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On his way back from the local bakery, Stede noticed a new poster on the village green noticeboard that wasn’t there when he left his house this morning on his quest to get his sourdough bloomer.
It’s Back!
August Bank Holiday Weekend!
The 308th annual cheese roll!
Maybe a bit too many exclamation marks, but he could appreciate the enthusiasm. Sure, he’s heard about the cheese roll, everyone around here has. One of those weird, quirky English traditions, which often involves a lot of alcohol and someone with some broken bones. World famous if you believed the locals. An internet sensation in recent times. It’s simple really, it’s a race down a steep hill chasing a giant cheese. Yes, really. Apparently, they have been doing this since the 18th century. Fuck knows why, Stede made a note to ask the locals later at book club.
It’s been a few weeks now, and Stede thought he was adjusting well to rural village life. Sure, it’s still a bit strange uprooting himself from the city to the middle of nowhere where he knew no one, but that was the whole point. A fresh start for him, no marriage, no more job he hates, no more hiding himself. Out here in the countryside, he can hear himself think for the first time in decades, it’s nice, and if he has to sacrifice living further away from his tailor for a gentler life then that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make. Although he did accidentally find himself in what turns out is the queerest village in England which was a pleasant surprise.
Stede looked back at the poster. If he was younger, more foolish, fitter, braver and had more of a death wish, then maybe he would have signed up to it. Maybe. But no, not for him. As much as he loves some brie, he will eat it like a normal boring person instead of chasing it down a hill. That reminded him, he hasn’t visited the local cheesemonger yet, they have been closed since he arrived with the sign on the door saying that they reopen today. All this cheese talk made Stede crave some Wensleydale.
Before heading along the road, Stede reread the poster and noticed the final line reading,
First prize, Blackbeard’s heart!
He didn’t know who or what Blackbeard was, but Stede hoped all the broken bones were worth it. The English truly are a strange bunch with their traditions.
Despite passing it daily, this is the first time Stede had paid attention to the cheesemonger’s official name. On the black storefront, in almost illegible white fancy handwritten calligraphy, read Blackbeard’s Cheeses and Nibbles and other Delicacies and Delights (and Wines). Great name, but he can see why everyone just calls it “the cheesemonger’s” now.
Inside was set up as your traditional village cheesemonger, some wobbly wooden shelves hosting the nibbles and others part of the name, and a display fridge with the cheese. But also weirdly enough, the shop gives the vibes of elderly goth.
“Hey, what can I get for you, mate?” an unexpected voice called out behind him almost making Stede drop the jar of marmalade he was holding.
Stede turned around still clutching the jar to his chest.
Oh god.
He was done for.
Stuck down in his prime.
By the cheese gods themselves.
Stuck by a big wheel of cheddar. You know, like that episode of Midsomer Murders where Martine McCutcheon gets murdered with some cheese? Like that, Stede thinks.
Death by cheese or at least death by cheesemonger.
Stede stood there in awe, staring at the god of cheese himself.
“You okay?”
“Cheese, please”, Stede said, sounding like the love-stuck idiot that he was. Oh, what the cheesemonger must think of him, walking into his lovely shop, disrupting the cheese, being the fool that he is, but the cheesemonger didn’t let on. Instead, his eyes crinkled, and a small chuckle escaped his soft kissable looking lips.
“Then you have come to the right palace”, said the most beautiful man Stede had ever laid his eyes on. Standing there in his apron, shirt sleeves bunched up at the elbow revealing a series of tattoos, with what looked like long hair tucked into a cap and a warm smile on his bearded face. Yes, I certainly am in the right place, Stede thought. “So what are you fancying today?”
“You”, shit, did he really say that out loud? “I mean, what would you recommend?” Nice save, Stede, real smooth.
“Can’t beat a bit of blue in my opinion, the stronger the better.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Wanna a nibble of my Nun?”
“Yes. Wait. What?”
“Like, you’ve heard of the Stinking Bishop cheese, right? Soft, smelly, the good shit. Not blue though. But a cool name, which lets be real, is the best thing. Anyway, I nicked their name, kinda, but it’s a different cheese so they can’t sue me. Ha, world class cheese pirate, I am. Anyway…”, the cheesemonger said as he took out the cheese from the cabinet, "This is the Stinky Nun. She's a smelly old girl and I love her for that.”
He sliced a generous chunk off for Stede to sample, their fingers touched as the cocktail stick exchanged hands.
“Oh fuck.”
“Good, yeah? See my Nun beats their Bishop. Basic cheese chess rules.”
“I’ve been clearly playing chess wrong my whole life then.”
“In cheese chess, the cheesemonger always wins. Those are the rules.”
