Your Last Rolo By SJI Holliday
Maureen was in love with chocolate. Obsessed with it. The creamy, silky smoothness of a Galaxy was enough to satisfy her in more ways than a man ever could. For fun, there were Smarties or M&Ms, with their coloured shells and satisfying crunch; and for hunger pangs there was always the fulfilment of a Snickers or a Mars. For as long as she could remember, chocolate was the only thing that made her happy.
She was browsing the internet one lunch-time, savouring the velvety crunch of her Maltesers, when her friend Alice plonked herself down in the seat beside her.
‘Right Maureen,’ she said. Maureen jumped, hammering on the escape key to close down the Hotel du Choc website that filled the screen. She turned to face Alice’s frown and felt her cheeks grow hot.
‘Wh..what?’ Maureen said, knowing what was coming.
Alice sighed. ‘We’re worried about you, Maureen,’ she said. ‘You’re−’
Maureen shook her head. ‘Don’t say it, Alice.’ Alice opened her mouth and closed it again like a goldfish and marched off. Maureen knew that Alice wanted her to go out with the girls, but all Maureen ever wanted to do was stay in with her boxes of 2-for-1 Milk Tray.
She opened her browser again and continued gazing at the Hotel du Choc; Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory for grown-ups. She was about to click on the booking link, when a pop-up window slid across the screen obscuring her view. Maureen tutted and tried to close it down, but the purple box began to shake. Slowly, words began to reveal themselves. The font was white and curly and made her think of Cadbury’s.
DO YOU LOVE CHOCOLATE?
Maureen felt herself nodding, mesmerised by the purple box that had elongated itself into the dimensions of a Dairy Milk Chunky; her absolute favourite.
IS CHOCOLATE YOUR LIFE?
Maureen was still nodding; she was salivating, itching to go to the vending machine.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE PART IN A CHOCOLATE STUDY?
ALL EXPENSES PAID
TIMES AND DATES AT YOUR CONVENIENCE
Maureen waited but nothing else appeared. Finally, a small white question mark blinked. She clicked it, then the whole purple box vanished and her browser shut down, leaving an error message.
‘Dammit!’ She tried to open it back up, but nothing happened. This was not good. She was about to pick up the phone to call IT Services, when it rang, startling her. There was no number on the caller ID.
She frowned. ‘Hello, Maureen McKay speaking,’ she said, trying to disguise her fluster with her professional telephone voice.
‘Hello Maureen,’ said a deep male voice that she didn’t recognise. ‘I believe you are interested in the Chocolate Study?’
Maureen waited for a moment before replying: ‘How did you get my number?’
‘From your IP Address,’ he said. ‘Your browser crashed and sent us a message.’
Did it? Thought Maureen. She didn’t know enough about the ins and outs of computers to argue, and there was something soothing about the man’s voice that made her want to listen to him. If chocolate came in voice form, this man’s was it.
‘I’m going to email you the address,’ he continued. ‘Come along when you’re ready.’
‘How long will it take?’ Maureen blurted. ‘I mean, will I need time off work?’
The chocolaty voice chuckled, bubbly like an Aero. ‘That’s up to you, Maureen,’ he said.
A flashing envelope popped up on her screen telling her she had new email. All it contained was an address in London. She made a snap decision; after a quick email to her boss saying she needed a couple of days off for personal reasons, she picked up her coat and bag and ran out the door, ignoring the calls of concern from Alice and the other busybodies that sat nearby. Anywhere that was going to let her try out new chocolate had to be visited immediately!
The address was a regency villa with grand white pillars and a brass plaque on the door. A heavy wooden door stood open and the glass internal door clicked open with a buzz as she approached. She was faced with a smiling receptionist rooted behind a grand oak desk.
‘Can I help you?’ she said, all tan and teeth.
‘I’ve come about the, um, the chocolate study?’ Maureen said, suddenly feeling embarrassed and hoping it wasn’t some kind of practical joke. She should’ve asked the man on the phone more questions.
‘Ah, you’re one of Dr Christie’s?’ the receptionist said, her smile threatening to split the sides of her mouth. She handed Maureen a clipboard with a pen dangling by a string. ‘Please fill this in and someone will be with you shortly.’
Maureen took the clipboard and sat down on the leather couch. The questions were the usual name and address, followed by medical stuff. Odd - nothing about chocolate. Maureen frowned. ‘Are you sure this is the right form?’ she said, just as a woman in a white coat and trousers appeared, asking if she was ready. Puzzled, Maureen followed her through a door and as they walked past room after room, with a letter-box on each, she began to feel a prickling of unease. ‘What is this place?’ she said. ‘I thought I was coming to try a new type of chocolate or something?’
The woman stopped outside one of the rooms and gestured for Maureen inside. ‘This is you,’ she said, ‘if you could get undressed down to your underwear, the doctor will be with you shortly.’
‘Undressed?’ said Maureen, ‘what for?’ But the woman had already left, closing the door behind her. Maureen ran to the door and found no handle. ‘Wait! Wait!’ she said, but no one answered. She heard the noise of running water and turned to survey the room. In one corner of was a silver tank, it went from the floor to well past her head and it was from inside there that she could hear the running water. A steam bath? There had clearly been some terrible mistake, but until the doctor turned up, there was nothing she could do. She turned back to the letter-box and flipped it open.
