Blacksticks Blue by Robert Cutillo

The terraced house had a brown door, an unkempt garden, and a crooked gate. Weeds sprouted from the wonky paved path, and a torn plastic bag clung to a bare bush.

Michael stood before the gate, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding a plastic bag of his own, his eyes fixed on the front door.

His interaction with Fred and Louise had happened two days prior, when they had asked for Blacksticks Blue cheese. Fred had peered up at Michael, his left eye more open than his right and the liver spot on his cheek stretched. Louise’s eyes, behind large thick-rimmed glasses, looked like cat’s eyes when its owner leaves the room; and the way she clutched her handbag at her chest made her look childlike. They didn’t have to react that way when Michael told them they had none of the Blacksticks Blue: Louise’s lip had trembled, Fred’s face stiffened. Fred’s jowls wobbled as he shot curse after curse. And why had Louise tilted her head back and wailed like that? Michael couldn’t believe it when she went to rub her eyes but hit her glasses instead, forgetting they were there.

It’d taken them ages to leave. On their way out of the shop, they’d said they wouldn’t come back. Good. It was only cheese. But there was something about them that stuck with Michael. He kept picturing their watery eyes – ponds on barren lands. And when the cheese arrived in store, he had no choice really.

Michael put his hand on the gate – its roughness reminding him of when, as a child, he ran his hands along the skirting board at his grandma’s house – and opened it.

He knocked on the door; if they didn’t answer, he was gone. A shadow appeared in the stained glass and grew bigger as it approached. Michael imagined a shadowed hand reaching through, clutching him by his work t-shirt, and yanking him inside. The lock clicked, the door opened, and Fred’s face – as grey as gravel – appeared. Before Michael could say hello, Fred’s brow furrowed and his lips parted, baring his brown-stained teeth.

‘What the bloody hell you doing here?’ asked Fred, a speck of spit shooting from his mouth.

‘Who is it?’ said Louise from within the house.

‘It’s that lad from the shop. The one who couldn’t get the cheese.’

‘Don’t do anything, Fred.’ Louise appeared in the hallway and hurried to Fred, whose one eye bulging and one eye squinting reminded Michael of Popeye.

‘Ignore him,’ said Louise, placing a chubby hand on Fred’s bony shoulder and bringing him away from the door. ‘Come in, lad.’

Just give her the cheese now. Michael looked over his shoulder and thought he saw a curtain move in the house opposite. The last thing he wanted was the whole street watching.

‘Thanks,’ said Michael.

As soon as Michael entered the hallway, the door closed.

Fred mumbled as he limped to the living room.

Louise smiled: ‘Can I take your jacket? And mind you take your shoes off.’

Michael placed the plastic bag beside a shoe rack and handed his jacket to Louise, who put it on a brass hook before glancing at Michael’s work boots. Michael smiled uncomfortably. He removed his work boots and placed them beside the shoe rack. As he bent over to grab the bag, he placed a hand on a nearby unit, accidently nudging a picture frame.

‘Careful!’ said Louise. She immediately grabbed the picture frame, cradled it to her chest, and returned it to its original place.

‘Sorry.’

Louise sucked her teeth and walked into the living room, her slippers grazing the carpet.

‘What’d he do?’ Michael heard Fred say.

‘Wrecked the place, that’s what he did.’

Just leave. Grab the jacket and shoes, leave the bag.

Michael took a deep breath. As he walked along the hallway, he noticed many picture frames on the wall, all featuring a heavy man in his forties with glasses and curly hair. Fred and Louise were also in some of the pictures. One picture showed the man with his arm over the shoulder of an Indian man. One picture showed him as a teenager playing a board game with tiny plastic pieces and cards, an image of a fire-breathing dragon on the board. One picture showed him standing between Fred and Louise dressed in a baggy blazer, white shirt, and pink tie.

Louise returned to the hallway: ‘You coming in?’

‘Yeah, sorry.’

Before he even entered the living room, Michael’s nose was punched by the stench of mould and ash.

‘Have a seat,’ said Louise, beckoning to a sofa opposite two armchairs, one of which Fred had seated himself in already. Michael sat down, placing his bag between his feet. He could feel Fred’s eyes on him. Louise lowered herself into her armchair, sighing deeply, while Fred sat with his arms relaxed on the armrests, one finger drumming on the mahogany.

Louise nodded at the bag between Michael’s feet: ‘What you got there then?’

‘Sorry, I should have given it to you sooner,’ said Michael. ‘Felt bad about the other day. Had this delivered this morning and thought you’d want it.’

Michael pulled from the bag two packs of cheese in blue, orange, and purple packaging with a label that read Blacksticks Blue. Fred jolted as though he had been electrocuted and Louise supressed a yelp with her hand.

‘You got them,’ said Fred.

‘Thank you,’ said Louise. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘No problem,’ said Michael, placing the packs on the coffee table. ‘I hope you don’t mind: one of my colleagues mentioned where you lived. Sarah.’

