Ronnie continued to look out of her bedroom window, her eyes fixed on the man that held her heart in his hands, the only man that she had ever loved. "He doesn't understand," she whispered, looking down at her interlaced fingers. "Y'know, I used to do this all the time?"
"What?" Danielle asked, tilting her head slightly as she watched her mum.
"Hold my hands like this. All through the time I was pregnant with you and the birth, I held my hands like this."
"Why?"
"Because there was nobody to hold my hand, so I held it myself." Ronnie watched her daughter's face change from intrigue to utter heartbreak. "It's okay," she told her, shaking her head slightly, trying to stem the flow of tears that would no doubt trickle down her cheeks. She turned her head away, returning her gaze to the darkened Square. She watched as Stacey Slater stumbled towards her front door, her blonde locks matted with grease and sweat.
"She's drunk again," Danielle stated. Ronnie nodded. "Why isn't anybody looking after her?"
"Jean's trying, all of her family are, but she's so . . ." Ronnie stopped, suddenly remembering the last conversation she had had with Stacey. It was just a few days ago, she'd been passing through the market on her way to the club and they had exchanged two words: 'hi' and 'hello'. That was all. Those two words. But Ronnie had looked into her face and she had seen this haunted girl, as though this twenty year old was crumbling under the weight of everything life had thrown at her.
"What?"
" . . . Lost. She looked lost."
Placing a delicate hand across Ronnie's, Danielle spoke. "You should talk to her."
Ronnie nodded, her eyes transfixed on the physical contact between the two of them. It would always surprise her, the realness of it. "I should, but I . . . " She paused, sucking in a sharp breath. "She reminds me too much of you."
Danielle's warm laughter rang out through the bedroom, bouncing off the walls and making Ronnie's lips lift into a smile of her own. "You're kidding me, right? Stacey Slater? I'm like the complete opposite of her. She's all confident and brave and says whatever she feels like. She's like a cat with nine lives, can talk her way out of any situation and will always land on her feet."
Ronnie lifted her right arm, her fingers tucking a strand of Danielle's hair behind her ear. "You're pretty brave yourself – you left home for a place that was completely new and you found a job, a home and a family. It takes a pretty brave person to do that."
Danielle shrugged her slender shoulders, her blue eyes no longer dancing with laughter. "Maybe. Maybe if I was braver, I would have told you sooner. I guess, I guess nobody can be brave all the time – just look at Stace, she's not brave anymore." She pointed her head in the direction of her former best friend, the one who was struggling to get her key in the door.
"She's sick, sweetheart," Ronnie told her, gently running her fingers over her daughter's soft hair.
"So are you."