‘Hello?’ she shouted. ‘Is anyone there? There’s been a mistake.’
Silence.
‘Hello?’ she tried again.
Eventually a voice came from somewhere further down the corridor. ‘Just do what they say… you’ll get out quicker−’
‘Don’t bank on it,’ another voice cut in.
‘Shut up, Fag Ash Lil!’ the first voice replied.
‘Surprised you’re awake, Polly Pot Head!’ said the other.
‘What you in for, new girl?’ came the first voice.
Maureen’s voice came out as a whimper: ‘I came here for a chocolate study...’
Laughter rippled along the corridor and she had no idea why. She turned back towards the tank. The water had stopped running now and a small door at the front had popped open. Petrified, but curious, she peered inside at a glass vat filled with something that looked like soft mud, but that smelled vaguely like hot chocolate, with a faint undertone she couldn’t quite place. Soft music began to play. ‘Come in…’ it seemed to say.
She stripped off and climbed in to the warm, chocolaty bliss. As the liquid began to rise higher and higher in the vat, a hypnotic voice began to chant over and over again:
SUCCUMB
CONSUME
DESIRE
Maureen drifted off and felt herself sinking lower and lower into the vat. Liquid began to flow into her mouth and she had to kick her legs to keep her head above it. It didn’t taste right. It was bitter, with a smoky smell. She kept spitting it out but it was getting harder to stay afloat. ‘Help!’ she cried, ‘HELP!’
A voice came from down the corridor: ‘What’s your chocolate taste like then?’
Maureen spat more of it out and finally it came to her. ‘Cigarettes,’ she yelled. ‘It tastes like cigarettes!’
‘Lucky you,’ said the voice. ‘I’m in a vat full of fag butts that taste like Fruit ‘n’ flamin’ Nut!’
Maureen kicked at the sides of the vat, trying to push herself up, but she only succeeded in sinking further until her head was almost submerged. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No!’ Her voice burbled from inside the sea of chocolate that threatened to drown her. She thrust her head up and shouted as loud as she could: ‘I HATE CHOCOLATE! I PROMISE I’LL NEVER EAT IT AGAIN, PLEASE LET ME OUT!’
Just as she began to sink, the liquid began to drain rapidly until finally she found herself sitting on the base of the vat with the chocolate barely covering her ankles. She sobbed and spat until she had it all out of her mouth. Her stomach lurched with fear and nausea. She rubbed it out of her eyes and peered out of the chocolate smeared vat to find a man with a white coat standing smiling at her.
‘Well done, Maureen,’ he said. ‘You’re our quickest success yet.’
Copyright SJI Holliday 2012
She was browsing the internet one lunch-time, savouring the velvety crunch of her Maltesers, when her friend Alice plonked herself down in the seat beside her.
‘Right Maureen,’ she said. Maureen jumped, hammering on the escape key to close down the Hotel du Choc website that filled the screen. She turned to face Alice’s frown and felt her cheeks grow hot.
‘Wh..what?’ Maureen said, knowing what was coming.
Alice sighed. ‘We’re worried about you, Maureen,’ she said. ‘You’re−’
Maureen shook her head. ‘Don’t say it, Alice.’ Alice opened her mouth and closed it again like a goldfish and marched off. Maureen knew that Alice wanted her to go out with the girls, but all Maureen ever wanted to do was stay in with her boxes of 2-for-1 Milk Tray.
She opened her browser again and continued gazing at the Hotel du Choc; Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory for grown-ups. She was about to click on the booking link, when a pop-up window slid across the screen obscuring her view. Maureen tutted and tried to close it down, but the purple box began to shake. Slowly, words began to reveal themselves. The font was white and curly and made her think of Cadbury’s.
DO YOU LOVE CHOCOLATE?
Maureen felt herself nodding, mesmerised by the purple box that had elongated itself into the dimensions of a Dairy Milk Chunky; her absolute favourite.
IS CHOCOLATE YOUR LIFE?
Maureen was still nodding; she was salivating, itching to go to the vending machine.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE PART IN A CHOCOLATE STUDY?
ALL EXPENSES PAID
TIMES AND DATES AT YOUR CONVENIENCE
Maureen waited but nothing else appeared. Finally, a small white question mark blinked. She clicked it, then the whole purple box vanished and her browser shut down, leaving an error message.
‘Dammit!’ She tried to open it back up, but nothing happened. This was not good. She was about to pick up the phone to call IT Services, when it rang, startling her. There was no number on the caller ID.
She frowned. ‘Hello, Maureen McKay speaking,’ she said, trying to disguise her fluster with her professional telephone voice.
‘Hello Maureen,’ said a deep male voice that she didn’t recognise. ‘I believe you are interested in the Chocolate Study?’
Maureen waited for a moment before replying: ‘How did you get my number?’
‘From your IP Address,’ he said. ‘Your browser crashed and sent us a message.’
Did it? Thought Maureen. She didn’t know enough about the ins and outs of computers to argue, and there was something soothing about the man’s voice that made her want to listen to him. If chocolate came in voice form, this man’s was it.
