The First Person: And Other Stories - By Ali Smith Page 0,31

idea how to play one, never mind even open and close one properly. It’ll take some learning. I open the note that came with it instead. I presume, as I do, that it’ll tell me that this is one of a pair and that if I’m looking for the other one it’s over at yours.

This is what the note says:

You’re something else, you. You really are.

i know something you don’t know

The boy had come home from school one lunchtime in May and gone to his bed. He’d been every day in his bed now for nearly four months, all the bad summer. In those early weeks he had still made the effort to sit up in the morning when she went in to open the curtains. For the past couple of weeks all he’d done was open his eyes, not even moving his head on the pillow.

It was a condition which didn’t show up on tests. It was most likely a post-viral condition. Three different doctors had seen him: the GP, a consultant paediatrician at the hospital and, last month, a different, private, top consultant paediatrician who held clinics in one of the big houses in the rich part of the city, did all the same tests on the boy’s feet and hands, looked into his eyes and ears, took blood. The results had been inconclusive and had cost £800. Now it was August. When she had gone into his room to open the curtains this morning he’d kept his eyes shut and in a small voice from the bed had said: please don’t.

The boy’s mother went into the kitchen and got out the Yellow Pages.

Under Healers it said See Complementary Therapies.

Complementary Therapies was between Compensation Claims and Composts, Peats and Mulches. Only two of the therapists listed were local. One was called Heavenly Health Analysis Ltd. Complimentary health care treatment, holistic health screening. Inner journey Indian head massage. Stress, worries. Hopi candle ear wax removal. Herbal advice line, health problems etc. Outstanding accurate understanding from qualified registered therapist Karen Pretty.

The other advertising box had only three words in it and a number.

Nicole. Trust me. 260223.

The boy’s mother dialled the first number. It was a machine. There was stringy music. A calm voice over the top of the music said Hello caller. You are welcome. Leave your details, including the important information of how you found this contact number for Heavenly Health Analysis Limited, after the tone.

Hello, she said. I found your number in the Yellow Pages. I would be very much obliged if you could ring me back regarding a serious health matter.

She dialed the second number. She let the phone ring in case an answerphone had to be activated. It rang thirty times. When she took it away from her ear and held it up in front of her to press the end of calls button, a tiny distant word shot out of the plastic in her hand.

What?

Eh, hello? the boy’s mother said.

Yes, what? the voice said in her ear.

I’m trying to get in touch with a person called Nicole, the boy’s mother said. I found the number in –

Come on, for Christ’s sake, what? the voice said.

It’s my son, she said.

I charge £50 a visit, the voice said.

Yes, the boy’s mother said.

Where do you live? the voice said. Hurry up. I really need to go to the toilet.

The boy’s mother told the voice the address and where to turn right at the roundabout if coming by car but somewhere in the list of directions, she couldn’t tell when, the voice had hung up or been cut off and she was left saying hello? into the phone, to nobody.

Before she’d had to stay at home all day because of the boy, she had been an assistant clerk in the office of a company which made a lot of money installing digital phone networks all over the Third World. The Third World was still open territory for phones. The company also set up cheap mobile deals with Eastern European countries, using secondhand mobiles people traded in for updated phones here in the West. Voices all over Eastern Europe were talking right now on old UK phones; this was something she’d liked thinking about, before. It was a funny and interesting thought that someone with a different life and a totally incomprehensible (to her) language might be talking to someone, arguing with someone, whispering secrets or sorting everyday things about shopping or family down what might be her old phone.

But