All the hate comments on Jack made me lol xD This chapter is dedicated to all you lovely folks who review =D Keeps me going even when I want to stop writing this!

She raises the glass to her lips and savours the coolness of the glass against her skin as she takes yet another sip. The vodka carves a burning path down her throat, numbing her insides with warmth that she no longer knew she could feel, but somehow it isn't enough to destroy his words that are whirring inside her head like a drill. All the alcohol in the world can't erase the sight of Jack, can't kill the sound of his poisonous words as they slowly infiltrate every corner of her soul.

Maybe it was for the best Charlie died.

A wave of drink induced fatigue once again crashes over her, not really accustomed to it after five months without alcohol and her shoulders sag with the weight of everything. Days ago Jack had been the most important thing in her life and now she hardly even knows him; she doesn't recognise the Jack who once made her breakfast in the morning and went shopping to cater to all her bizarre cravings. That man is lost and has been hollowed out and carved by guilt and sorrow into someone who sleeps with another woman the night their baby dies, who doesn't seem to care what has happened and carelessly taints the memory of their son.

Her eyes find the phone and she finds herself hoping that it will ring just because she is sick of the terrible silence filling every corner or the room. And also she needs to hear his voice, Jack's voice, telling her that he didn't mean what he said and pleading for forgiveness. It won't make it any better; no words could ever make it better. But she has to know he didn't really believe it, wasn't truly pleased that their baby was gone forever. The phone doesn't ring though, and probably never will no matter how much she wants it to.

Draining the liquid left in her glass, she pours herself another drink and immediately takes several large gulps, hating the few moments without it in which she is given time to think. She is different too; it has changed them both. In the mirror, she catches sight of a stranger's face. Lank hair hangs over her shoulders and two empty eyes stare back at her from a pallid face with no sign of that pretty pregnancy glow. Ronnie looks away, repulsed by the sight of herself.

She wasn't capable of stopping her father from taking Amy and now she hasn't even been capable of protecting her unborn baby for just nine months. Maybe it's her fault he's gone; maybe she's so pathetic and weak Charlie couldn't stand to hold on. Or maybe she just didn't deserve him to God took him away. Tears threaten to spill over her eyes again and she smothers a sob by downing another glass of vodka, quickly refilling it.

Ronnie has never been able handle her drink well and already she can feel the beginnings of a migraine. It isn't doing anything to help anyway, not managing to stop the never ending blur of her thoughts that flit form Jack to Charlie to Amy. Suddenly, she isn't sure why is doing this to herself. The attempt at making herself forget it making things worse, the drink making her mind travel into cold crevices with only dark thoughts that she can't escape. This isn't helping her to move forward, it is doing the opposite, making her sink further into her grief so that soon she won't be able to find her way out.

It isn't her fault he died. It can't be. It's just the drink talking. She can't have hurt her little Charlie.

Can she?

Bile churning in her stomach, she dashes to the bathroom and almost falls to the floor as she leans over the toilet, a guttural cry struggling forth from her chest. She hurls the glass against the wall with a terrified scream of sorrow and it smashes, the small shards scattering across the tiled floor like hail stones. Hands shaking, she grips the toilet seat and slips a finger down her throat. She feels contaminated, filthy inside with the thought that all of this is her fault; that she killed him because she's just so screwed up that everything good around her dies.

Desperate, she forces herself to retch, frantic to get rid of the alcohol engraving cruel words into her veins and because maybe it will somehow cleanse her, make her less responsible. No wonder Jack seems to hate her, no wonder he said what he did. He'd all ready discovered what she now knows and that's why he wanted to hurt her; to make her pay.

She continues to make herself sick and doesn't notice when her Dad finds her, quietly slipping through the door and surveying his eldest daughter with a kind of joyous disgust. He gently pulls back the hair from her face and begins to massage her back and for an absurd moment she thinks that it is Jack, rejection and sadness crushing her when she turns to find Archie with her even though right now she hates Jack.

