Look After You

Ronnie sat at the bar of R&R, an empty glass tumbler and a full bottle of vodka in front of her. Her eyes were glued to the bar top, to the broken necklace that lay across it. She just looked at it, staring and staring as she fell through the memories that clung to the delicate piece of jewellery. Ronnie couldn't even bear to touch it, for fear of breaking it further. So she just looked at it.

Story of my life. She thought sadly. She'd spent so many years looking in at people's lives, looking at what they had – love, a family – but she could never have that. She would never let herself.

She closed her eyes, hoping that the darkness of the club would fill her mind also. A second later, she opened them again. Should've learnt by now you don't get what you want. She used to love the dark, she could crawl into bed and just fall into the darkness. But ever since that night, it seemed that the dark mocked her – made her see things that weren't there, made her think things that weren't true. Ronnie would suddenly wake up, absolutely believing that everything had been a dream - that the wedding hadn't happened, that Roxy hadn't slapped her, that Danielle hadn't cried.

She'd frantically untangle herself from the confines of her bed and run out into the Square, run to the Slater house but before she could get there, she'd see the flowers. She would see the flowers and it would happen all over again. She would see the car screeching around the corner, see Danielle's body being flung into the air before hitting the ground with a thud.

And her heart would break into another tiny piece.

Ronnie heard the sound of footsteps, but she didn't turn around. It didn't matter who was there, it wouldn't be the one person she needed. It couldn't be.

"Ronnie?" Jack called out to her. He looked around the cloud of darkness that shrouded the club, his hands reached out for the light switches but then he changed his mind. It's dark for a reason. "What're you doin' here?" He asked, walking up to her. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the glint of the gold necklace she was staring at.

Jack inwardly sighed. Oh darling, you're just so lost, aren't you? What do I do to make it better? How can I find you again? Sitting down in the stool beside her, Jack's hand dropped to hers. He gave it a gentle squeeze, before his free hand ran across her cheek, tenderly stroking her edge of her jaw. "Ronnie." His voice was so caring and full of emotion, he could have said anything and she would still have told him.

"It's broken," she whispered.

Jack nodded. "Yeah." He could feel the emotion building inside of him, but he pushed it down. He hated seeing her like this, it made him feel so pathetically useless – she was hurting so badly and he could do nothing to ease that pain.

"It's her necklace, Jack. Danielle's necklace."

"I know."

"And it's broken . . . I couldn't even look after this for her. I couldn't even keep a necklace safe! No wonder she was taken away from me, I can't even look after a necklace – how, how could I look after my little girl?!"

Jack shook his head, his grip on her hand becoming tighter. "Ronnie, no – that's not true."

"Yes, it is. Her mum and her dad looked after her for nineteen years and me? Me? She comes to the Square for six months and she leaves in a coffin! I couldn't look after her. I couldn't look after her twenty years ago and I couldn't look after her-" Ronnie stopped, covering her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the sob that threatened to erupt from her chest.

Jack stepped down from his seat and wrapped her in his arms, at first she tried to shrug him off but she gave in to the comfort he could offer her and allowed him to hold her. Her body shuddered slightly, but still she refused to let the sobs out. She couldn't – because if she started crying, she would never stop.

"She's dead," Ronnie whispered, not trusting herself to speak any louder for fear of letting a cry out.

"Yeah," Jack murmured, holding her close to him so that he could smell the perfume on her skin. Without knowing that he was even doing it, he traced tiny circles on the back of Ronnie's neck. He used to do that all the time when they were together, he loved seeing her instantly relax when he did so. Jack remembered one night when she'd stayed over at his, she'd had an argument with Roxy about something or the other and she just couldn't get to sleep, no matter how worn out she was, so he'd lain next to her, one arm around her waist and his other hand dancing across the back of her neck. And she'd fallen asleep.

"It's my fault-"

"No!" Jack exclaimed, surprising himself with the intensity of his words. "No, this isn't down to you. It wasn't your fault!" He held onto her face with both of his hands, forcing her to look him in the face, forcing her to listen to him.

"Then whose fault was it?"

"It wasn't anyone's fault, it was just an accident-"

"No!" Ronnie shouted. "An accident is spilling your coffee or ripping a dress! My daughter's dead. She's dead . . . that's not an accident."

