After You

Finn

Alfie,

I think I have some apologising to do. Okay, I have a LOT of apologising to do.

I'm sorry for not writing more often. It felt a bit awkward after everything that happened with Willow, and I thought that if you could read these letters, you wouldn't want to speak to me any more. I moved in on your girlfriend so soon after you died. I want you to know that I feel guilty, if that's any consolation. I know you can't read this, but maybe it will help me feel less guilty. Not that I deserve to feel less guilty.

That's the point of these letters, isn't it? That's what Mrs Linton said; it's to help us say everything we couldn't say before you died. No-one is going to read this. I don't see Mrs Linton any more. Willow stopped going, and I thought I should stop too, because if she was your girlfriend and she's over it, I should be over it too. So I can be honest. That's good.

I've liked Willow for a really long time. I don't just mean since you died. I can't lie and pretend that I only noticed how beautiful she is after your funeral. I think I've liked her since I met her. I mean, she only had eyes for you, and I would never have really done anything while you were alive, I would never have tried to take her off you or anything. For a long time, I didn't think I'd have been able to. She seemed obsessed with you. Whenever I spoke to her, it was "Alfie this, Alfie that". For once, I wanted a conversation with her about something other than you. I mean, you're my best friend. I know how awesome you are, I don't need her to tell me. Plus, thanks to the massive crush I had on her, it felt like a bruise to my ego every time I started a conversation with her and all she'd talk about was your "azure-blue eyes" and "inimitable wit".

I didn't have either of those things. All I had was green eyes and a huge crush on a girl who didn't seem to know I was alive.

I'm so angry at myself, Alfie. Even now, when no-one else is going to be reading this letter, I'm lying to try and cover my own arse. I did try to take Willow away from you when you were alive, and I feel awful for it now.

You and Willow had argued about something. I don't remember what; half of your conversations went straight over my head. Probably books. No, it wouldn't have been about books. You never properly argued about books, you just disagreed loudly. This was a real argument, with threats to break up and everything. It ended with Willow storming out of your bedroom in tears, and I followed her. I think I told you I was just going to try and calm her down, and you looked grateful. Fuck, you actually looked grateful to me, thinking I was being helpful to you.

Instead, I followed her outside. As soon as she saw me, she buried her face in my chest and started crying into my jumper about how she couldn't take it any more. She felt like an impostor, and you made her feel like you were just putting up with her. She put so much into the relationship, and you seemed so apathetic about it all.

I should have told her that was just your personality; you were just laid-back and chilled out. I should have told her how much you love her and want to be with her and all that cheesy stuff. I knew it wouldn't sound as flowery and nice as when you say it, but I could have helped. I could have had your back and been a good friend to both of you.

No, I agreed with her. I told her that she deserved better than you; that you never show any respect to her and you treat her like shit. I said you'd been distracted lately, that maybe your eyes were on someone else.

That was shit of me. So unbelievably shit. It was a lie; you treated her fine. I always thought the relationship was a bit one-sided – she was borderline obsessive with you, and you just seemed to enjoy her company – but you didn't treat her badly. You were always so completely respectful of her. I should have told her that maybe you weren't compatible, maybe relationships have a natural end – any of those reassuring phrases. Instead, I reeled off a list of fake failings I saw in you, and told her she deserved someone better.

That was when she looked up at me, and these big, brown eyes were sparkling with tears, and she looked so unbelievably sad and beautiful at the same time, and she could barely even whisper when she spoke to me, and she said "Like you?". I'd like to say I don't know what came over me, but I do. I wanted to be with her. I wanted to hold her and kiss her and tell her how much I liked her, and instead of doing any of that, I kissed her.

She kissed me back. Then we pulled apart and spent five minutes where we'd say "oh my god, what have we done?", and then start kissing again, and then panic again. I wish I cold say it felt awful, but it didn't. Kissing her was out of this world. Then we heard you coming, and it was like a silent promise between us, to never mention this again. You hugged Willow and kissed her forehead and apologised. You said all the right things, and Willow kissed you back and apologised, and you just smiled at me and thanked me.

I sat outside for five minutes kissing your girlfriend and you thanked me. At the time I was just relieved that you didn't know, but the more I think about it, the more I think you did know, and the guiltier I feel. Something in your eyes; something in the way you kissed Willow – holding her just close enough to not suspect there was anything wrong, and yet still cold and distant – told me that you knew.

A month later, you were dead. I keep trying to kid myself that you didn't know; you didn't suspect that anything was wrong and your death had absolutely nothing to do with what happened that day, but it isn't working. I wonder if you wrote it down anywhere, or told anyone. I spoke to my dad about the inquest the other day, and he said they'd go through everything. Any notes you left, the books you were reading, the websites you were viewing and any messages you sent. Anything of any relevance would be mentioned.

Part of me hopes you didn't know what was going on, and especially that you didn't talk to anyone about it. Part of me hopes you did. This letter hasn't helped with the guilt in the slightest. Maybe what we need is for people to know exactly what we did, and exactly the part we played in what happened to you afterwards. It will all come out eventually.

Finn