"Are you trying to kill yourself Veronica?" he asks, sliding his arms around her waist and carefully hoisting her up. She leans on him and he helps her back to her bedroom where she sinks into the soft covers. "You know what the doctor said. I'm taking this,"

She watches him pour the little remaining vodka down the sink, a part of her resenting him for stopping her when she still feels so awful. But the little girl inside of her is pleased that her Dad is here now to look after her, to make everything seem ok even though it isn't.

"I killed him, Dad," she blurts out, choking back another cry.

Archie freezes for a second, not having anticipated Veronica blaming herself. But he supposes he can use it to his advantage. Leaving the bottle in the sink, he walks over to her and sits by her on the bed, forcing himself not to wrap an arm around her and spoil the moment.

"You're drunk,"

The two words hit Ronnie like a ton of bricks. He hasn't bother denying it, not bothered to comfort her and tell her that none of this is her fault. She never thought it would get to the point where her dad's opinion would matter to her, but it does now. It matters more than anything. But he thinks it too; otherwise he would have said something. Everyone will blame her and she has never felt so disgusted with herself. But most of all she feels completely alone.

"I killed him and this is all I have left," she unclasps the silver locket around her neck and for a moment clutches it so tightly in her hands that it hurts. Archie watches her curiously, contemplating how best to manipulate her; it shouldn't be too difficult while she is in such a drunken, vulnerable state.

"I know I shouldn't have, but I needed something to remember him by," she opens the locket and both their eyes fall on the small lock of scrunched up blonde hair sat on the picture of Amy. Tentatively, as if it the most important thing in the world, she presses it against her heart. "I killed him," she whispers again in a slurred voice through her tears and her eyes fall on the picture in the locket, the picture of her little girl. Gently, she traces the baby's face with her fingers and remembers the night she was born in the disinfected, blank hospital room; how her small face had broken into its first cry as the midwife placed her into Ronnie's arms and she had held her for the first time. She will never forget how she felt in that moment; will never forget the overwhelming fear of joy and protectiveness as she hugged the warm body to her chest, the hearts of mother and child beating in unison. A small smile, her first smile in days, captures her face as the memory breathes life into her soul, drying her eyes.

And then her Dad had taken her away. He'd taken her away and she'd let him. All these years she has blamed him, but it's her fault. She should have fought for her, should still be fighting for her.

Amy will be twenty now. She'll probably have a boyfriend and a job and Ronnie wonders if she likes going out drinking like Roxy did or if she prefers to stay in and watch chick flicks or read a book like she did. The emptiness inside her is suddenly unbearable and her heart aches for her lost baby and for the twenty years of lost time that can never be gotten back with her daughter. She has only ever been with both her babies in a hospital, has only ever held them in a sterile room owned by death and she would give anything in the world to change that.

"You-" she chokes, fumbling with her words in her struggle to speak as the effect of the drink still whirs inside her mind. "You said I wasn't good enough. I was her mum and you said I wasn't good enough," all the years of festering hatred for her dad rears its ugly head again and erupts forth from her mouth.

"Veronica," he waves his hand impatiently. "I've all ready explained this. It was for your own good,"

She looks up at him, her lashes thick with tears, her fist clenching tightly around the locket as if it is keeping her alive and she doesn't bother to conceal the contempt hidden behind her eyes. Ronnie doesn't care what he says anymore even though she knows he is telling the truth, that he actually believes his own words. How could taking a baby that was just a few hours old away from its mother be for her own good?

"I want to find her, I want to find my little girl," she says, gripping the locket even tighter until her nails begin to dig into her palm. "And you're going to help me," she adds fiercely.

"I thought you wanted to move on, V. This 'aint moving on. She'll have her own life and probably doesn't want the mum who abandoned interfering with it. Besides, it's too soon after Charlie. You can't just use Amy to replace the child you just lost," He turns his head away to hide a smile.

