Chapter Three – Dance Floor Showdown
By the time the Cheese Family reached the village square, Wensley had returned — and strutting beside him with sequins flashing, were Monterey Jack Flash and Halloumi Belle.
The twins looked as though they had been born to walk into spotlights: sequins sparkling, platform heels clicking, confidence radiating like the glow of a fondue flame.
The square itself had been transformed.
Lanterns strung between lampposts swayed gently in the breeze, casting coloured beams across the cobbles.
A disco ball hung from the great oak in the centre, scattering silver sparkles that danced across wedge-shaped cottages.
Villagers lined picnic benches and cheddar crates, some holding glow sticks carved from celery, others nibbling nervously at crispbread as they waited.
The hum of chatter filled the air until the Cheese Family stepped into view. Then, silence fell.
The Stilton Sisters made their entrance with deliberate flair. They strutted across the makeshift dance floor, sequined cloaks billowing, blue mould-streaked hair shining beneath the lanterns.
One sister was tall and angular, her movements sharp and snappy, while the other carried a sly grin that suggested she already thought the trophy was their’s.
“You’re a long way from your last groove,” smirked the taller sister, her voice echoing across the square.
“Hope your shoes still fit,” added the other, twirling a strand of blue-green hair around her finger.
But the Disco Twins were ready.
Monterey Jack Flash adjusted the golden bell-bottoms that clung dramatically to his wedge-shaped frame. He clicked his fondue-dipped fingers in time to a rhythm only he could hear, sending droplets of cheese sizzling to the ground. Beside him, Halloumi Belle, radiant in star-patterned platform boots and a cape dotted with rhinestones, flipped her shimmering hair and nodded once.
“We dance for the scroll,” said Jack, his voice firm.
“No tricks. No ticks. Just rhythm,” added Belle.
Sir Blue Vein stepped forward, his cane tapping solemnly against the cobbles. “Let the dance-off… begin.”
First up were the Stilton Sisters. They wasted no time, launching into sharp side-steps and sly shimmies. Their movements were crisp, angular, every pose punctuated with a smug smile. A cheeky wink sent gasps through the crowd. Then came a dramatic dip — so low it nearly toppled a nearby fondue stand. The audience erupted into laughter and applause.
Clarabelle Cheddar leaned toward Eddie, whispering, “They’re sharper than a grater.”
Eddie scribbled into his notebook, unimpressed. “Sharp doesn’t win trophies. Soul does.”
Then came the twins.
Monterey Jack launched into a funky spin, landing perfectly as Halloumi Belle twirled three times, her sequins scattering beams of coloured light across the crowd. They moved as one: bold, fluid, their timing impeccable.
The Stiltons responded with a quickstep, their feet tapping like raindrops on tin. They spun in unison, snapping their cloaks for dramatic flair.
But the twins didn’t flinch. Jack dropped into a knee slide across the floor, sparks of glitter spraying behind him, while Belle soared into a high kick that drew cheers from the children perched on cracker bins.
Babybel scrambled onto a crate for a better view, waving her cheese rattle. “They’re melting it out there!” she squealed.
Mini Mozzarella hopped up beside her, mimicking the moves with his stubby legs, nearly tumbling off. “Look at Belle’s triple spin! She’s faster than a whisk!”
The cheese DJ — a rotund wheel of smoked gouda wearing oversized headphones — scratched a record with one greasy hand.
The tempo rose.
The lights flashed faster.
The crowd stomped their feet in time, benches creaking under the rhythm.
Round after round, the dancers traded blows of style.
The Stiltons unleashed a fierce tango, eyes locked, teeth bared.
The twins responded with a disco-fusion shuffle, hips rolling, arms slicing the air.
At one point, the Stiltons attempted a sneaky glitter toss to distract the crowd, but Belle spun straight through it, scattering the glitter harmlessly into the night sky.
Finally, the music built to its climax. The twins locked eyes, nodded, and launched into their finale: back-to-back, hands raised high, sequins blazing. Jack leapt, Belle twirled, and together they landed in a pose so dazzling the entire square seemed to hold its breath.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then the village erupted. Applause thundered. Horns tooted. Someone even set off a mini fondue firework that rained golden cheese sparks over the crowd.
With exaggerated reluctance, the Stilton Sisters strutted forward. The taller one sighed theatrically as she extended the stolen scroll.
“Fine,” she grumbled. “You win this time.”
Her sister narrowed her eyes, voice dripping with challenge. “But we’ll see who the real champions are, at the Nationals.”
She tossed her hair, sending a puff of mouldy blue dust into the air.
The crowd gasped.
“The Nationals?” Clarabelle’s voice wavered between awe and alarm.
“A proper dance tournament,” whispered Lady Brie. “Judges. Presenters. Costumes. Drama.” Her words hung heavy in the air, full of both dread and excitement.
Monterey Jack twirled the scroll once before tucking it safely under his arm. A confident smile spread across his face. “Count us in.”
Halloumi Belle pointed a glitter-coated finger toward the horizon, her eyes blazing.
“Let’s dance.”
Blind Man Makes 