Jack pulled her to his chest, resting her head against his shoulder and hushing her. "Shh, shh. It's okay, it's okay," he whispered into her hair, even though he had no idea how it would be okay.

Ronnie felt the hot, angry tears slip from beneath her closed lids, she buried her head into Jack's shoulder, hoping that he wouldn't see them because even after all this time, after everything they had been through together – she still needed to be strong in front of him. Because if she could fool him, she could fool herself. She could go on pretending that everything was fine, that she was fine. She could keep pretending as long as he believed her.

A few minutes later, Ronnie pulled away from him. She laid her hands on the bar top, her fingers lightly caressing Danielle's necklace. "It's broken."

Jack looked from the necklace to Ronnie's face; was she even talking about the locket anymore? His hand reached out, his fingers gently picking up the chain and putting it in Ronnie's hands. She looked at him with a questioning, and ever so slightly angry, look on her face. His fingers lingered on her palm, refusing to allow the contact between them to be lost, and then he spoke: "It can't get broken any more."

They weren't talking about the necklace any more.

Ronnie held his gaze, before giving a small shake of her head. "Yes, it can. It does – every day." She looked down at the locket in her open palm before opening it. Her five year old face stared back at her, so innocent – who would tell her about the misery that would drench her life? Who would protect her from that?

There had been nobody there for her when she was younger, nobody to help and protect her. She'd had to do it herself. But what about her little girl? Did she have to do that too? No – Andy and her mum loved her. They loved her. There were so many things she didn't know, things she'd never know. How was she meant to live with that? How was she meant to wake up every morning knowing that she would get to have another day whilst her little girl didn't? How was she meant to do that?

"It's been a month," Ronnie stated, staring at the picture in the locket. If she just stared at it, she wouldn't have to look at him because if she did, everything she was trying to hold back, all that she was trying to hold together; it would fall apart and then she would fall apart. "A month since she died. A month." Ronnie scoffed. "Did you know that I got to be her mum for less than that time?" A mirthless laugh tore from her throat. "She's been dead longer than I've known my own daughter!" The laughter stopped. "She's been dead longer than I knew her. How pathetic is that?"

"Ron, it's okay-"

"No . . . it's not. Please stop saying it is." Her eyes pleaded with him, begged him to stop saying those words. Because it wasn't okay, her daughter was dead – not one part of that sentence was okay. "Everyone . . everyone around me, at first they couldn't even look at me sometimes, didn't know what to say and now. . . Do they think I should be fine now? That because I didn't bring her up that it would hurt less? That . . . and Roxy, I know she's trying to help, I know that. But this normal routine that she wants to get us into, it makes it so much harder. I don't have to think about it during the day, it's a thousand times worse at night. And I can hear Amy in the next room, gurgling or crying and I just think: Did Danielle do that? Was she a good sleeper? Was she an easy baby? Or did she always want her mum?"

Ronnie stopped, running a shaking hand over her face, wiping away the fallen tears. "I get so angry sometimes," she confessed, loosely winding the chain around her fingers, purposely looking away from Jack when she said it. "Amy has so many people to love her, but what about my baby? In the first few moments of her life, she only had me." She sighed, stepping down from the stool. "And what good was I to her? In the beginning or the end? I couldn't stop her from being taken away either of those times."

Jack watched as she turned away from him, her hand clasping her daughter's necklace tightly. He watched her retreating back for a moment before his legs were jolted into action and he rushed to her side and took hold of her hand. His fingers laced through hers and it felt as natural as if they'd been doing it since the moment they were born. "You're her mum," Jack stated simply. Ronnie stopped walking and faced him.

"What?"

"You're her mum. You love her and she loves you."

Ronnie felt a row of tears form in her eyes, clinging to her bottom eyelashes before trickling down her cheek. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat before she spoke: "Loved, past tense. She's gone, Jack."

But Jack shook his head. "Nah, a love like that? It doesn't go away. It doesn't just end because she's not here anymore, Ron. Danielle loves you – that doesn't go away, no matter what happens. And that's what you have to hold onto – just like those lockets."

Jack paused for a moment, wanting more than anything to tell Ronnie that Danielle wasn't the only person that loved her, but he stopped himself. This wasn't about him right now – it was about her and her daughter. He'd tell her another time.

"She loves you."

THE END