After You

Jess

Alfie,

Well, we were right all along.

When we were seven, my cousin Charlie was born. I remember it so clearly. Mum went to help Auntie Gem, and Dad was working abroad. The others were old enough to stay at home, but they didn't want the responsibility of looking after their little sister, so I stayed at your house. That week was one of the best of my young life. We'd eat breakfast together in the morning at your huge dining table; your mum would take us to school and pick us up again, and then we'd eat a dinner that didn't come straight out of a cardboard sleeve, and then we'd play until your dad came upstairs and told us to get to sleep.

On the last night, you climbed into my camp bed so that we could keep talking after the lights went out. I told you that this had been the happiest week of my life, and you were so lucky to have your life. You didn't understand me; you kept asking what was so special about your house. You loved my house, you said, where dinner was ready in minutes and we never had to turn the TV off and eat at the table; and sometimes my older sisters would bring friends or boys over and they'd play on the Playstation with us, and no-one came in to tell us to turn the lights off when it got dark outside. On most days, there were no rules.

We talked about swapping lives; like our parents wouldn't have noticed. You were so enthusiastic about it. You told me I could have your "boring" life, and you'd have my "exciting" one. I'd get to sit at the table and eat dinner and talk about my day. I'd have someone to give me a cuddle before bed, on those nights when I shirked off my super cool exterior to become the seven-year-old girl who sometimes just needed her mum. When I pointed out that it wouldn't work, as our parents would tell the difference between us immediately, you said something that sticks with me to this day.

"They wouldn't mind. My parents would rather have you, and your parents would rather have me".

We shared a moment of silent sadness as we realised that this was true, and then – in the enviable way seven-year-olds do – we shrugged it off and went to sleep. I can't shrug it off now, though. For young children, we were very astute.

I argued with my parents tonight. That isn't a rare occurrence; it's more unusual for a day to go by without an argument just lately. It was an argument about something stupid; a couple of tops left on my bedroom floor. Dad is away and Mum was spoiling for a fight, and I rose to the bait as usual. We seemed to be going around and around in circles, until Mum told me that she barely recognised me any more. I replied that it was probably because they'd spent the last three months grieving you instead of paying any attention to their actual children.

That's when she said it. She confirmed everything we've been saying for years; the jokes we used to make as children and the angst-filled complaints to each other as we entered our teens. Perhaps it was foolish of me, but I never thought she'd actually say it – but she did, as clear as day.

"I wish Alfie had been our son".

Ouch.

Do you know what the worst thing is? She didn't even look like she wanted to take it back. She didn't regret her words in the slightest; she just waited for me to shout and scream and add fuel to her fire. If I'd argued back, I would have only validated her argument. I couldn't give her the satisfaction. Actually, it wasn't about the satisfaction. I knew that if I opened my mouth, I'd start sobbing, so I slammed the door and walked out.

I considered going to your house, but your parents have more important things on their mind. Your birthday has only just passed, and I'm not going to throw myself at them and impose all my stupid, selfish worries there. Willow and Finn haven't spoken to me for ages, and Max has gone to some university open day or something. I've given up all thoughts of going to university in September. It's not like I have anyone encouraging me to do it. Sometimes, it feels like no-one would give a shit if I disappeared. I know that's such a teen angst thing to say, but it's true. I don't feel invisible, I just feel irrelevant.

Even when your mind was occupied with Willow, you were always in my corner. You always had my back, and you never failed to cheer me on. Without you, I have no-one. I suppose I'd better get used to it.

Jess