“Well! It’s a busy show, isn’t it?” Alice said.
Martin turned back to Jelly. “What did the chocolate taste like, when you opened the box?”
Jelly thought this would be a good opportunity to get the box out of her backpack, but Alice interrupted, “Oh, I bet it tasted like honey….And speaking of honey”—she winked at Martin—“that takes us to our next film.”
“I see what you’ve done there, Alice. Very good. Just in case the Chocopocalypse did happen, we thought we would come up with some alternatives for those of us with a sweet tooth. Here is Dani Dumper to explain….”
Studio Steve stepped forward. “And…off air.”
A makeup lady dashed across to dab Alice’s forehead, while another filed her fingernails. Martin stuffed earphones into his ears and played a game on his phone.
Gran leaned toward Alice. “Do you not…watch those little films you show…?”
“Oh, no,” laughed Alice. “They’re usually nonsense. They’re just to let the viewers boil the kettle or let the dog out. Nobody watches them, do they?”
“Not really,” agreed Jelly.
Studio Steve stepped back and waved at Martin, who took off his headphones and popped his phone back in his pocket. Alice’s makeup ladies retreated.
“Three, two, one…,” said Studio Steve, and pointed at Alice.
“Wow,” said Alice to the camera, “wasn’t that amazing?”
“Yeah,” agreed Martin, reading off the autocue. “I never knew that about bees.”
“So, Jennifer,” said Alice, “you were telling us about your experiment and your conclusion. Well, I would think that the conclusion was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?”
“Well,” said Jelly, inching forward on the sofa and clearing her very dry throat, “the conclusion that I reached was—”
“Oh, sorry to interrupt,” interrupted Martin, putting his finger to his ear, “but we have Professor Fizziwicks live on Easter Egg Island.”
The large screen in the studio changed to the now-familiar backdrop of Easter Egg Island.
“So then, Professor Fizziwicks, the Chocopocalypse didn’t happen. Are you a fraud?”
“Oh, my dear child,” said the professor with a chuckle and a spurt of saliva, “I am no more of a fraud than you. I admit that the date I gave was inaccurate, but it was based on the evidence available at the time.”
“But what about the chocolate rain?” Martin said. “I was there—I saw it!”
“Ah yes!” spat the professor. “It is highly likely that the Ancient Easter Egg Islanders built the stone monument over what I have just learned seems to be a geyser, which squirts up a substance that draws on a reservoir beneath the island that contains years of liquids washed down there from the unharvested cocoa beans that fall from the trees on this special island. Cocoa beans are, of course, the main ingredient of chocolate, so the reservoir produces this wonderful rain at regular intervals—to tie in with the solstice and the phases of the moon, you see. Very scientific, only something clever people like me would understand, my dear boy. The so-called rain of chocolate therefore neither proves nor disproves the ancient prophecy—and given the timescale of events, any margin of error is incredibly small.”
Martin dropped his mouth open dramatically. “Incredibly small, Professor? You were wrong! Totally and completely wrong!”
“I was not wrong. Oh, no, no, no.” Professor Fizziwicks laughed loudly, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
“But there are people eating chocolate as we speak! How do you explain that?”
“I do feel a little foolish, I must admit. But I had just slightly misinterpreted the inscriptions. Let me explain….” The professor took a deep breath. “This wonderful ancient civilization was based upon chocolate. They celebrated the summer solstice like no other. For five days and five nights after the solstice they would, as the young folk say, party hard. This involved eating lots of chocolate, drinking lots of tropical concoctions and generally dancing like there was no tomorrow. On the fifth day they would then hold the Ceremony of the Solstice. A much more regal affair, with fancy clothes and chanting and so forth. It is the Ceremony of the Solstice that I now believe the inscriptions refer to, and not the solstice itself.”
“So what are you getting at?” asked Alice, frowning.
“What I’m getting at, my confused little child, is that the date I gave you before was out by a factor of five days.” The professor laughed again. “Considering we are talking about a timescale of hundreds of years, five days isn’t really that much, is it?”
“So you’re saying that the Chocopocalypse is still going to happen?”
“Absolutely! This Friday! No doubt whatsoever!”
People had just got used to the idea that the Chocopocalypse had not happened, Jelly thought, and now they were being told that it was back on! Would anyone believe it this time?
Alice and Martin looked at each other as two police officers, wearing traditional tall blue helmets and not-so-traditional Hawaiian shirts, appeared on-screen behind the professor.
“Come along with us, sir,” said one as he placed his hand on the professor’s shoulder. “We’d like to talk to you about some dodgy money in your bank account and a certain Choccy Cookie….”
“Oooooh, I like choccy cookies!” said the professor, being escorted away. “Will there be a nice cup of tea too?”
