The Chocopocalypse

by Chris Callaghan

  “That’s me!” shouted Jelly, staring at the screen in confusion.

  “How is that on the news?” asked Gran.

  Mum waved her phone in the air. “I posted some photos online,” she said, “just a few minutes ago!”

  “Oh no,” said Dad, flapping his hands around like a pigeon. “Have they got them all? Is that picture of me wearing your dress still on there?”

  “They’re not going to show that on television, you silly goose,” said Mum. “Why would they do that?”

  “Why is there a picture of Dad wearing your dress?” asked Jelly curiously as Gran gave her dad a strange look.

  Dad shrugged innocently. Then the video of Jelly opening the box appeared on the TV screen.

  “I posted that too,” said Mum just before her phone rang. She answered it and started nodding, before giving out their address.

  “Who was that?” Jelly asked as Mum clicked the phone off.

  “The Chompton-on-de-Lyte Daily Digest. They’re coming around for an interview and photographs.”

  “They’re going to interview me?” asked Jelly a little nervously.

  “You’re the star—of course they’re going to interview you,” Dad said. “If you’re okay with that? I mean, you don’t have to. We’ll all be here with you.”

  Gran put her hands to her head. “My hair!”

  Mum looked in the mirror. “My makeup!”

  They both disappeared, leaving Dad and Jelly watching the video. The caption on the screen read:

  BREAKING NEWS: FIRST SIGHTING OF CHOCOLATE RECORDED ON VIDEO.

  Dad gave Jelly a big hug. “My little girl, eh!” he said with a giggle. “On TV!”

  Now it started to sink in for Jelly. She was going to be interviewed! She was going to be famous! Well, in Chompton, at least. She’d better get changed too before the reporter came.

  She left Dad looking down at his stained “Willy Wonka” T-shirt and pajama bottoms. As she ran up the stairs, her phone beeped. It was a text from Maya:

  Saw the news. U R A Star!!!! X

  —

  The next few hours were pure mayhem for the Wellington family. People kept knocking on the door, and beeps and tinkles went off every few seconds on their phones, laptops and tablets—alerts to emails, messages, status updates and notifications. Jelly’s video was shown repeatedly on the TV and was being shared all over the world. She felt a mixture of burning excitement and shaky nervousness—she was going viral!

  The local reporter came and went, followed by someone from a national newspaper, followed by a lady from a website devoted to chocolate. It was only after Dad had made a cup of tea for someone who had told him he was from the BBC, but was really from the local fried chicken takeout and just wanted to see the chocolate, that they stopped letting everyone in. Jelly decided to place the few remaining pieces of chocolate back in the metal box for safekeeping. Cars and vans with little satellite dishes on top were blocking the road outside. Film crews and reporters loitered around Waffle Way West.

  Some of the reporters had gone into Chompton’s town center and were interviewing people for TV. Mum, Dad, Gran and Jelly all watched and pointed out the familiar places in the background. Jelly was particularly overjoyed when she saw her homeless friend Bogie telling a reporter that he knew Jelly and how he was thrilled that the Chocopocalypse had not happened. His dog jumped up and down, trying to bite the microphone—his tail was wagging furiously!

  A police officer turned up to stand outside the front door. “I’m here to keep the situation orderly,” he told Jelly.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Mum said. “It’s been crazy! Would you like a tea or coffee?”

  “I’d love a strong tea,” said the officer. “Six sugars, please.”

  “Six!” shrieked Mum, wondering if they had that much sugar.

  “Better make it eight,” he said. “It’s been a humdinger of a week.”

  Mum made him a tea (with only four sugars!) and gave him the mug she had got Dad for his birthday, with the word “Idiot” on it. He didn’t seem to notice.

  When Mum’s phone beeped a few minutes later, she jumped up from the sofa like she’d been shot from a cannon as she read the message. “It’s from The Seven Show! They want Jelly and Gran on the special edition later! I’ve got to message them back right now to confirm, then someone will pick the two of you up later and take you to the studio!” she cried.

  Jelly couldn’t believe it—she was going to be on The Seven Show! Sitting on that sofa with Gran, next to Alice! Tonight!

