death knock. They used to come for pictures, but nowadays they rip those off the Internet so it’s quotes they’re scavenging for. A few weeks into her first job, Alice was told to death knock the mother of a boy who’d been killed in ahit-and-run. She refused. Can you imagine – fresh out of college, barely learnt where the kettle is, standing up to an editor? She told him that wasn’t why she went into journalism. It didn’t poison her against her choice of career but she never did do a death knock.
     
So sick of reading rubbish about my daughter. She’s in danger of sinking under the sheer weight of it. We’re well aware of the facts. She had 210 mg of alcohol in her bloodstream. Which bit of the word ‘accident’ do these bloodsuckers not understand?
     
Here’s an irony for you. Alice nearly didn’t go to Southampton at all; she was offered a place at Oxford. Merton. Of course I championed the merits of that location – anywhere but Southampton was fine as far as I was concerned – but she preferred