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at first. Then, “Mum, hi, it’s Alex. I … I don’t know what’s happening or where I am or anything, but … I’m here. I’m okay. Can you call me back? Can you come and fetch me?” He lost it again for a moment. Once he’d composed himself, he explained that he was using someone else’s mobile and read out the number, which he’d found under “ME!” in Philip’s contacts. “Mum, I don’t understand any of this. I’m scared. I want … I want to come home.”
    Alex wiped his face, took several deep breaths. Now what?
    He looked at the watch again. If she checked the machine as soon as she got there, he had about half an hour to wait for her to return the call. He felt conspicuous, sitting outside in the street, but going back indoors wasn’t an option—he didn’t have a key to the house. He searched the blazer pockets. Nothing. Just a tissue, a Snickers wrapper and a blue Biro with its cap missing.
    At that moment the mobile buzzed and Alex almost dropped it in surprise. A text message, not a call, but even so, he clicked “view” in the hope that it was from his mother. It wasn’t. The name that came up in the display was Donna.
    hey sxy where u at!? u skivin off!? :-)
    He closed the message. So, Philip had a girlfriend. Good for him.
    In a moment of inspiration, it occurred to Alex to call his own mobile number. If some kind of body-swap had taken place, then maybe Philip had ahold of Alex’s phone. Worth a shot, anyway. But when Alex dialed, a voice message said the number wasn’t recognized. He tried again. Same result. How could that be?
    He stared at the phone for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket.
    Right . Just sitting there was pointless. Shouldering Philip’s schoolbag, Alex set off down the street, not at all sure where he was headed, but needing to be headed somewhere. If Mum was going to collect him, he had to work out where he was.
    Philip’s family lived in a terrace of old-looking four-story houses. Built of stone, not brick. Leafy front gardens, posh cars parked outside. At the T-junction at the bottom of the street, Alex randomly took a left onto a busier road. The view opened out and he saw that beyond the rooftops lay countryside. Fields, hills, trees, sheep. Not London, then. Unless this was out on the edges. Did he have enough money to make it home by himself, if it came to that? He rummaged in his pocket for Philip’s change. It’d pay for a bus ride, or tube fare, just about. There was a Tesco across the road and, beyond, a railway line. Cars cruised by but he hadn’t spotted a pedestrian yet. No one to ask Excuse me, can you tell me where I am, please? Actually, it was nice here, wherever “here” was. The buildings, with the sunlight on the stone; in the distance, the tops of the hills, purple and green beneath a clear sky. He was too warm in Philip’s blazer. It pulled him up short again with the reminder that it was summer now—June—not the damp, gray winter he’d left behind less than eleven hours earlier.
    Half a year gone, in the space of a night’s sleep. Alex wished he could call his father. His rational explanation for this would’ve been interesting.
    Thinking about Dad, he came close to tears again. If it was June here, it had to be June back home as well, which meant—didn’t it?—that he’d been “missing” for six months. Or in a time warp. For all he knew, his parents not only had no idea where he was but had been grieving for him since December.
    Their lost son. Or was “Philip” their son now?
    Alex thought he might break down right there in the street, but he didn’t. He held it together. Just. He’d been doing okay since he’d left the house. By concentrating on the practicalities of sorting this out—trying to ignore how he looked and the fact that it felt so wrong to walk around in this unfamiliar body—he’d managed to distract himself from whatever had happened. Managed to be Alex again, if only briefly. His