  As Gran said right then, “Oh, my giddy girl!”

  —

  Two hours later, Mum’s phone rang. She stared at the number, then answered the call. She covered the receiver and excitedly mouthed, It’s the show!

  Dad squeezed his hands and pulled a face like a little boy needing a wee. Jelly’s heart thudded away inside her, like a train speeding down the tracks.

  Mum pressed the speakerphone button. “Your ride to the studios,” said a very professional voice, “is awaiting the two guests outside your house.”

  Mum moved the blinds to one side and looked out. Through the gap, Jelly could see that the road was still full of cars and white vans and a gaggle of reporters. They all seemed to be looking up at the roof for some reason.

  “Which car is yours?” asked Mum. “There are tons out the front here.”

  “For security reasons, you’ll have to go to the rear of your property.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Mum. “Give us a minute.”

  She kept the phone in her hand while they all made their way to the back. Luckily, Jelly remembered to grab the metal box of chocolate and tuck it into her small purple backpack. The wind in the garden was terrible. It nearly knocked Gran off her feet, and Jelly struggled to keep her hair out of her face, wondering what was going on.

  There was an incredible noise, far greater than the normal highway drone, and it took a moment for Jelly to understand what it was. She looked up and couldn’t believe her eyes. A huge helicopter was hovering above their garden! Mum and Dad let out a string of rude words that were drowned out by the mighty machine.

  Gran looked horrified. “I’m not getting in that!” she screamed. “Not a chance.”

  Jelly’s mouth dropped wide open. This was her ride to the studios. Cool!

  They watched as a man on a winch was lowered into the garden. He landed in the middle of the weeds, and Dad shouted, “Mind my flowers, will you!”

  The man from the sky waved his arms frantically, indicating for them to come forward. Jelly gave her mum and dad a tight, worried hug, and got even tighter and more worried hugs in return. The man wrapped a strap around Jelly and clipped it into place. She realized that Gran was back in the kitchen doorway, shaking her head. Dad ran over, grabbed Gran and flung her over his shoulder while she slapped him furiously on the back with one hand and clung on to her glasses with the other. Jelly couldn’t help but giggle, but her mouth was dry and her heart was racing. Dad dumped Gran next to the helicopter man, who swung another strap around her. Their feet were suddenly lifted off the ground, Gran’s skirt billowing around her head.

  “I hope no one is filming this!” she screamed. “I do not want my Sunday underpants to be the next Internet sensation!”

  Jelly and Gran held on tightly to each other while they rocked around in the wind.

  “Don’t worry,” shouted the helicopter man. “I haven’t dropped anyone in ages.”

  Jelly made the mistake of looking down and saw her mum and dad shrink away as she swayed above the TV aerial. Her stomach lurched. She decided to fix her gaze on Gran, who had her eyes shut tight behind the lenses of her plastic-framed glasses.

  At the top, they were pulled into the helicopter by another helmet-clad man and strapped immediately into seats.

  Jelly gripped the edge of her seat. Her insides were doing somersaults, but the thrill of her adventure meant she was trying hard to stop herself from giggling uncontrolla
bly. The external door slammed shut, instantly stopping the swirling wind. At the same time, the helicopter lurched at an angle and shot into the sky, pushing Jelly and Gran firmly into their seats. Jelly’s stomach felt like it had turned inside out!

  “Does it have to bob around so much?” asked Gran, looking a little green. She was handed a folded-up bag. “What’s this for?” she asked.

  “Vomit,” replied the helicopter man.

  “That’s nice,” said Gran, “but I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

  The helicopter dropped suddenly for a few moments, and Jelly felt her eyeballs bulge. Gran promptly opened the bag and stuck her face into it, making gargling noises.

  She emerged from the bag, wiped her mouth and whispered, “Don’t tell your mum and dad I was…you know!”

