Page 7 of Ethan & Grace

“Good,” I lied, because there was no point in telling the truth: I felt shitty. Not just a bit shitty, but really shitty—to the point where most of the time I couldn’t decide if I wanted to cry or scream. Sometimes I also felt like punching someone. Nobody in particular; anyone would do. My grief, pain, and rage were making me slowly lose my mind. I was sick of feeling so bad and wanted nothing more than to feel something else—or nothing at all. But I couldn’t say that to Giulia. I didn’t want her to worry about me or, worse yet, to send me back home.

She released me from her tight hug. “Take a seat.”

I obeyed and sat down in the chair in front of her desk. There was a small sofa in the corner of her office, but I had no intention of staying long. I only wanted to find out if anything had changed during my absence. Still, when my eyes met Giulia’s, I sensed I wouldn’t get off so easily. There was a compassionate glimmer in her eyes, and her lips were curved into a smile. The kind you put on to hide other, more unpleasant feelings—like pity.

“How are your parents doing?”

“Fine.”

“And your brother?”

“He’s also fine.”

“Is he back at school yet?”

“Yes,” I replied mechanically, keeping it short.

Giulia let out the same sigh that my dad had given in the car, disappointed because I wasn’t pouring my heart out to her. But I couldn’t talk about Amy, not if I wanted to keep functioning.

To my relief, Giulia gave up on trying to make me open up. “Anyway, we’re very happy to have you back. The fourth floor is closed off right now to cut back on costs, but there’s still plenty to do. More staff resigned in the last few weeks, and reservations are picking up again. Which is great, but hectic without a big enough team. Tell me if it gets to be too much. You can always reduce your hours or take more time off if you need to.”

I ignored Giulia’s offer. It was well meant, but I didn’t need sympathy or special treatment. The only things I needed were answers about my sister’s death. And the only place I could find them was at The Darlington.

3

Richard Darlington: How Dangerous Is This Sexual Offender Really?

INsider headline

Grace

The next few hours were hell. My colleagues’ worried expressions and sorrowful glances followed me wherever I went. More than once, I was hugged by near-strangers, as though they believed I needed their comfort. After a while, I found myself moving through The Darlington like I was running a slalom course, doing everything I could to avoid people. I couldn’t bear to see their faces twisted with pity. I knew they meant well, but their sympathy dredged up all the emotions I had been trying to ignore. I didn’t know how much longer I could stand it. I had been trying to ignore the telltale scratch at the back of my throat for hours, but it grew harder to block out with every conversation about Amy.

The situation was made worse by knowing that at least one of the hotel staff was faking their pity. Someone had deleted the footage from the security cameras monitoring the street outside the underground car park before the forensics team had had the chance to seize it. At the scene of the accident, I had overheard the police talking about how strange it was that the footage was gone. Yet it hadn’t been investigated. So not only was the culprit being protected by the authorities; someone at the hotel was also covering for them.

“I’m so incredibly sorry about what happened to your sister. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” said Rakesh, the hotel manager, who had just intercepted me in the corridor outside the laundry room.

He smelled of perfume and cigarette smoke. It was a well-known fact that he smoked in his office, even though it was technically forbidden everywhere in the hotel except the smoking lounge. But with everything The Darlington had been through in recent months, his stress-smoking was silently tolerated. If I were a smoker, I would have lit one myself right then.

“I want you to know that my door is always open,” Rakesh continued. “You don’t have to suffer alone. We—the young Mr. Darlington, myself, and the hotel—we’ll support you in any way we can to help you through this difficult time.” Only now did I notice the black envelope with a golden seal in his hand. It looked like one of the letters from Henry that I’d delivered to Kate in December, after they had briefly broken up. But this envelope was meant for me. “The staff have put together a little something to show their support for you.”

He held out the envelope, and I almost refused it, but Rakesh’s gaze was insistent. “Thanks,” I said with a restraint in my voice that could easily have been mistaken for emotion. He smiled encouragingly. Expectantly. He clearly wanted me to open it straightaway. Not wanting to offend him, I broke the seal. Inside was a condolence card, signed by everyone, and a bundle of banknotes. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. On the one hand, after almost two months of unpaid holiday leave, I could really use the money. On the other, it felt strange, like I was getting rich off the back of Amy’s death.

“Thank you. That’s very . . . considerate.”

Rakesh nodded. “You’re welcome. And if there’s anything else . . .”

“I’ll get in touch,” I jumped in before he could say again that his door was always open. I briefly considered talking to him about the accident and the missing CCTV footage, but decided against it. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him. He’d been working for The Darlington for over twenty years and had always been loyal to the hotel. The last thing I needed was to alert the wrong person to the fact that I was conducting my own investigation.

I said goodbye to Rakesh and made my way to the break room to stash the envelope safely in my locker.

In the kitchen, a few people were taking their break together around a big table. Their spirited conversations filled the room—but stopped abruptly the moment they noticed me. Suddenly, the kitchen became deathly quiet, and their faces took on the same pained expression that had been haunting me all day. Gentle looks paired with tightly pressed lips.

I closed the door behind me. “Hey.”

“Hey,” echoed a chorus of monotone voices before the room fell silent again.

Everyone stared at me. No one spoke, but even without words, I knew exactly what was going through their minds: They pitied me. They knew what I had lost, and presumably they’d heard how I’d broken down at Amy’s funeral. Now they were waiting for it to happen again. And if I was honest, it wouldn’t take much. The wall I’d built around my heart to lock away my grief and allow me to make it through the day was crumbling perilously, thanks to the many conversations I’d had to have about Amy. I secretly wished that Rakesh and the others would be less understanding, so that I could be angry at them. If I’d learned anything in the past few weeks, it was that it was much easier to deal with rage than grief. Rage gave me drive; grief, on the other hand, paralysed me. In the end, it had been my anger that had given me the strength to return to The Darlington and start looking for the person responsible for the accident.