The Third Person by Stephanie Newell

Mr Phillips is adamant that he doesn’t need any assistance, but I know he’s only being polite.

I insist. I rearrange the Delmonte fruit tins so that the colour schemes match properly. It’s hardly surprising that the shop is such a mess, because all Mr Phillips does is scuff around behind the counter and fidget with his pencil.

After about half an hour, Mr and Mrs Nelson appear in the door, blocking the entrance and spoiling the romantic atmosphere I’ve created.

‘Have you seen our little girl?’ Mrs Nelson asks. She looks around the empty shop. ‘Katie! Where are you? She came up here to buy crisps with your sister, Lizzie. We haven’t seen them for over an hour.’

It’s obvious that Katie and my sister aren’t here, but Mrs Nelson comes into the shop anyway, disturbing the peace.

Mr Nelson stands on the ‘Welcome’ mat in the doorway. ‘Got this place on the cheap, did you?’ he asks, inserting his forefinger into the doorframe and wriggling it around.

‘We’ll soon get the business up and running,’ Mr Phillips says. His voice sounds completely different when he talks to grownups. From this I can tell he’s a shy person, just like me.

To my utter amazement, Katie Nelson suddenly bursts through the connecting door behind the shop counter, shrieking with laughter. She ducks under the wooden hatch and runs up to her parents excitedly, waving a dusty mousetrap. ‘We’ve been finding things in the old cellar.’

Why didn’t Mr Phillips say that she was here?

The white fur collar on her jacket is covered with cobwebs. Her pink rahrah skirt is smeared with streaks of dirt. My sister bursts out of the corridor behind her and rushes into the shop with equal vigour, followed by the cat.

‘Look at the state of you both!’ Mrs Nelson screams. She turns to Mr Phillips and rolls her eyes. ‘I hope they haven’t been annoying you, Mr Phillips.

And I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for, having another one.

One’s bad enough. How is your wife? Caesarean, was it? Home soon?’

‘Come here, princess,’ Mr Nelson says, reaching out his arms to Katie.

‘We’ve been looking for you.’

Mrs Nelson eyes the messy stack of boxes in the corner, and pats the tight curls in her perm. ‘Shopkeepers before, were you?’

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