See Me Not Read online

  See Me

  Not

  By Janelle Harris

  Copyright © 2016 Janelle Harris

  Copyright © 2016 Janelle Harris

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental. The author recognises the trademarks and copyright of all registered products and works mentioned with this work.

  Editing and Proofreading: Jenny Sims @editing4indies

  Cover design: Najla Qamber @najlaquamberdesigns.com

  Also by Janelle Harris

  No Kiss Goodbye

  By Janelle Harris writing as Brooke Harris

  Rules of Harte

  Change of Harte

  Queen of Harte’s

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Message from Janelle

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For Laura

  Rest in peace, my beautiful niece.

  I miss you every single day.

  Chapter One

  EMMA

  Fourteen Years Ago

  ‘Miss, Miss. You can’t sit there.’

  I look up at the man rushing towards me, shouting. He’s wearing a yellow, high-visibility vest. An old-school walkie-talkie hangs off his belt, crashing against his hip as he hurries. He must work here at the train station, I think. Maybe he’s a conductor or something.

  I look back down at the loose rubble between the train tracks and continue to swing my legs from side to side over the edge of the platform.

  ‘Are you bloody crazy?’ he says, reaching me and tapping me on the shoulder. ‘Get up, will you?’

  I tilt my head to one side and take in his face. He’s in his mid-fifties, I guess. His thin-on-top grey hair and the tired lines around his eyes emphasise his worried expression. He needn’t be concerned. I’m not going to jump under a train on his watch. I’ve thought about it, I won’t lie. More so in the last few days than I ever have before. But I don’t have the balls for it. Thinking about it is all I ever do. Besides, I don’t need to jump. I’m already dead inside. The guilt has eaten me alive.

  ‘Please, Miss. There’s a train due in less than five minutes. You’ll lose your legs. And that’s if you get lucky and the train doesn’t pull you under completely. Will you, for the love of God, stand up?’

  I press the palms of my hands on the ground by my sides and slide my arse back along the cold concrete beneath me. The backs of my calves scrap against the edge of the platform as my body drags my legs to stretch out straight in front of me. I keep shuffling backwards until my toes are behind the yellow line. The train won’t touch me now.

  Other commuters have started to stare. That’s just normal, I know. They’re curious. I would be too in their shoes.

  The middle-age man stays beside me. I really wish he’d leave, but I know he won’t. It’s obvious he still doesn’t trust that I won’t dive in front of the train as soon as it arrives. He’s giving me far too much credit.

  ‘I won’t jump,’ I finally say.

  He reaches his hand out to me, and I surprise myself as I take it. He pulls, and my legs automatically scramble to stand up.

  ‘There we go.’ He smiles. ‘That’s much better. Where are you headed?’

  ‘Eh … Greystones,’ I say, sputtering the first town that comes to mind.

  ‘Ah, okay. You need to be on the other side of the tracks then. This side heads back into the city.’

  I force a redundant smile.

  ‘Are you in a hurry?’ he asks.

  I shrug. ‘Nah, not really.’

  I’m not going to Greystones. I don’t know where I’m going. Or even if I’m going anywhere. But I do know where I’m not going. Home.

  ‘It’s just … I’m on my break in a few minutes, and it gets fierce bloody lonely in that little shack.’ He points towards a small, porta cabin with STAFF painted in handwritten letters on the door. ‘I’ve decent tea in my flask, if you fancy a sip. I’d be glad for the company.’

  I want to tell him that he’s wasting his time on me; that he won’t talk my troubles away. I’ve done something terrible, and no amount of talking can help. But, hell, maybe this is his good deed of the day. Maybe his days are as empty as mine are, and he really would enjoy some company. Who am I to deny him that?

  ‘Okay.’ I nod.

  ‘I’m Danny,’ he says, extending his hand as his smile reflects the friendliness in his voice.

  ‘Emma,’ I reply, shaking his hand.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Emma. I’ve a feeling we are going to be good friends.’

  This stranger is even crazier than I am, I decide, looking him up and down.

  ‘C’mon, love. That tea won’t drink itself. And your train will be here soon.’

  Present Day

  The text message comes from a number I don’t recognise. A friend or relative of Danny’s, perhaps. Maybe someone has taken it upon themselves to text everyone in his contacts. I’m glad; otherwise, I may never have known.

  Just to let you know Danny passed away yesterday

  Funeral service @ St. Michael’s on Saturday 5th

  Call for directions if needed

  No flowers please, donations if desired to hope.com

  I half fill the kettle and flick it on. I’m not sure I even want coffee now, but I feel like my hands need to do something. I haven’t seen Danny in weeks. I haven’t been getting the train as often as I used to because I’m trying to drive to work more. Morning traffic is a bitch and almost constantly lands me late for work, but my driving test is looming, and I need the practice. I concentrate and try to remember the last time I was at the train station; the last time I spoke to Danny. It must have been at least three months ago. Not long after my wedding. He didn’t look sick then. Why the hell didn’t he tell me?

