Love Chocolate?
by Cally Phillips
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: None.
Description: All because the lady loves (the right kind of) chocolate.
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Beginning
Once upon a time there lived a handsome prince called Kevin. I know what you’re thinking. Kevin? What handsome prince was ever called Kevin? Well, this one is. Because this isn’t your run of the mill fairy story. So just live with it will you?
Kevin was a handsome prince, although to you and me he was probably just an ordinary looking fourteen year old boy (with a few spots which he thinks are from eating too much chocolate and chips) and he wants to win the hand of a beautiful princess.
‘Don’t be daft,’ Kevin says. ‘I don’t want to win anything. I just want her to go out with me. She’s lush.’
You see what I said, this isn’t any normal fairy story. Have you heard of magic realism? It’s when a sort of everyday story is given a kind of fantastical makeover. Well this might be the sort of opposite of that. There isn’t a name for that kind of story because people don’t usually write that kind of story. But that’s what’s coming out of my head so that’s the kind of story we’re stuck with.
The beautiful princess was called Aileen.
‘Come on,’ says Kevin, ‘no one is going to keep reading this story if you don’t cut out the handsome prince and princess thing. They’re not going to buy it. Get real.’
It’s a bit disconcerting for a writer when the characters start pushing him (or her) around, but if you speak to a lot of writers (I wouldn’t advise that) you’ll find it happens a lot more than you might think. I’m not going to fight it. I’m going to let Kevin have his head. After all, it is his story.
Kevin pulls his trousers down to just the appropriate length before he goes in for the kill. He’s been polishing his lines all morning.
‘Hi,’ he says.
Nice one Kevin. That’ll do the job.
He’s giving me a dirty look by the way. He’s not happy about being narrated. Tough, Kevin, you have to put up with it. You’re in a story so you have a narrator. This isn’t a first person narrative by the way so we’re just going to have to compromise. For the greater good of the story. Okay?
Kevin gives me a shrug which seems to say ‘as long as I get the girl I don’t care.’
I point out to him that traditionally if he’s going to get the girl it won’t be till the end of the story.
He asks me if we can’t do something about that. I think.
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘If you stop bullying me and do what I tell you.’
He looks shocked. Kevin’s not used to doing what he’s told. Then he looks at Aileen again. She is lush. It might be worth it.
‘Trust me Kevin,’ I say. ‘Stick with me and I’ll get you and the girl together as soon as it’s humanly possible.’
‘Okay,’ he says, though I’m not sure he’s completely convinced.
Now, where were we?
‘Hi,’ says Kevin.
‘Hi, replies Aileen.
It’s a good start. It’s the only start we’ve got. It’s taken weeks to get this far. Kevin even had a shower and a shave this morning. He doesn’t need to shave but he didn’t feel he could put on his David Beckham aftershave unless he gave it a go with his David Beckham sponsored razor blade . Aileen may have noticed. It’s hard to tell. But at least he doesn’t smell like a boy’s locker room, that’s got to be a bonus point. He doesn’t look a lot like David Beckham. That may count against him. Or not. Not all girls like David Beckham. Not all girls are hung up on looks. We’d better hope that Aileen has hidden depths.
‘Come on,’ says Kevin. ‘I’m standing here looking like a right prick. You’re a writer, get on with the story and give me something good to say.’
‘Now, now Kevin,’ I say, ‘you’ve got to put some effort in too. I’m not going to do it all for you. This isn’t a version of Cyrano de Bergerac.’
He gives me an odd look. Something short of quizzical. It might be pity. He can’t even be bothered to ask.
‘Here, I got you this,’ he says and thrusts a bar of chocolate at Aileen. He’d been saving it for himself for the bus on the way back home – he thought it might cheer him up when she turned him down, but following my advice he’s decided to go all out. Give her a gift. Show her she’s special. Nothing says you care like chocolate right? Normally a box, I’ll grant you, but what fourteen year old boy can put his hands on a box of chocolates at a moment’s notice. So a bar it is.
‘I don’t want it, you’re thoughtless,’ Aileen replies.
That surprises Kevin. It surprises me actually. She may look like a princess but she seems somewhat callous, dare I say even rude in her interaction with the opposite sex. Poor Kevin.
‘I can’t take this,’ she adds.
‘But I got it specially for you,’ Kevin says. It’s not strictly true but he feels like he has to say something. He’s beginning to wish he’d just got his mate Dillon to take the traditional approach: you know, the ‘my friend wants to go out with you’ one, and I feel a bit guilty because if I wasn’t writing his story and he was just living his life without me, I’m sure that’s what they would have done. Now here I am stuck with a couple of recalcitrant teenage characters who appear to want to take over the story and they’re making it more difficult for me than I anticipated.
Kevin isn’t going to let me off the hook that easily either.
‘You said give her a gift,’ he whispers at me. ‘Girls are supposed to like chocolate. What’s wrong with her?’
‘Maybe she’s got body image issues,’ I say. I don’t feel particularly well disposed towards princess Aileen I can tell you.