“I’ll let you win if this is what losing tastes like.”
He let out a laugh that warmed Stede’s soul. Oh God, he was really done for now.
“Hey, you’re the newbie at number 17, right?”
“You’ve heard of me?”
“I’ve heard all about you”, he extended his hand to Stede over the counter, “It’s a small village after all. I’m Ed, cheesemonger, cheese maker, cheese lover”. Stede could have swore that Ed winked at him but if his brain wasn’t 99% cheese.
“Stede.”
“So Stede, what else can I interest you in today?”
After thirty minutes, Stede left the Blackbeard’s with some Stinky Nun, a wedge of orange Wensleydale, some brie, a jar of marmalade, an exchange in the latest village gossip (Mrs Smith has accused Mr Jones of stealing her wheelie bin. The horror!) and a heart so deeply overflowing in love that it was in danger of causing serious cardiovascular disease.
Once again, Stede found himself in the village pub with another read novel with notes of village life scribbled in the margins (Mr Jones, the bin thief, has been spotted leaving the house at 2.04am and returning at 4.29am looking dishevelled. The horror!). Lucius’ (the chief gossipmonger) boyfriend Pete had apparently seen a ghost with a head made of smoke in the graveyard last night (but more importantly he didn’t see Mr Jones). The group discussed whether Mr Jones and Pete’s ghost friend are the same person. An animated discussion, something about witches, something about cats, something about cheese however the general consensus is, Pete is talking “a lot of old shite”. As he pens the latest theories in his copy of Orlando of the Mr Jones saga, Stede feels right at home.
Across the pub, a familiar face entered and, for the second time in the day, Stede laid his eyes on the most handsome man he’ll ever have the pleasure of laying his eyes on. His hair flowing loose and his work apron replaced by an all leather look. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Is it possible to die twice in one day?
He must be staring as the god of cheese waves at him.
And Stede, the right fool, waves back.
“I see you’ve met Blackbeard then,” Lucius said as the discussion of ghosts vs zombies died down.
“Hmm? What? Who?” Stede absently replied as he continued to stare.
“Mr Hot Leather Daddy,” Lucius pointed. Actually pointed. With his fingers. Across to Ed. As Stede stares. To Ed. Across the room. With his finger. To Ed. Not subtle.
“And award winning cheese marker.” Pete added unnecessarily.
“Fucking love some cheese.”
“Me too.”
Stede lost track of who was talking, his only attention was on Ed.
“Fuck it, we’re ordering a cheeseboard for the table.”
“Did you know that witches…”
Stede zoned out of the cheeseboard discussion around him, his thoughts only one thing and the cheese’s daddy. Oh god. No. No. No. Ed. The cheese maker. “Mr Hot Leather Daddy”. Not Cheese Daddy. No. Get that fucking thought out your head. See, his brain is cheese.
Lucius not so gently nudges him, “so… Cheese Daddy?”
Oh great, is anything he thinks today going to stay in his mind?
“What?”
Lucius points. Again.
“Oh, Ed, yeah, we met earlier. He let me taste a bit of his Nun.”
“Oh, I bet he did.”
“Wait, that’s Blackbeard? His heart is the grand prize?”
Oh.
This changed things.
Stede made a mental note to review his life insurance policy as he tried to remember if he has unboxed his running shoes yet.
And village life continues, more books with gossip in the margins (Did you know Mr Jones, bin thief and chair of the cheese fair, has been taking bribes from the brass band to get top billing at the cheese rolling fair? The horror!), more cheese, more falling in love. Between Stede’s almost daily cheesemonger visits (he has never eaten so much cheese in his life and he’s loving every minute of it) and Ed dropping by the book club to give the latest gossip from the shop, they got know each other and yeah, Stede’s initial diagnosis was correct, he is in love.
The pair of them were tucked into the corner of the pub after the official end of the now daily gossip session (or book club as it’s officially known). After discovering Ed has a secret sweet tooth (don’t we all?) Stede had been making an effort to bake for the book club. He says, for book club but what he obviously means is, for Ed. He’s going to win his heart one way or another.
“Oh, fuck me,” Ed said as he took a bite of the blueberry cheesecake, “seriously, mate, fuck me.” The noises came from him honestly pornographic. And he wishes for nothing more than to do that. Well, after a nice romantic date first because Stede is a gentleman, don’t you know.
He wants his heart. He wants to nestle in there like a little cheese burring mouse, making himself right at home. Mice burrow, right?
