The Salt Marsh by Clare Carson Read Free Book Online

driven down with Dave one weekend in January. In retrospect, it was that trip to Dungeness that had sealed the awkward angles of the triangle. Dave was her friend, and she was happy that Luke and Dave got on so well, but Dave’s unexpected snappiness with her that day on the beach suggested the truth of the old adage – two’s company, three’s a crowd. Jess was right even if she didn’t like to admit it; Dave probably did fancy her. After that trip, she and Luke drove down to Dungeness by themselves, drawn back by the winter walks along the wind-blasted shore. The idea of a protest had come later, with the spring.
    The original plan for this weekend had been for Sam and Luke to drive down together. Luke was going to wait in the van while Sam went to the graveyard with Jess and Helen – he didn’t want to intrude on a family occasion – and then on to Dungeness. A treat to lift her spirits. Another recce of the power station, an evening on the beach together, catch the sea bass that swam close to the shore in the warmer months. She was a vegetarian, but Luke had persuaded her to eat the fish he snagged, blackened on a makeshift barbecue when the weather allowed. The plan had changed at short notice that morning. He had called from a phone box. She could hear the conversation in her head, she had replayed it to herself countless times throughout the day.
    â€˜Sam, I’m here. I’m in Dungeness.’
    â€˜Oh. You’re there already?’
    â€˜I’ve just driven down.’
    â€˜I thought we were driving down together.’
    â€˜I know. Something has come up. I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to call you before I set off, it was too early. I’ve had an unexpected stroke of luck. A contact.’
    â€˜Contact? Power station?’
    â€˜Yes. I’ll tell you about it later.’
    â€˜OK.’
    â€˜I’m going to meet him in fifteen minutes.’
    â€˜Sounds interesting.’
    â€˜I hope so. Let’s meet at six. The usual place. I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll get a fire going.’
    â€˜OK. Six.’
    â€˜Sam, I’m really sorry. I don’t like leaving you to drive down by yourself, but this is important.’
    â€˜I know, don’t worry. The drive doesn’t matter. I’ve done it by myself before.’
    â€˜It’s a difficult day for you. I’ll make it up to you.’
    â€˜Stop apologizing. Really it’s fine. Six. See you later.’
    â€˜See you.’
    She had put the phone down, and if she had felt a twinge of anxiety at all, it was because he was doing something without her. Not that she would have admitted it to him, because she didn’t want to appear clingy.
    The darkness was thickening. She sat up, listened to the waves chafing the pebbles, wind chimes carried on the breeze, the low hum of the power station. Slices of light fell from the windows of the experimental research lab where Dave had been based when he was doing his thesis. One of Dave’s old egghead friends, she reckoned, pulling a late-night writing stint. No other signs of life. No footsteps. No headlights tracking along the road. No Luke. She dug her fingernails into her arm, glanced at her watch. Five hours measured in ten-minute intervals of time checking. She had sprinted to the rusted phone box by the pub every half hour and called his home number to see if he had returned to London. But nobody had picked up, not even his obnoxious housemate Spyder. The sun had dropped and the band of crimson sky behind the power station had broadened. Red. Violet. Indigo. She hadn’t even had the sense to buy some fish and chips before the pub stopped serving food. You had to be hardy to survive in this environment, Dave had told her when he introduced her to Dungeness, and he pointed to the salt-eaten sea kale that topped the ridges, long black roots searching for moisture. She used to consider herself a survivor, but