  Jelly shook her head and braced herself for the journey. After all the sudden movements at the start, the ride became much smoother, and she quickly began enjoying herself. Out the window she saw that they were way past Chompton, and she watched the River de Lyte fade into the distance. It wouldn’t take long to get to the TV studios in London, so she wanted to take in every last detail. She had taken the train and subway to the capital plenty of times, but this was something special. It was much better than squeezing onto a car full of smelly people in a rush—even if Gran was getting sick into a bag!

  When the helicopter man told them that they were nearly there, Jelly let out a moan because it was almost over and then an “oooooh” because of what waited for them. The journey had gone by too quickly.

  “You have both used a parachute before, haven’t you?” The man grinned.

  Jelly’s heart stopped. Gran’s mouth was nearly as wide open as her eyes.

  He chuckled. “Only joking. We’ll be landing on The Seven Show roof in five minutes.”

  Getting out of the helicopter, they were greeted by a stern-faced man who introduced himself as “Studio Steve.” Once they’d been ushered, with extreme haste, into the building, Studio Steve told them that they would be going “live” in twenty minutes and must have a pee before they went on air. It was a rule.

  “Even Donny Daydream had to have a pee!” he said.

  Jelly and Gran were herded into the restrooms, with Gran tutting furiously, while Studio Steve waited outside.

  When they came out he asked, “Did you actually have a pee or did you just go in there and wait a while?”

  “I did.” Jelly nodded. “I really did.”

  He looked at Gran, who hesitated at first…but then admitted, “I couldn’t. I tried, but I couldn’t. I’m too nervous. I really don’t need to go.”

  “But it’s the rules.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Gran went back into the restroom.

  Studio Steve and Jelly waited in the hallway, smiling politely at each other.

  Gran eventually came out.

  “Did you manage a pee this time?” asked Studio Steve.

  “Yes!” whispered Gran. “I did pee. Honest. Or should I do it in a cup for you to check?”

  He didn’t answer that and instead began ushering them down the hallway.

  “It’s a good job there are no rules on having a poo,” whispered Gran to Jelly, “otherwise I’d have been there all night.”

  They were then plonked onto the studio sofa, with Jelly’s backpack containing the precious chocolate between her ankles. The sofa was not as comfortable as it looked on TV, and the studio itself was smaller than Jelly had imagined. It also had a funny smell. A hot and damp kind of smell—a bit like when Dad did the ironing. Maybe it was a mixture of the blazing lights and sweaty people.

  “Can I get you anything?” asked Studio Steve.

  Gran shook her head, but Jelly suddenly thought of something. She whispered into Steve’s ear, and he shrugged.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

  Alice and Martin suddenly appeared from behind a group of makeup assistants and people flapping about with sheets of paper in their hands. They barely seemed to notice their new guests, but then Jelly and Gran were hardly Hollywood stars. Jelly squeezed Gran’s hand hard as they heard the show’s theme song, and they both started swaying from side to side in time with the music, just as they did at home. They got another look from Studio Steve and stopped abruptly while he counted down from three and then pointed to Alice and Martin.

  “Hello!” the hosts said together into the camera, and then waited for the small studio audience (about seven people!) to stop applauding. Jelly and Gran carried on clapping a little too long, until another look from Steve made them stop. “And welcome to a special edition of The Seven Show.”

  “Yes, today we are having a chocolate sundae….Chocolate Sunday…get it?” chuckled Martin while Alice rolled her eyes. “We’ll be hoping to speak to Professor Fizziwicks later in the show,” he continued, “for him to explain himself and maybe give a reason for why the Chocopocalypse didn’t happen.”

  “That’s right, Martin,” said Alice. “And with us here we have Internet sensation Jennifer Wellington and her gran.”

  My name’s being read out on TV! thought Jelly.

  “Jennifer, as I’m sure you’re all aware by now,” continued Alice, “is the young scientist who conducted a simple experiment—”

  “Simple experiments,” interrupted Gran, “are usually the most important ones.”

  “Is that so?” Alice smiled. “Now, tell me, Jennifer, what was your experiment?”

  “I just locked some chocolate,” said Jelly, “into a safe environment….”

  “Oh, what kind of safe environment?” asked Alice. “Like a laboratory or something?”

