Penny writes Jack a letter. I was wondering whether Penny would attend his and Ronnie's wedding, so that's where the inspiration came from, bit random I know. Supposed to be a bit chilling and a bit blunt -after all, she hates Ronnie, dont she. Please comment! :) xx

My Copper

"Jack?" Ronnie walked into the living room and passed him a letter; on the front was a messy scrawl of their address. "Came in the post for you."

"Cheers Ron," he smiled and watched her leave the room, going back to the kitchen where she sat with her bridal magazines; she had yet to choose a veil. She sat down and he heard the rhythmic flick of the shiny pages as she turned them.

Looking back at his letter, Jack recognised the writing on the front. He'd missed his daughter, but since he'd been in Walford, he'd barely seen her. Twice over three years they had spent time together. What was his excuse for being an absent father? He didn't have one, not really. So, regretfully, he began to slip open the envelope, pulling the paper out.

Dear Dad,

I miss you. I know I haven't seen you in ages, and I haven't called in a while, but I've been busy. Busy living a normal twelve-year-old's life. Well, as normal as it gets for me anyway. I bet you understand that now. The pitying looks from everyone as they pass you; people leaning down to hug you; people wanting to do everything for you when you know you can do it yourself.

I suppose you've been busy too. You always were.

I hear you're in a wheelchair too, that you're just back from hospital. Well, mum said assylum, but I think she was joking. Except I know it won't be permanent, not for you, because you're a dad. You know what I mean? Dad. Dads can't be wheelchair bound. Well, not dads like you anyhow. Not guys that have spent their working life chasing baddies and locking up mentalists.

I'm glad you are going to be okay.

Mum tells me that you and Ronnie are getting married.

How is she with your injury? I know she wasn't exactly supportive when she met me. I could tell by the way she looked at me that she thought I wasn't capable of anything, that I was a baby. She was all pitying and weird. Is she always like that? I wouldn't have thought she would want to be with someone in a wheelchair. Tied down like that. I thought she'd be embarrassed, she seems too proud. But then again, I don't know her like you do. I hope she'd happy with her copper. You used to be my copper, but I guess times change.

Do you love her?

Do you love her like you used to love mum? Or me?

Mum said she got an invitation for your wedding in the post, for me. Ronnie didn't send her one. Did you tell her not to, or was that her decision? I tried to understand why you're marrying her. She was always having a go at you when I came to stay, and it's not like she's friendly, or funny. She's very pretty. I suppose she will look nice on your arm in the photographs.

November is a nice month. She'll stand there under the confetti of gold and red leaves, in the autumn cold, knowing you are hers and she is yours. I wonder if she thinks it's forever. I suppose that's what mum thought, before you left, before I was born, before my injury. I guess she will wear one of those white dresses, the sort that will hug her waist, gives her the perfect cleavage, and billows out past her hips to the floor. Her flower girls will be pretty, little blonde things that follow her like she is a princess, because that's what she wants to be. There will be a veil in her hair, which is curled, obviously, and little clips to hold the intricate lace in place. She'll glow.

I don't think I'm coming anyway. I'll look at the pictures though; I assume she will send some to me and mum. Mum said you dont need me to be a bridesmaid. She said it's because it's a small wedding.

I said it's because my chair will ruin the photo.

You'll be walking by then I suppose. Ronnie will be happy then.

Mum said I could fly over soon, when you are back from honeymoon. In the Christmas holidays. I don't want to interrupt things dad. If it's not convenient then just say. If you don't have enough time, it's okay. I understand, I'm trying to. I know she's important to you, and so is her baby. Congratulations by the way. I hope it looks like you.

Write back to me, dad, I miss you.

Pen x