Stede’s been on the verge of asking him out for weeks now. Ed’s playful banter and flirting haven't helped his heart’s true desire. But he can’t, can he? What about the cheese roll? You need to win his heart. What happens if he angers the cheese gods? The forest gods? The village gods? There must be a god involved somehow. Who else would put this curse on the poor cheesemonger? He really must research this. The English and their fucking fantasy countryside bullshit. He always knew they were a strange bunch, but this may be pushing it too far into fantasyland. Maybe then he can break it. But you can’t fuck with tradition, what is tradition fucks with you? What if you wake up as a three headed goat or something?
“You okay?”
“What? Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking.”
“You were muttering about not wanting to become a goat,” Ed said, "You would make an adorable goat.”
“Thank you?”
“Good milking stock. Get some fine cheese out of you.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
Ed laughed and the sound was as creamy as his mascarpone. As they both sat there laughing, surrounded by finished cheeseboards and cheesecake and empty wine bottles, Stede had never felt more in love. Blackbeard’s heart was his, one way or another.
The day before the big day. The day before he wins Blackbeard’s heart. The day before the start of the rest of his life. And for a man about to face the gods head on, Stede is remarkably calm. He’s back at his second home, the cheesemonger’s. Ed gave Stede a taste of some homemade chutney he was experimenting with for the shop, which he has temporarily named “cuntney” for a lack of a better name. Maybe a bit of brainstorming will need to go into that for marketing purposes.
As they nibble on their nibbles (it’s not called Blackbeard’s Cheeses and Nibbles… for nothing), Ed leant in closer to Stede, looking all serious, as serious a man can look when wearing an apron and brandishing a spoonful of chutney, “Stede, serious question, what cheese do you use to disguise a small horse?”
Stede thought about this for a moment, a serious question like that deserves a serious answer, “foal… hide… wait… wait… I… nope, I don’t know.”
“Mascapone.”
“Ha, that’s a Gouda one.”
“You feta believe it. What’s a pirate's favourite cheese? Chedd-AAAAAAAARRRRRRR”
“I camembert these anymore.”
“One more. What type of cheese is made backwards?”
“Made backwards? Wait… Edam!”
“I can’t believe you got that one, unbrielievable.”
As their laughter died down, Stede realised they never actually talked about it before. About the one thing keeping them apart. The cheese.
“You ready for tomorrow?” Stede asked as he tried to subtly approach the idea of Stede being the one to win his heart.
“Just want it to be over with if I’m being honest, get things back to normal around here.”
“But it’s the big day!”
“Yeah, but in another twelve months it will come around and the whole thing will start again. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, I get to talk about cheese to people, and it’s very good for the business and yeah, it’s fun. But I’ve got to do the whole performance thing as the Cheesemaster to do first then I’ll mellow out a bit when the focus ain’t on me and back to the cheese. As a first timer, you will fucking love it.”
“What exactly is your part in the whole thing?” Stede asked.
“The tradition goes that the Cheesemaker, that’s me, has to the master of ceremony part, Cheesemater as you will, I do will, as that’s a fucking grate title. Not sorry for that pun,” he said as Stede rolled his eyes at the final terrible pun, “Gotta bless the cheese, the ground, the land, the hills, the cows, you know all that bullshit. Look, I can’t remember the full script. Then I have to hand out prizes to the winner and stuff, boring.”
“Ah”, Stede said as he pondered the greatest prize known to man, the prize he shall soon win, “about the prize, is that a temporary thing till the next fair or…?”
“Nah, mate, it’s yours forever or until you destroy it in a lustful evening alone in shame.”
Before Stede had time to ask anything else, Mr Jones came into the shop for his weekly Stilton and Stede made his escape before Mr Jones had any bad ideas about Stede’s bin.
Stede never did find his running shoes or start training or anything else that sensible. It’s fate, it’s meant to be, he truly believed that he will win, it’s written in the stars or the cheese. Even as he stood at the top of the hill at the crowds below him, he truly believed that deep down. Despite the sense of doom pounding at his chest. Oh God, that’s a steep hill. He’s not a cheese chaser, he’s an idiot. An idiot in love but an idiot, nonetheless.
As he surveyed his competition, all younger and fitter than him at the starting point, he saw a familiar face march up towards him.
“Stede!”
“Hello!” he shouted as Ed continued his way up, all sweaty faced in his white cheesemonger’s official coat and some stupid hat with feathers he’d been forced to wear.
“You’re not taking part, are you?”
“Yes?”
“Why?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“You have a death wish or something? Trust me, it looks fun, but it’s a younger man’s game. I’m still recovering from the chase of ‘17. Fucked my knee up properly that one. All that effort and I didn’t even get to keep the prize. Something about impartiality. Wait, I’ll give you the cheese if you’re after it so badly that you are willing to go to certain death.”
“Cheese?”