  Chapter Two

  EMMA

  I barely notice David has appeared in the kitchen behind me. I jump when he places his hand on my shoulder, and I spill s
ome instant coffee grains on the countertop.

  ‘Oops. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,’ he apologises.

  I try to smile, but tears are swelling in the corners of my eyes. I know David will guess something is wrong before I even say a word.

  He takes the open coffee jar out of my hand before I drop it and rests it on the countertop beside me.

  ‘Okay. What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  I shake my head; unable to hold my tears back, I pass him my phone.

  ‘Oh, Emma,’ he says as his light blue eyes flick from side to side reading the text. ‘Danny? The old guy from the train station?’

  I nod and drag the sleeve of my blouse under my nose as I sniffle.

  ‘You really had a soft spot for him, didn’t you?’

  ‘He was lonely,’ I explain.

  ‘I know. I know.’ David’s voice is softer than usual, and he actually looks upset too. ‘Did you know he was sick?’

  I shake my head. ‘I haven’t seen him in a while.’ I snort, choking on my words.

  ‘What age was he?’

  I shrug my shoulders, disgusted with myself. ‘I dunno. In his sixties, I think. I don’t even know his last name. All these years, I never thought to ask. He was just Danny from the train station – you know.’

  ‘Oh, Emma. I’m sorry. I know you liked him.’ David cups my face in his palms and strokes his thumbs over my cheeks. ‘Are you going to go to the funeral?’

  I pull away and reach for the jar of coffee again. My hands are restless and shaking. I need a distraction. I spoon some coffee into the two mugs waiting on the countertop. ‘Funeral?’ I repeat; the word tastes vulgar in my mouth.

  I can feel David’s eyes on me, but I purposely stare at the tiles lining the wall. One is crooked, and it’s bugged me since we moved into this house almost a year ago. I stare until my vision goes a little blurry and I begin to sway on the spot.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ David says, taking a step backwards to give me some breathing space. ‘Well, if you decide to go, I’ll go too.’

  ‘What about work?’ I say, lifting the kettle shakily and pouring some water into each cup.

  David shrugs. ‘It’s a Saturday, Emma. I’m just missing some overtime hours. It’s okay. Don’t worry.’

  ‘You just started there.’ I put the kettle down before I burn myself. ‘It’ll seem weird if you take time off to go to a funeral …’ I raise my hands and add some sarcastic air quotes ‘… of the man your wife knows from the train station.’

  David snorts. ‘Well, I won’t sell it quite like that, Emma. But Danny mattered to you, so his funeral is important to me. Anyway, my new boss seems nice. She’ll understand. She’s not much older than we are actually. And she grew up around here. She lives on the other side of the city now, but she used to take the train into town most days when she was younger. Maybe she even knows Danny too.’ David clears his throat with an uncomfortable cough. ‘Knew. I guess I mean knew. Sorry, sweetheart. I’m sure Amber will be okay with me taking a couple of hours off. Don’t worry.’

  I stir each cup of coffee and pass David one. ‘Thanks,’ I mumble. ‘I really don’t want to go alone.’

  Chapter Three

  EMMA

  We park our car a comfortable distance between the church and the gates of the adjoining graveyard. David suggests it’s polite to save room nearer the church for those close to Danny. Not being family, or even close enough friends, we don’t want to intrude. And I know David doesn’t want to hang around after the service to make small talk with people we don’t know. I understand. It’s easier to make a subtle exit if we keep our distance.

  The church is smaller inside than I anticipated. And it’s warm. The heat caresses my face as we make our way up the narrow side aisle. The warmth should be a pleasant contrast to the vicious November wind that pinched at my skin moments before, but despite the radiator blasting out heat beside me, the atmosphere inside the church is even icier than the winter air was. Ten, maybe fifteen, people maximum sit scattered in the pews, and that’s including David and me in the numbers. They’re Danny’s colleagues, principally, I realise. I recognise most of their faces from the train station. I don’t see a wife or kids. In fact, I don’t see any family at all.

  David and I take a seat in one of the middle rows and bow our heads. I check my watch. Maybe I got the time wrong. But as the minutes pass, it doesn’t take a genius to realise more people won’t be coming.

  I look up to the sound of coughing and see that the priest is standing at the edge of our pew.

  ‘Would you like to come sit up in the front?’ he asks.

