Blue Cheese

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“Eww! What is that?!” 5-year-old Elsie screeched.

“What?” her Dad responded. Bald, slightly rotund, he stooped low to see the world from her eye level.

“That! Is it a bug?” she pointed a short, messily painted pink fingernail, curling her lip in disgust. The lip curling was so Carol, he thought, mesmerised for a moment, before the familiar punch echoed in his windpipe again. He shook his head, willing the memories to leave, and inspected the direction of Elsie’s pointing.

“Oh! It looks like a little bit of blue cheese has fallen out of the fridge. Not a bug, just cheese.”

Elsie stared at him incredulously, mouth agape.

“That’s not cheese.” She said flatly, as if addressing a much younger child. Her arms folded tightly across her chest as if to emphasise the point.

“Mate, it is.” He chuckled. “I like blue cheese. Do you want to try some? Not that one on the floor, obviously.” He opened the fridge door and pulled forward the drawer which held his treasure. He unwrapped the silver foil, felt the familiar scent waft into the air. He inhaled, deeply.

“Your Mum and I used to love this cheese. We’d put it on pizzas, have it with crackers, she once even tried it on a tuna sandwich!” He held it aloft to Elsie. “See! Have a smell. It’s a bit funky.” He grinned, trying to belie how the memories twisted in his stomach, and sent flashes of panic up and down his spine.

How am I supposed to do this?

Elsie delicately leaned her nose forward and took two sniffs. Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Mum liked this cheese? It smells awful! Like death!” Her words hung in the sticky, humid air.

Paul paused, his jaw tightening.

“Well, uhm.” He began, clearing his throat, as his hands began to tremble. “What sort of cheese do you like? It doesn’t have to be this one, we can get some more from the shops…” He put his arm around Elsie awkwardly, and he felt her go limp in his arms and snuggle into his chest.

“I just wish I knew Mum like you did.” Elsie croaked.

Paul swallowed hard.

“Mate, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

After a few tender moments, he spoke again.

“You ever heard of Superstition, Elsie? Your Mum was one funky chick. We used to go out to this pub…”

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