‘I’m going to email you the address,’ he continued. ‘Come along when you’re ready.’
‘How long will it take?’ Maureen blurted. ‘I mean, will I need time off work?’
The chocolaty voice chuckled, bubbly like an Aero. ‘That’s up to you, Maureen,’ he said.
A flashing envelope popped up on her screen telling her she had new email. All it contained was an address in London. She made a snap decision; after a quick email to her boss saying she needed a couple of days off for personal reasons, she picked up her coat and bag and ran out the door, ignoring the calls of concern from Alice and the other busybodies that sat nearby. Anywhere that was going to let her try out new chocolate had to be visited immediately!
The address was a regency villa with grand white pillars and a brass plaque on the door. A heavy wooden door stood open and the glass internal door clicked open with a buzz as she approached. She was faced with a smiling receptionist rooted behind a grand oak desk.
‘Can I help you?’ she said, all tan and teeth.
‘I’ve come about the, um, the chocolate study?’ Maureen said, suddenly feeling embarrassed and hoping it wasn’t some kind of practical joke. She should’ve asked the man on the phone more questions.
‘Ah, you’re one of Dr Christie’s?’ the receptionist said, her smile threatening to split the sides of her mouth. She handed Maureen a clipboard with a pen dangling by a string. ‘Please fill this in and someone will be with you shortly.’
Maureen took the clipboard and sat down on the leather couch. The questions were the usual name and address, followed by medical stuff. Odd - nothing about chocolate. Maureen frowned. ‘Are you sure this is the right form?’ she said, just as a woman in a white coat and trousers appeared, asking if she was ready. Puzzled, Maureen followed her through a door and as they walked past room after room, with a letter-box on each, she began to feel a prickling of unease. ‘What is this place?’ she said. ‘I thought I was coming to try a new type of chocolate or something?’
The woman stopped outside one of the rooms and gestured for Maureen inside. ‘This is you,’ she said, ‘if you could get undressed down to your underwear, the doctor will be with you shortly.’
‘Undressed?’ said Maureen, ‘what for?’ But the woman had already left, closing the door behind her. Maureen ran to the door and found no handle. ‘Wait! Wait!’ she said, but no one answered. She heard the noise of running water and turned to survey the room. In one corner of was a silver tank, it went from the floor to well past her head and it was from inside there that she could hear the running water. A steam bath? There had clearly been some terrible mistake, but until the doctor turned up, there was nothing she could do. She turned back to the letter-box and flipped it open.
‘Hello?’ she shouted. ‘Is anyone there? There’s been a mistake.’
Silence.
‘Hello?’ she tried again.
Eventually a voice came from somewhere further down the corridor. ‘Just do what they say… you’ll get out quicker−’
‘Don’t bank on it,’ another voice cut in.
‘Shut up, Fag Ash Lil!’ the first voice replied.
‘Surprised you’re awake, Polly Pot Head!’ said the other.
‘What you in for, new girl?’ came the first voice.
Maureen’s voice came out as a whimper: ‘I came here for a chocolate study...’
Laughter rippled along the corridor and she had no idea why. She turned back towards the tank. The water had stopped running now and a small door at the front had popped open. Petrified, but curious, she peered inside at a glass vat filled with something that looked like soft mud, but that smelled vaguely like hot chocolate, with a faint undertone she couldn’t quite place. Soft music began to play. ‘Come in…’ it seemed to say.
She stripped off and climbed in to the warm, chocolaty bliss. As the liquid began to rise higher and higher in the vat, a hypnotic voice began to chant over and over again:
SUCCUMB
CONSUME
DESIRE
Maureen drifted off and felt herself sinking lower and lower into the vat. Liquid began to flow into her mouth and she had to kick her legs to keep her head above it. It didn’t taste right. It was bitter, with a smoky smell. She kept spitting it out but it was getting harder to stay afloat. ‘Help!’ she cried, ‘HELP!’
A voice came from down the corridor: ‘What’s your chocolate taste like then?’
Maureen spat more of it out and finally it came to her. ‘Cigarettes,’ she yelled. ‘It tastes like cigarettes!’
‘Lucky you,’ said the voice. ‘I’m in a vat full of fag butts that taste like Fruit ‘n’ flamin’ Nut!’
Maureen kicked at the sides of the vat, trying to push herself up, but she only succeeded in sinking further until her head was almost submerged. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No!’ Her voice burbled from inside the sea of chocolate that threatened to drown her. She thrust her head up and shouted as loud as she could: ‘I HATE CHOCOLATE! I PROMISE I’LL NEVER EAT IT AGAIN, PLEASE LET ME OUT!’
Just as she began to sink, the liquid began to drain rapidly until finally she found herself sitting on the base of the vat with the chocolate barely covering her ankles. She sobbed and spat until she had it all out of her mouth. Her stomach lurched with fear and nausea. She rubbed it out of her eyes and peered out of the chocolate smeared vat to find a man with a white coat standing smiling at her.
‘Well done, Maureen,’ he said. ‘You’re our quickest success yet.’
Copyright SJI Holliday 2012