The show ended in chaos. No one was sure what was happening, so Jelly and Gran made their own exit.
Out in the hallway, people were running about, shouting on phones or tapping on tablets.
Jelly said sadly, “But I didn’t get to tell the world my conclusion.”
“I know, dear,” said Gran. “But if they can’t work it out for themselves, then maybe they don’t deserve to know.”
“Do you think it would have been better if I hadn’t opened that box?” asked Jelly.
Gran shook her head. “I don’t think it would have made any difference.”
“I’ve reached a new conclusion, anyway,” said Jelly with a smile.
“Well, a good scientist should always adapt their theories and conclusions based upon new evidence,” Gran said. “What is it, then?”
“My conclusion is: people are stupid!”
Gran laughed loudly. “And they prove it every day!” She put her arms round Jelly and squeezed. “Let’s get ourselves home, Jennifer dear. I hope you don’t mind slumming it on the train with me? I’m not sure my stomach could take another aeronautical assault!”
Jelly looped her arm into Gran’s. “Fine by me.” She grinned. She held up her backpack. “I’ve got the perfect travel snack!”
“Wait there!” came a shout from Studio Steve, who was running toward them. Before they had a chance to get away, he caught up to them and forced something into Jelly’s hand. “You asked for these,” he panted. “It’s all kicking off now, though, so I’ve got to go.”
Jelly managed a quick “thanks” before he ran off, and she revealed what she had been given—a pair of Donny Daydream’s socks! They both laughed as she handed them to Gran.
“An early birthday present!”
“Oh my days,” said Gran as she squeezed them against her face and sniffed in deeply, “they’re…very…cheesy!”
—
Back home, Gran and Jelly found Mum and Dad in the garden. Dad was watering his “flowers,” muttering about the wind from the helicopter hurting them, while Mum rearranged flowerpots and blown-over chairs.
“You’re back!” called Mum, spotting them. “You were amazing!”
Dad came over and gave Jelly a hug. “My very own superstar!”
Jelly again noticed that the highway had gone back to its normal loud drone. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted, she thought.
Mum’s phone beeped, and she pulled it out of her pocket. Her eyes lit up like fairy lights, making Jelly wonder what it could be.
“It’s from work,” she said. “Thanking me for everything
I did last week—in an extreme situation, they said—and promoting me to deputy assistant junior manager!”
“That’s brilliant, Mum!” Jelly squeezed her in a hug.
“I’m not a trainee anymore,” squealed Mum, spinning on the spot.
“Well done, boss,” said Dad, adding hopefully, “So that’s more money, right?”
Mum beamed. “Even better, it definitely means no more long night shifts!” She pulled Jelly and Dad and Gran around with her, singing, “No more night shifts…no more night shifts!”
She finally stopped, and they all steadied themselves on the fence, giggling.
“Mind my flowers!” said Dad.
Jelly stopped laughing suddenly. She stared down at the weeds.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mum.
“Dad…,” Jelly whispered. “Look….”
Dad bent down to this patch of the garden, and the weeds he’d watered for so long. There, poking out of the brown soil, was a single bright green shoot.
“I put a bean in the ground,” Jelly said. “One of your cocoa beans…”
They all peered at the shoot.
“Is that what I think it is?” asked Gran.
Mum leaned in and gave Jelly a hug. “You see, munchkin,” she said, “everything is going to be just fabulous.”
—
It had been a long day for them all. It had been a long week! Gran had gone to bed early—she was exhausted. She would be drifting off to sleep to the sounds of Donny Daydream in her ears with Donny Daydream socks on her feet. Mum and Dad were finishing off the last of the fizzy coconut water while they wrote out a long (very long) shopping list. It was Mum’s payday tomorrow—and payday always meant Pizza Night! Double pepperoni pizza with a huge glass of lemonade, thought Jelly, with her mouth tingling.
In her bedroom, she knelt down by her bed and rummaged around underneath. It was hard to believe that this time last week no one had even heard of the Chocopocalypse! Now it felt like the whole world had changed because of it. Who knew what was going to happen next? Was the Chocopocalypse still going ahead? Well, whatever was going to happen next week, she decided, was going to happen—regardless of whether she worried about it or not.
She found what she was looking for, and slid it out from under her bed. It was an old shoe box. Making sure her bedroom door was closed, she carefully opened the box. A smile stretched wide across her face.
The box was filled with hundreds of brightly colored jelly beans.
There’s no reason to worry about the future—but it would be silly not to be prepared….
1. Chocolate comes from cacao (or cocoa) beans, originally grown in Mexico, Central and South America thousands of years ago. That’s so long ago that even your great-great-great gran’s great-great-great gran wouldn’t remember!