This is exactly what he had hoped would happen; now he just has to show the right amount of reluctance to let her think it was her idea.

"This is the only way I can move on. If she's happy, I'll leave her alone and never go back. And i'm not using her to replace Charlie because I should never have lost her in the first place because she was my beautiful baby girl," she argues furiously, annoyed that Archie is trying to talk her out of this. It is the only way she can begin to feel slightly alive again. She can never been fully whole, but at least if she is reunited with Amy she can be half way there. Lowering her voice, she begins to plead with him. "Please, Dad, please. I have to know. I have to know what she's like and I have to hold her again..."

She doesn't complete the sentence, but her unspoken words linger like an apparition between them: Because I need something to hold.

He nods, his arm slipping around her shoulders to let her know that he will support her if it is really what she wants. The pain of losing Charlie is heavier than ever, the thought of him making her want to crawl into bed and never wake up again. And then there's Jack. Jack's with his betrayal and callous words. Nothing can ever erase the memories of the past few days, but at least if she finds her little girl then maybe some of her heartache can be relieved. All ready, she tries to picture what Amy might look like, might act like and what she will say to her, the twenty year old rope of love tightening in a lasso of excitement around her heart.

Archie massages the back of her hand and she begins to feel the anger at him ebb away like water, just glad that her dad is here and willing to help her.

"Can I look at it?" he asks suddenly, looking at Ronnie expectantly.

She looks away and opens her palm, reluctant to hand over the silver heart to another person when it has never even left her side since the night Amy was taken. Before she can answer he snatches the locket up from her hand and caresses it in his fingers. Without it, she feels oddly light, as if something vital is missing and ever nerve in her body warns her to take it back, but she suppresses the feeling, blaming it on the vodka. Archie is her dad and she would never forgive him if he did anything to the locket and he must know that.

"She was a lovely baby," he comments and Ronnie doesn't look up in time to catch his true feelings, to see the shudder of repulsion he feels looking at the child who was living proof that Veronica had been more than just his. For this reason, he is glad he never saw Charlie, as much as he would have loved to delight over his small dead body.

"Yeah, yeah she was. And when I meet her she'll be a lovely young woman,"

"I'll contact the adoption agency," he tells her getting up from the bed. For a moment, she is terrified that he isn't going to give back the only thing she has had of Amy for twenty years, but after a final lingering look he drops the chain back into her hand she pulls it close to her body after returning the lock of Charlie's hair. "And hopefully I'll soon get to meet my Granddaughter,"

Turning to leave, he pauses at she timidly says, "Dad?"

"What, Veronica?"

"Thanks, Dad. Thanks for everything,"

He nods, forcing a warm smile to his face and preserving a victorious grin until he is alone. "Anything for my little girl. Now, make sure you get some rest,"

Carefully, he shuts the door behind him and feels a surge of triumphant glee that his plan is working out just the way he wanted. He hadn't expected her to be this vulnerable, this easy to gain her trust when she had always been so reluctant to even be in the same room as him before. Marvelling at his own brilliance at using Louisa to seduce Jack and get him out of the picture, he heads into the living room.

His phone begins to ring and he pulls it from his pocket and answers it, silently listening as Louisa happily relays that she has done what he wanted.

"And how long until you'll know?" he asks.

"Uh, a few weeks I guess. What do you want me to do next?"

"You've still got the gun?"

"Of course,"

"Good girl. Look, I can't talk now, but I'll call you soon," he says, thinking of Veronica in the next room. "Bye, sweetie,"

A pause.

"Bye. I love you, Dad," she breathes into the phone.

He snaps it shut and chuckles to himself, again envisaging the day that Veronica and Louisa both discover the real truth that will mean Veronica really will have no one and she will be his forever.

*cue Eastenders theme music*

I thought that was a good place to end! What is Archie up to? Stay tuned; there's a lot more to be revealed.