The First Reply

Sarah called Emma the next morning. “The editor has approved your invitation,” she said. “We can publish it on the newspaper's website this afternoon.”

Emma read the final text once more. It asked people who knew the Glenarraidh student travel scheme in 2011 to contact the newsroom. It did not say that the foundation had stolen money or treated students unfairly. It also explained that sending a message did not mean a person's name would appear in the newspaper.

“Good,” Emma said. “Please keep the contact details private.”

The invitation went online at two o'clock. Emma saved a copy with the publication date. Then she returned to her notes. She did not expect an answer immediately.

At four, the newsroom received a short email. The writer said they had helped a student apply for travel support in 2011. They offered to speak, but did not want their name published.

Sarah forwarded the message to Emma. “A witness?” she asked.

“Maybe. We don't know who this person is yet.”

Emma replied politely. She asked whether the writer would agree to a private conversation and whether they had any documents from the time. She promised only to discuss confidentiality before using any identifying details. She did not promise complete anonymity.

The writer answered an hour later. They had kept a copy of an application form and a letter, but they wanted to check what they could share. They did not say whether the student had been accepted, rejected or paid.

Emma felt excited. A document completed by a real applicant might help her compare the foundation's instructions with what had actually happened. But she had not seen the documents. An email was not proof that the writer's account was correct.

She called Sarah again. “We must not call this a rejected application,” she said. “They haven't told us the result.”

Sarah agreed. They would arrange a conversation only if the writer wanted one. They would check any evidence carefully and protect private details.

Before leaving work, Emma looked at Claire's old photograph. For weeks, she had studied registers and empty forms. Now someone might be able to explain what those papers had meant to a real person.

Her phone showed a new message: “I can speak tomorrow. Please don't record me until we have discussed it.”

Emma wrote one word in her notebook: Consent. She would begin there.