2. The Mayans made a drink from cacao beans and chili peppers! Now, that’s what I call “hot chocolate”!!
3. They called it xocoatl (no, I don’t know how to pronounce it either!) and poured it from one cup to another to give it a frothy head. Maybe this was before they invented dishwashing soap–which would have done a good job, too.
4. If you hold a chunk of chocolate in your fist for over an hour, it will make a mess all over your hand and you’ll probably get in trouble with a grown-up.
5. The Mayans and Aztecs used cacao beans as currency. I wonder how many beans you would need to buy a Blocka Choca?
6. Scientists say that chocolate can help prevent memory decline. Although I can’t quite remember where I read that!
7. When baking a chocolate cake, if you do not lick the mixing bowl afterward—the cake will not bake properly. FACT(ish)!
8. Napoleon was known to always have a stash of chocolate with him. Maybe that’s why he and other famous people in paintings were often pictured with one hand inside their waistcoats.
9. The oldest and largest chocolate producer in the United States is Hershey’s—which produces 80 million kisses every day. I hope Mr. Hershey’s wife is okay with that!
10. There is a pill you can take to make your farts smell like chocolate. It’s called a Father Christmas Fart Pill. There is also something you can take to make your farts smell like eggs—they’re called eggs!
11. Chocolate contains phenylethylamine, which encourages the brain to release endorphins. These are the clever things that make us feel good. That’s why you’ll never see a grumpy person chomping on chocolate.
12. Scientific studies say that chocolate improves vision. We all know a hard day at school often leads to tired, blurry eyes, so extend and sharpen up your bedtime reading with the aid of chocolate!
THOSE WHO MADE MY STORY REAL:
To my Chocopocalyptic Champion, Rachel Leyshon. For being my guide, my poker and prodder, and my de-tablizer (still not bitter).
To Barry, for pulling this scribbler and Post-it note hoarder out of your magic author hat, and turning me into a…well, a scribbler with an even bigger hoard of Post-it notes. Without you, there would be no Chocopocalypse. So it’s all your fault!
To Catherine Coe, for your essential editorial chocolate sprinkles.
Thanks, Esther Waller, for the copyedits and for pushing my story through the UK printing processes, and Monica Jean in the US, for being so brilliantly understanding with this quirky Englishman!
Thank you, Lalalimola, for your amazingly brilliant illustrations. Your artwork has brought all those voices in my head to life and therefore proved that I am not (completely) mad. Mary Kate McDevitt, your fabulously dramatic cover is amazing—I love it!
Thank you, Elinor Bagenal and Allison Hellegers, for spreading chocopocalyptic panic into the US. Delighted to be part of such an enthusiastic family as Delacorte Press/Penguin Random House.
A mahoosive “sign of the horns” rock salute to the stupidly talented C. J. Skuse. I know what you did…and I thank you.
I sneaked into Chicken House through their Open Coop and was warmly welcomed by all. I am more grateful than I can express—which is a bad thing for a writer, I know, but I’m still learning.
THOSE WHO MADE MY STORY POSSIBLE:
A huge cry of “JellyHeads!!!” to Darren, Craig, and Andy. You have suffered decades of my drivel and listened with patience and humor every time I’ve uttered, “I’ve got a new idea for a book….”
To all those I worked beside…well, when I say worked beside I should maybe say sat beside in various crew rooms across the world. I learned the art of never taking anything seriously.
To the Ferrans, for making the good times great and the bad times better—I owe you more than you know. Friends—in the true sense of the word.
To Philip Pullman, for changing the way I see stories. To David Moorcroft, for instilling the sense to never give up. To Frank Turner, for being my sound track (I hear it even when I’m asleep).
Douglas, Spike, Roald, and Sir Arthur—you make my world weird and wonderful, and I love it.
There are two people that I truly owe everything:
Thanks, Dad—for a head full of stories; thanks, Mam—for a life full of love (miss you).
Donna—you have had more faith in me than anyone. For your constant support and encouragement. You told me to write—I doubted you but did as instructed. Proud to be your husband (…still forever).
To Trinity…for being you. You are my reason. I love being your dad.
THOSE WHO READ MY STORY:
Thank you. I hope it has been worthy of your time and attention.
And if I’ve made you smile, then you have made me a happy man.
…And to all you noisy neighbors: Keep it down, eh!
Chris Callaghan loves reading and writing (and chocolate) and, as an author, has taken inspiration from his various jobs, from fixing aircraft in the Royal Air Force to checking pollution from pudding factories as an environmental scientist. The Chocopocalypse is Chris’s debut novel. He lives in England with his wife and daughter, who have to endure his bouts of “groovy kitchen dancing.�
� You can learn more about Chris and the looming chocolate crisis at chris-callaghan.com, on Twitter and Instagram @callaghansstuff, or find out what he eats for dinner on Facebook.
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The Chocopocalypse Page 12