Kevin is ahead of me already. Unfortunately he has this bad teenage habit of not engaging his brain before he opens his mouth. That’s why he should be doing better with me in tow. But only, if as I asked him, he listened to me first. Of course given her response so far, I’m not entirely surprised he seems to have lost the faith.
‘You’re not fat,’ he says. ‘I didn’t think you were…’
Her face is enough to tell him he hasn’t come up with the right words. Not any of them. Not even in the wrong order. Nothing in his sentence and a half is right. This is going quickly down the toilet isn’t it?
‘You’re stupid as well as thoughtless,’ Aileen replies.
Ouch. That hurts. And Kevin, from somewhere, finds some self esteem. Instinctively he pulls up his trousers. It’s like a primeval reaction against attack and of course leaves him looking a lot more ‘normal’ but a lot less ‘cool’ than he thought he was. But he’s fourteen. He may fancy the pants of f this girl, but she’s not giving much back, is she. There’s plenty more fish in the sea and he’s not going to embarrass himself any further. He’s had enough.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he says. ‘It’s a gift. You like chocolate don’t you? Everyone likes chocolate. I’m doing something nice here…’
He peters out. It’s a habit he has. It shows he’s not that confident in himself. Even though he wears his trousers so his designer boxer shorts show and is constantly hidden in a hoodie, he’s still just a kid. You’ve got to feel for him. I do.
And it seems Aileen is about to relent too.
‘Of course I like chocolate,’ she says.
Zing. Bam. Result. She may even have smiled a bit. But wait, she’s not finished.
‘But do you know where this chocolate came from?’
‘The supermarket,’ Kevin replies. Girls. Why do they have to ask such stupid questions?
‘I don’t mean that,’ says Aileen.
There is a moment’s pause. I think about intervening, but Aileen looks quite able to handle herself and at this point she may have more motivation than me to move the story on. Of course only she knows whether she fancies Kevin. I can’t judge. I’m just the narrator. The facilitator.
‘Do you know that this chocolate was probably made using child labour,’ she says.
‘What?’ says Kevin. Baffled. Me too Kevin.
‘Young children, sold as slaves worked to make this, she says. ‘I can’t eat that.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ says Kevin.
‘How come I’m the bad guy here?’ he asks me. ‘I’m only trying to be nice. Sort it for me will you?’
‘Look Kevin,’ I say, ‘to an extent you’re in this on your own. That was your choice.’
‘Thanks for nothing,’ he says.
‘I just wanted you to go out with me,’ he says to Aileen.
‘You and your stupid ideas,’ he chides me.
‘Seems like the handsome prince has made a blunder with the beautiful princess,’ I say. I can’t help myself.
‘Hey,’ he says, ‘if I’m in this on my own, you keep out of it. You can’t have it all ways.
I don’t like to tell him that in point of fact I probably can have it all ways since I’m the creator of the story and he’s just the character, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to be very receptive to that. And maybe I should cut him a bit of slack after all. He didn’t choose to be born. And if I’d written him as a handsome fellow…
Hey… while I’ve been reflecting something’s happened. Aileen’s taken Kevin by the hand. She doesn’t know I exist after all. She’s living it for real.
‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ she says.
‘Maybe I was wrong Kevin,’ I say, ‘looks like she is interested in you.’
‘Would you just shove off, he says. ‘I don’t need your help.
Of course he does, but he’s a teenager so I try not to take it to heart.
‘Yes, get lost will you,’ Aileen says. I thought she didn’t know I was here. She’s smarter than the average character. Seems like they are ganging up on me. I hate it when that happens. One character being difficult is enough but this story only has two characters so far and if they both won’t do what I ask it puts me as we say in Scotland ‘on a very shoogly peg.’
‘This isn’t a fairy story. It’s real life,’ Aileen adds.
And I swear she flicks her long blonde princess hair and clutches Kevin’s hand just that little bit tighter, and smiles at him. I’m doing him a favour after all, you see. They are combined in their distrust of me. They will go off into the distance hand in hand like the Startrite kids in the adverts from my childhood. Maybe those were the characters in my mind in the first place when I started writing this. Who’s to say? It was the muse what did it.
‘Where are we going?’ Kevin asks, and I can tell he’s hoping it’s behind the bike shed.
‘Africa,’ Aileen replies.
‘Hey, now. Back up the truck,’ I say. ‘I thought you said this was real. How are you getting to Africa?’
And Aileen, pretty princess Aileen looks me right in the eye and says, ‘we won’t be needing you any more. This is our story.’
‘Hey, thanks,’ Kevin whispers to me.
‘What for?’ I say.
‘Well, you said I’d get the girl before the end of the story,’ he says. ‘Smart work.’
And that’s it. I’m out of their story and they are on their way (fictionally you understand) to Africa. Because remember, they are just characters even if everything they are about to experience is true.
I’m beginning to have a bit of sympathy with God. I mean. I made them and they are not in the slightest bit grateful. Well, okay, Kevin did say thanks, but I can tell he’s just pleased to have ‘got a result.’ That’s teenagers for you. I’m out of this. They can sort themselves out from this point.