  “Erm…no…a shed,” said Jelly, then thought she’d better try to make her experiment sound technical. “I had to isolate the experiment from all possible…variables.” “Variables” was a good scientific word, she thought.

  “I see,” said Martin, shaking his head. “Shall we just have a look at the video of the first sighting of chocolate after the supposed Chocopocalypse? It has received seven billion hits in just a few hours!”

  “Eight billion hits, actually, Martin,” said Alice.

  “Really,” replied Martin. “That’s incredible! Here’s the video.”

  The now globally familiar image of Jelly in the front garden appeared on the large screen in the studio, and Studio Steve leaned in and said, “And…off air.”

  Immediately Martin turned to Alice, eyes bulging. “What do you think you’re doing, Alice, correcting me on air like that?”

  “You were wrong. You said seven billion, and the autocue”—Alice pointed at the words on the camera—“clearly says eight billion. It’s not my fault you can’t read! And you…old lady person”—Alice pointed now at Gran—“don’t interrupt me, okay?”

  Gran nodded like a little schoolgirl who’d been told off in class.

  Studio Steve leaned in again. “Three, two, one…” He pointed at Martin, who said “witch” under his breath before producing a huge, wonky smile for the camera.

  “Eight billion and one hits now.” He winked at Alice. “So what was it like when you opened the box?” he asked Jelly.

  “W-well, I’d already made my conclusion before I’d opened the box,” answered Jelly, feeling her whole body now shaking with nerves.

  “I bet it tasted lovely.” Alice chuckled, but Jelly could tell she wasn’t really listening.

  Jelly sat up straight, told herself to stop trembling and prepared to tell the world her conclusion.

  “My conclusion from the experiment was…”

  “Oh, hang on…,” said Alice, “we’ve got to go to some breaking news….”

  The newsman with the jazzy tie appeared on studio screens, announcing, “In the early hours of this morning, a dramatic arrest took place when a van was stopped near the home of the prime minister at Downing Street in Central London. After police interviews and further investigations, Garibaldi Chocolati has just been officially charged on suspicion of hoarding and a
ttempting to sell large quantities of chocolate.”

  Gran and Jelly gripped each other’s hands again. At last, thought Jelly. She had started to believe that Gari had gotten away with his hideous plan.

  “Chocolati and his accomplice,” continued the newsman, “who is believed to be called David Dodgy, were attempting to enter Downing Street with a white van full of chocolate.” The large screens showed an aerial view of Downing Street at night. “Immediately after their arrest, a quick-thinking police officer loaded the chocolate hoard into a police van and transferred it to St. Ann’s Children’s Hospital, just around the corner. Aware that the Chocopocalypse was imminent, nurses raced through the wards waking up children to give them—what they believed at the time to be—the last remaining chocolate in the world.”

  Gran gave Jelly a light nudge. Her chin quivered, and her eyes sparkled. “You did that,” she whispered. Instead of all that chocolate going to some rich and greedy person, or someone with no idea what chocolate was all about, it had gone to those who would have enjoyed it and loved it the most. Jelly felt good about that—in fact, she felt fantastic!

  The TV then showed a reporter standing outside Scotland Yard, where a man wearing a butterscotch safari suit—and handcuffs—was being ushered along by a number of police officers.

  “Mr. Chocolati,” said the reporter, “who, as an unnamed source has just told us, was previously known as Choccy Cookie…”

  “An unknown source, eh?” whispered Gran, giving Jelly a wink. “Who could that be?”

  “Don’t call me that!” snapped Garibaldi, without a hint of his wobbly accent, as he passed behind the reporter. “That is not my name!” A blanket was quickly draped over his head and he was thrown into a police van.

  “…is also being connected to problems at Chocolate Belt plantations all over the world, indicating that he may be involved in the chocolate crisis itself.”

  Dodgy Dave appeared briefly on-screen next, a big burst of pink bubble gum coming out of his mouth. The thought of both Gari and Dodgy Dave being locked up in something less comfortable than a mesh cage filled Jelly with delight—they deserved it, if they had tried to destroy all the chocolate in the world!