  I shake my head. Some of the other people in the church stare our way. The collar of my blouse suddenly becomes uncomfortably tight. The priest must assume David and I are the chief mourners. Possibly because we are the only people present under fifty. We look about the right age to be Danny’s kids. Danny often told me he’d be proud to have a daughter like me. I liked when he said that.

  The priest subtly passes David a sheet of folded paper. David’s nose and cheeks turn a very unflattering pinkish-red as he shifts in his seat.

  ‘It’s the reading.’ The priest smiles.

  I lean forward, and I’m about to explain that there’s been a mix-up. At the very least, I want to elucidate that we’re not family. But the priest catches my eye and nods before I have a chance to speak.

  ‘Please,’ he says, lowering his voice to a dull whisper. ‘There’s no one else to do it.’

  David passes me the paper, and I unfold it to find a handwritten paragraph scribbled in blue ink. I force a smile and sit up straight. The priest leans across David to place his hand on mine. He smiles. He doesn’t say the words thank you, but he doesn’t have to. I understand.

  I glance around once more at the dried-eyed, composed handful of people in the other pews. No one is wearing black except for me. Some are even in their work clothes. Their coats are clearly marked Irish Rail and Transport. They’re here on their lunch break, I guess. It’s good of them to come, but I know after they leave the funeral, they’ll go back to work, and their day will continue as normal. I drag my eyes to the front pews. The empty seats and the little piece of paper I hold in my hand punctuate the absence of family. The already broken fragments of my heart shatter even more. No one comes into this world alone. Danny was someone’s son, once upon a time. He had parents. Siblings, maybe. A family. But no family now.

  ‘I knew Danny was lonely,’ I whisper, choking back tears. ‘I just never knew how lonely.’

  David shakes his head, but he doesn’t say a word.

  We all stand as the mass begins. I don’t think anyone notices the girl who arrives late. Heads don’t turn, and David doesn’t see her either, but I do. She closes the side door gently behind her, so it doesn’t bang and slides into the nearest pew. She’s wearing a dark top with the hood pulled over her head. I squint, trying to make out her face, but she’s at an odd angle to me, and the material of her hood flops so far forward, it hides her features, and I wonder if she can see out beneath it.

  She’s slim, tallish, and she’s dressed completely inappropriately for a funeral. Blue jeans ripped at the knees, and a pair of faded, pink Converse make up the rest of her outfit. She spends the duration of the mass twirling the strings of her hood around her finger. Her hands are young. She sports beautifully manicured nails, and from what I can tell, she has clear ivory skin. I guess she’s in her early thirties, like me. She leaves the church before everyone else.

  I search for her in the graveyard, but she’s not here. There are so few of us present I couldn’t have just missed her. She didn’t come, and her absence makes me even sadder than I already am. I can’t stop thinking about her. I wonder if she was another friend of Danny’s from the station. Another commuter Danny had gotten to know over the years. I hope so. I like to think Danny had lots of friends who he chatted with and had tea with on the days I wasn’t there.

  We
’ve barely sat back into the car when David is on his phone. I get it; I know he’s busy. It’s great, really. Lots of overtime makes saving for the deposit on our own place much easier. Our wedding five months ago had run quite a bit over budget, so we had to dip into our house-buying fund. David’s new job was a godsend and couldn’t have come at a better time. But I feel like we never have a conversation anymore. When he’s not physically in the office, he’s stuck to his laptop or on the phone, but I can’t complain. I was delighted when they headhunted him, and I encouraged him endlessly. He had warned me about the demands of the new role before he even interviewed.

  ‘Can’t expect a big boy salary without putting in big boy hours,’ he had joked.

  I had laughed and said, ‘I’ll just have to occupy myself with big bottles of wine.’

  But the reality of long hours hasn’t been funny in practice, and I try not to dwell on it. I’m already in a terrible mood. Thinking about how much I resent David’s overzealous work ethic will only drag me lower. David’s six-day workweek is taking its toll on him and our marriage. I can’t remember the last Saturday David didn’t put in overtime. The money is great, and I know he’s pushing himself hard to buy us our dream home, but what good is a beautiful house if I have to spend all my time alone in it?

  I weave in and out of city traffic, frustrated that we’ve moved less than five miles in the last twenty minutes or so. David is staring out the window with his phone stuck to his ear, and I’m decidedly bored. My mind drifts to the bottle of Pinot Gorgio chilling in the fridge at home, and I sigh. David had suggested we get the train; we’d have been home in half the time if we had, but I wanted to drive. I didn’t want to go near the station. Not today, of all days.

  I tilt my wrist towards me, still gripping the steering wheel, and glance at my watch. It’s coming up on four o’clock. I hope David will say it’s too late to head into the office now. Maybe we could spend our first Saturday night together in months. My belly rumbles, and I realise I’ve forgotten to eat today.