After You

Willow, Jacob, Finn, Max and Jess

Alfie,

Merry Christmas!

It's Max. Well, the letter is from all of us, but it's Max who's writing. I know, I know – I said no more letters. We thought one more couldn't hurt, for old time's sake – especially as it's one of the rare occasions that we're all together.

Don't worry, we haven't had another argument, and we aren't drifting apart again. In fact, I'd say we're closer together. Everyone else is nodding at that, so I can only assume they agree. A lot has changed since our last letters to you, and we thought it might be nice to let you know what's happening. You may not be with us physically, but you'll always be a part of our little family. At Jacob's request, you had your own place setting at the dinner table, and we lit a candle there for you.

Jacob is doing really well. He's going all coy now and saying "not as well as the rest of you", but that's bullshit and he knows it. As well as a new Christmas Eve tradition, this dinner has also been a celebration. Jacob found out yesterday that he's passed all his assessments and medicals. He'll be joining the Royal Air Force at the start of next year, and training with them as a nurse. It's perfect for him, and we're all so proud. Of course, we're going to miss him – he's got to go and do his basic training for ten weeks, and then he'll be at university and on placement for three years – but he's done so well.

He's healthy, too. That was a worry for a while – that he'd develop Muscular Dystrophy too. They did some really intense genetic testing on him earlier this year and found that there's no genetic reason to think he'll be diagnosed with it. They can't explain why you had it – apparently it can just be one of those things. Just bad luck.

Jacob has just asked me to let you know that your mum and dad are doing brilliantly. They've gone out on a date night tonight, so that we can have uninterrupted use of the dining room for this Christmas meal, and it's a well-earned night off. They've been working around the clock to make sure everything is ready for New Year's Day. They'll be unveiling your bench at the school. They let us have a sneak preview, and it's beautiful, and the perfect tribute to you. It was amazing, actually – they did a crowdfunding thing for the bench, and they thought maybe there would be enough donations to cover the cost of making it. They raised thousands.

The rest of it is going towards a load of different suicide prevention and mental health charities that help teenagers and young people, including a few that helped Jess in the early stages of her recovery. The Alfie Rees Memorial Fund is going to help a lot of people. I think it's helped them to have something to focus on, and the next step is working with the school to help them develop a strategy for identifying and helping students at risk of suicide attempts. That should keep them busy when the empty-nest syndrome kicks in once Jacob's off at his training base.

Speaking of Jess, you'll be pleased to hear that she's in a much better place now. You can tell that just by looking at her; the difference between now and this time last year is astonishing. She's healthy and happy and absolutely loving it at her new university. She hasn't gone too far – just to UWE in Bristol, so she can come home at weekends if she wants to – but she really is thriving there. The night before Results' Day was an anxious one – we pulled an all-nighter together, waiting to see if UCAS would update in the early hours – and I've never seen her look so happy as when she found out she'd been offered a place.

Things are much better with her parents, too. She and her mum have been going to these family counselling sessions, and the relationship between them is beautiful to see. Jess has the sparkle back in her eyes. For a long time, I thought it might have been gone forever.

Willow and Finn would probably have joined us for that terrifying all-nighter, if their plans hadn't been sent a little awry. I'm not sure either of them are complaining, though – they've barely even taken their eyes off Evie to look at this letter. They've both got offers to go to the University of Bristol in September, and Evie will be going into the creche, so it's worked out brilliantly. I think "surprise" is an understatement for how we felt when they told us that Willow was pregnant – turns out all that throwing up when Jess was in hospital wasn't nerves or a bug after all! - but I've never seen a surprise sweeter than that little girl. I think Jess, Jacob and I would have moved heaven and earth to be at this dinner tonight – none of us were going to miss out on a chance to cuddle our new goddaughter.

As for me; I brought someone to meet everyone tonight too. Not a baby, obviously – it's not quite as easy for me as it was for Willow and Finn, and I'm certainly not at that stage yet – but a person. Dylan. We met at university – which, by the way, is where I've been for the last four months. I got into Durham, so I've definitely had the longest trek to get back here for Christmas, and Dylan wanted to come too. I like to think that he wanted to spend our first Christmas as a couple together, but I know the real reason. His parents are spending Christmas in the Bahamas, and student finance doesn't quite cover the cost of long-haul flights and a luxury hotel, so it was this or a microwave meal-for-one in our halls. I really like him. I'm going bright red and everyone wants to read what I've just written, so I'm going to move on swiftly before my face starts burning!

I want you to know that I'm happy, Alfie. We all are. For a long time, it seemed as though none of us would ever be happy again. On some days I felt like the fog was so thick, I couldn't even see my hands in front of my face. Now I see a future stretching out ahead of us; one that I know we'll face as friends. Things will never be perfect, and missing you doesn't stop. It doesn't get any easier, either – sometimes I'll stop and think of you and my breath catches in my throat, and for a moment it is so raw and fresh and overwhelming – but we deal with it better. I'll talk to Dylan or I'll check in on Jess, or look at the latest pictures of Evie on Facebook and the tightness in my chest clears, and I can smile again.

I was hanging up my coat earlier when I noticed a jacket on the rack; one that I'd only ever seen you wearing before. It took me by surprise for a moment, because your parents have put most of your belongings into storage or donated them to charity. It's definitely your jacket and not Jacob's, because I pointed it out to him and he looked surprised by it too. I remember it because it's the jacket you were wearing when we kissed. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I reached it down off the rack. For a moment, I was taken back to eighteen months ago – it was like I could hear your voice and see your face as clear as day in front of me. Then the moment passed, and I was just standing in the hallway with a dusty jacket in my hands.

No-one has touched that jacket since you died. I know that, because if they had, they would have found the letter in the breast pocket.

I haven't read it yet. The others know about it – if I'm completely honest, that's partly the reason why we decided to write one last letter to you – but we wanted to write this first. I'm a little apprehensive to open the letter – what if it changes everything? What if it disrupts the happiness we have now, or has some new revelation that turns our lives upside down all over again? I'm not sure any of us want to go through that kind of upheaval.

Jacob is right. If there is something in there, we'll face it together. There won't be a repeat of last year. We're stronger now.

We hope you are happy, wherever you are. That's all we want.

Merry Christmas, Alfie.

Love,

Willow, Jacob, Finn, Max and Jess