Danae Mercer


The first time I interviewed Charlotte Roach, I was in my bed, a hot water bottle burning my stomach, exhausted, wanting nothing more than to turn off the phone and the keyboard and close my eyes, my brain, close it all. Instead I called a semi-stranger, a friend’s friend nicknamed Roach. The┬áline kept breaking up. “I’m sorry,” she apologised from the start. “I’m on a train. Can you call me in a… Read More