“The heart.”
“Your heart is made of cheese?”
“What?”
From the megaphone at the bottom of the hill, standing in his stupid coat and hat stood fair organiser and notably bin thief Mr Jones shouted, “Could the Cheesemaster please make his way to the stage as we are about to start the race”.
Ed and Stede stood at the top of the hill staring at each in confusion as the bustle around him continued.
“Mr Teach!” the bin thief shouted.
“Right, I’ve got to… Stede, you don’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know. I want to.”
Ed smiled at him, “You’re a fucking lunatic, and I like it, but please don’t injure yourself.”
He could kiss him, right here, right now, gods be damned, cheese be damned, cows be damned, land be…
“MR TEACH!”
Mr Jones be damned!
“Good luck, please don’t die”, and with that Ed marched back down the hill to be greeted by a very pissed off Mr Jones.
Right, he’s doing this. Just got to get to the bottom first without dying. Simple really.
“Three!” he hears Ed’s voice through the megaphone.
Right.
“Two!”
Oh god.
“One!”
A wheel of cheese is released in front of the competitors as an air horn does what an air horn does best.
This is happening.
Stede didn’t know what hit him. Fear. Adrenaline. Love. Something took over him. Everything all blurred out. He didn’t remember how he got to the bottom of the hill. A lot of tumbling, he suspects, which really is a fancy name for falling.
He opened his eyes as he lay flat on his back with Ed standing over him looking concerned.
“Stede! Stede! Stede, the fuck man, why did you have to do that?” Ed frantically shouted as he beckoned Roach, the medic (and fellow book club gossiper) over.
“Hi” Stede beamed at him as he tried not to wince at the pain, “did I win?”
“Did you win? Fuck sake, I’ll had you over the keys to the shop and you can have free reign if you wish, you didn’t have to do that!”
“Did I win?” he asked again as Roach probes and pokes at him.
“You’re a middle aged man falling down a hill…”
“Did I win?” he asked once again as he sat up. He’s going to bruise like hell soon, but at least nothing feels broken.
“You’re lucky to be alive!”
“Did I win?”
“Fuck sake, no, of course not!” someone that isn’t the love of his life said. Stede looked around to see Lucius rolling his eyes at him along with the book club crew.
“Who did?”
“Jones’ son, I think, it doesn't matter…” Ed said as he crouched down beside him, staring intensely into his eyes. Oh God, was he really going to lose him to that bin thief’s son?
“It’s just cheese, Stede!”
“It’s not just cheese! It’s beautiful and kind and loving. I love you, Ed, and now I’ve gone and fucked it all up.”
“You love me?”
Ah, he really did say that out loud.
“Yes! Of course I do. But your heart belongs to that twat’s son now.”
“What?”
“Win the race, win Blackbeard’s heart, that’s the rules say. The ancient laws of the…”
Stede was thankfully cut off by the force of Ed’s lips meeting his. Oh god. This was really happening. Tradition be damned. Stede was vaguely aware he'd been bashed and bruised and was sitting on the muddy ground with his friends surrounding him, watching their every move, but he didn’t care. He really didn’t. This is what his life had been leading up to.
“You taste good, like a nice brie.”
“So do you, but I think I should have a second tasting just to make sure, if that’s okay with you?”
“Yes please”
Stede can hear whooping behind him and maybe something about collecting bets, but he’s got the man of his dreams on his lips right down and that’s the only thing that matters as he takes his double helping of cheese. Double dip of the fondue.
“Brieuiful” said the smile that could light up the darkest of cheese caves.
“What happens now? Are we going to anger the forest now? Or the cheese gods? Or something?"
“Your heart belongs to whoever won the race. We have now clearly established that I didn’t win the race. I can’t have this, you gave me a tasting session, but the produce is unavailable to me. Your heart’s been promised to someone else.”
"Blackbeard’s heart” Ed said quietly to himself before the uncontrollable laughter started.
“It’s not funny, Ed!”
“Stede, Blackbeard’s heart is just a massive wheel of cheese! It’s just what it’s called. I’m not the first Blackbeard, nor will I be the last, it is its own stupid title that gets passed down in the deeds to the shop. It’s just an oldtimey name for the cheese. Nothing about gods or magic or whatever else you’ve been thinking,” Ed said as he interweaved their fingers together and placed them on his chest, the gentle rhythm soothing, “Ed’s heart belongs to you the moment we met.”
“I’m such an idiot.”
“Yeah, but I still love you anyway.”
And without ancient gods to worry about, they embraced once more in a passionate kiss, which toppled Stede back to the ground full force and thus marking the start of the rest of Stede’s life with the cheesemonger.