‘Oh, yes – Sarah. We know Sarah. Lovely girl. Oh, Fred, isn’t Sarah lovely.’

‘Aye.’

‘I forgot to ask what your name was.’

‘Michael.’

‘Michael. You’re very kind.’

‘It’s no problem.’

‘How much do we owe you?’ asked Fred.

‘Nothing. It’s on me.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Louise. ‘Fred, go get the money.’

‘I will when I know how much it is.’

‘Really, it’s OK,’ said Michael.

‘How about a tenner?’

‘Yes, go get the man a tenner,’ said Louise.

‘Please don’t,’ said Michael.

‘Well, this is very generous. Why would you do this?’

‘Just felt bad about the other day.’

‘Aren’t you sweet. I feel bad about the other day too now. What about you, Fred? Do you feel bad?’

‘Yeah.’

Louise squeezed Fred’s hand: ‘At least this’ll make Christopher happy now.’

‘Yes. He always loved that cheese.’

‘Who’s Christopher?’ asked Michael.

‘Our son,’ said Louise.

‘I take it that’s him in the photos.’

‘It is. Such a good boy. Isn’t he, Fred.’

‘Yes.’

‘Bit sensitive, though, our Christopher. Wasn’t too popular in school. Bullied, in fact. That knocked his confidence a lot. He never did recover from it, did he?’

‘No.’

Louise folded her hands in her lap, stared at the cheese on the coffee table, and moved her lips as though whispering a secret.

‘Being bullied is tough,’ said Michael.

Louise’s eyes narrowed as she looked from the cheese to Michael: ‘Yes, being bullied is tough. Our Christopher would come home with marks on his cheeks after they’d slapped him. He’d bang that front door shut, run on upstairs, and slam his bedroom door as though he were trying to bring the house down. I’d ask him if everything was all right, but he’d always say, “Leave me alone!” in a voice that didn’t sound like his. I can tell by the way you’re looking at me you think I’m a bad mother.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘You ever been bullied?’

‘No.’

‘Mm. You don’t seem like the type that’d get bullied. Bet you bullied a kid or two though, didn’t you.’

‘Nope. Hated bullies.’

‘Mm. Anyway. I did everything I could. We both did. Well, me more than Fred. I marched on down to that school and told them. And they said they’d fix it. And they said it wouldn’t happen again. And I fell for it. It happened again, and again, and again, and I watched as my boy lost everything bright about him. It ain’t right. It ain’t right.’

‘No, it ain’t,’ said Fred.

‘I guess it is our fault.’

‘No, I bet it wasn’t,’ said Michael.

‘And what do you know? Mm, still, we should’ve done better. Should’ve raised him right. We never were good at the parenting stuff. Never knew how to raise him. Then again, I bet few do. All I know is that we should’ve taught him more about life, more about how to speak with people. That might have helped him.’

Louise was looking at the Blacksticks Blue again, as was Fred. Michael glanced at the door leading to the hallway, but looked back when he felt Louise staring at him.

‘Did he have any mates?’ asked Michael.

‘He had one. Indian lad called Veer. They were close.’

‘Too close,’ said Fred.

‘They certainly spent a lot of time together.’

Fred’s chair creaked as he reached to a side table. Louise watched him as he dipped a frail finger into a carton of Marlboro and plucked out a cigarette. She continued watching him – the creases at her pursed lips growing deeper – as he lit the cigarette now firmly lodged between his lips. He blew a cloud of smoke.

‘Put. That. Out,’ said Louise.

Fred began turning his head towards her but looked at the cheese on the table instead. Then he brought the cigarette to his lips as though he had not heard her.

‘Don’t you dare.’

He took a drag, this time expelling smoke over his shoulder, away from Louise, as if to hide it from her.

‘Fred!’

‘It’s just one. I’ll smoke it quick.’

‘You’ll put it out.’

‘Just one more.’

‘No!’

‘Just one more.’

Michael bit his lip. Just get up and go.

‘Fine!’ said Fred. ‘I’ll put it out.’ He stubbed the cigarette in an ashtray on the side table, leaving the cigarette awkwardly bent, a line of smoke shooting upwards. ‘Can’t enjoy bloody anything anymore.’

‘Thank you. Right, who’d like some of this cheese?’ Louise patted one of the packets.

‘I would please.’

‘I was talking to our guest.’

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t,’ said Michael, looking at his watch. ‘I have to get back to the shop.’

‘Nonsense. You’ve gone to this trouble of bringing us the cheese. The least we could do is share it with you. If you say no, I’ll be upset.’

‘All right. But I have to go after.’

Louise grabbed both packets and left the living room. Michael heard cutlery rattle as a drawer opened in the kitchen. He glanced at Fred, who slowly raised a forefinger to his lips before reaching for another cigarette and lighting it. He took drag after drag after drag, the cigarette shrinking as quickly as a fuse on a stick of dynamite.

Could have offered one, the stingy git.

Fred put out the cigarette and waved at the air around him just as Louise returned with a tray.

‘Here we go,’ she said. ‘Enjoy. I’ve got some lemonade too. It’s from your place.’

She placed one glass on the coffee table in front of Michael, and the other two on the side table next to the armchairs. Louise began lowering herself into the chair but quit as she neared the seat, falling into it and releasing a long sigh that sounded like air escaping from a pillow.

‘Help yourself,’ she said.

A piece of cracker fell on the plate with a dull thud as Michael took a bite.

‘Tastes good, doesn’t it,’ said Louise.

‘It does,’ said Michael.

‘Help yourself to as much as you want.’

‘No, I’ll eat it all otherwise. Save it for Christopher.’

Fred and Louise’s faces sagged as though weights were clamped to their cheeks. Fred nibbled at his cheese and cracker, while Louise put her plate on the coffee table.

‘Sorry if I’ve offended,’ said Michael.

‘No, no,’ said Louise. She tried to speak again, but as her mouth opened she took from her sleeve a tissue, lifted her glasses, and dabbed her eyes. ‘It got hard for Christopher when he got older. Wasn’t bad enough he had no friends. Veer’d gone off to get married. After that, Christopher had no one. Then it started. A simple cough at first. One that wouldn’t go away. After a month I begged him to see a doctor, but he just said he couldn’t be bothered. He was always like that. “Can’t be bothered.” Then it was chest infection after chest infection, wasn’t it.’

Fred nodded: ‘Yes, it was.’

‘But he still wouldn’t go. It wasn’t until he coughed up blood that we made him.’

‘I told him I’d belt him if he didn’t.’

‘Mm. Well, anyway. They sent him for all sorts of checks. I just remember going with him to the hospital and waiting for him, and this woman sitting opposite with her little boy, and they somehow looking happy and sad at the same time – the mum more so than the young lad – and I just knew then that me and Christopher wouldn’t be the same. I just knew it.’

‘It’s your intuition.’

Louise wiped the corner of her eyes with her tissue and then blew her nose: ‘Sorry. You’ve got me started now.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Michael.

Fred reached over as best he could and squeezed Louise’s hand as she looked thoughtfully into her lap. After a moment, she blinked and looked at Michael:

‘Lung cancer.’ She delivered it like a jab. ‘It was lung cancer. I bet you can imagine how someone like my poor Christopher handled that. He passed a little over a year ago.’

She picked up her plate and bit into her cheese and cracker, munching it mechanically and swallowing as though the food were razors.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Michael.

A smile appeared and disappeared like the flash of a dying lightbulb: ‘Are you? That’s very sweet.’

Fred slammed his fist on the armrest: ‘It ain’t right. It ain’t right. That lad never did nothing wrong. All he was was a little shy. And yeah, a bit weird. But so what? That’s no reason for God to take him. I sometimes question the world we live in. Fucking God.’

‘Fred!’

‘What?’

‘Don’t you blaspheme in my home. Don’t you say that.’

‘It’s true, though, ain’t it? Why take him? Why take a lad like that? It ain’t fair.’

‘I agree it ain’t fair. But who are we to question the Lord’s work. He took his own son; he can take ours.’

Fred’s lips contorted into a snarl. Michael put his plate down.

‘What did you think to the Blacksticks?’ asked Louise.

‘Loved it, thank you,’ said Michael.

‘Glad you did. It was Christopher’s favourite.’

‘Yeah, you said.’

‘We used to buy it for him as a treat for his birthday. That’s why we buy it now. It’s silly, but we like to remember him that way.’

‘Aye,’ said Fred. ‘He loved that cheese.’

‘That he did. Are you bored, Michael?’

‘What?’ said Michael. He sat up: ‘No, course not.’

‘You look bored. Doesn’t he, Fred?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What’s a bit of cheese and a boy who had no friends to you, mm?’

‘Look,’ said Michael, his mouth dry. ‘I should get back.’

‘I bet you never thought about what that cheese meant to us when you wouldn’t get it, did you?’

‘No, that’s not –’

‘People never think how something small to them may be big for others. It ain’t just cheese; it’s our boy. And people like you never get that, just like people like you bullied my Christopher. Get back to your shop.’

‘Go on, get out,’ said Fred.

The door slammed as soon as Michael stepped on to the wonky path. Fresh air showered his skin. The plastic bag clinging to the bush was still there. He felt compelled to remove it, but as he stepped on the grass he changed his mind, instead walking out of the gate, careful to close it behind him. Why should he bother helping them again after that? But he felt bad as soon as he thought it. He looked back at the house and imagined Fred and Louise in their armchairs, their hands clasped together, and in between them the Blacksticks Blue.

Robert Cutillo

Image – A slice of the famous Blacksticks Blue cheese from Liverpool Cheese company  - google images