Middle
‘Where are we going?’ says Kevin
‘Africa’ says Aileen.
‘Wicked,’ says Kevin, ‘this is better than blind date.’
He’s brought crashing back to earth (I knew it wouldn’t take long.)
‘It’s not a date, Kevin,’ Aileen replies, ‘it’s to show you why you won’t get a date with me.’
‘Oh,’ says Kevin. And I can tell he’s wishing he’d not dismissed my help so quickly. I think I’ll tag along. I could be of some use to him, to both of them, maybe, somewhere down the line.
Next thing we know, here are Kevin and Aileen in the Ivory Coast. Don’t ask me how they got there, it’s not my story as they so forthrightly told me, remember. The Ivory Coast is one of the largest producers of cocoa. That’s the plant that chocolate comes from.
‘Are you still here?’ Aileen asks.
‘Well…’ I say.
‘Look,’ she says. ‘You can tag along as long as you stick to your role.’
‘Which is?’ I ask. That’s even more unsettling. I’m asking my character what my part in her story is. That’s not right is it? Not even in magical realism. And this isn’t magical realism. Is it? I’m certainly not in control. That’s for sure.
‘Your role is information. Not fantasy. Fact,’ she replies.
Yes, she’s right. I’m the glue that holds the dialogue together. Without which this story would be a play. And you are readers not watching TV so I do have a role here. Descriptive prose. It’s not always been my strong suit. But I don’t have a lot of choice now, do I? Princess Aileen has staged a coup. I’ll give it my best shot. I feel like I owe it to Kevin. I’m still not sure how his story is going to end and I don’t think I’ve lived up to my promise to him yet that he’ll ‘get the girl.’
‘So here we are at a cocoa plantation,’ I say. ‘They produce chocolate for Big Company.’
Aileen gives me an old fashioned look.
‘I’m not doing product placement,’ I say. ‘I’m not an advertising copywriter. I’m…’ well it doesn’t seem worth going into the kind of writer I think I am.
‘They grow what are called bulk cocoa beans,’ I add. Back on track.
‘That’s the lowest quality,’ Aileen tells Kevin. She seems to know everything that girl. No wonder she’s not bothered about having me along.
Kevin takes the chocolate bar he offered her at the beginning and has a close look at it.
‘Wait a minute,’ he says, ‘this was really expensive, so it must have been better quality than was produced here.’
‘No, here it is, on the label,’ Aileen points it out to him, ‘produced by’ she gives me a snidey look, ‘Big Company Chocolate.’
‘Of course that’s not their real name,’ she tells Kevin, ‘but I don’t want to get sued.’
He doesn’t know what to say to that. I’m not putting words in his mouth. He’s on his own. Fortunately, Aileen isn’t short on words.
‘Believe me Kevin,’ she say, ‘this is where your chocolate comes from. This is where most mainstream chocolate comes from. ‘
‘I didn’t know that,’ Kevin says.
‘Ignorance is no excuse Kevin,’ Aileen says. ‘It won’t help Patrice here.’
‘Who?’ Kevin asks. He turns round as a small boy with a set of impossibly white teeth beaming out of his dark face, the colour of really good dark chocolate, tugs at his hoodie sleeve.
‘This is Patrice,’ Aileen says. ‘He works here.’
‘He’s too young,’ Kevin says. ‘He only looks about ten. He should be in school.’
Patrice smiles. I’m glad I gave him a big broad smile. But I don’t think he should be carrying that big machete. He’s far too young for that. I think I should take it off him.
He resists.
‘I need that for my job,’ he says to me, ‘give it back, please.’
He’s polite at least. And that smile. It melts your heart. Against my better judgement I give him back his machete.
‘Do you work on the cocoa plantation?’ Kevin asks Patrice.
‘Yes,’ Patrice beams back.
‘Cool,’ says Kevin. He harbours a secret dream of leaving school and getting a job. Earning some money. Being a man. But what job would he get at fourteen? Paper round? Not exactly the street cred he was looking for. Come to think of it, growing chocolate could be just the kind of job he is after… in his own mind. Like most fourteen year olds he hasn’t a clue what the world of work is like.
‘How much do they pay you?’ Kevin asks. He’s thinking if the money’s good enough he might just stay.
Patrice looks confused. ‘Pay me?’
‘Yes,’ Kevin says. ‘How much do you earn a week. After tax. Do you have to pay tax in the Ivory Coast?’
He’s running away with himself.
‘Tell him how you got here,’ Aileen says to Patrice.
‘I was sold by my uncle. My father was sick, my family had no money and they said that if I came to work here I could send money back to my family. But when I got here they told me there was no money. No wages. I must work here all the time and I cannot leave.’
His English is pretty good. I thought they spoke French in Cote D’Ivoire (to give the country its proper name.) But what do I know. It’s not my story any more is it?
‘Why don’t you just run away home?’ Kevin asks.
Patrice points at his machete.
‘If I leave they will use this on me,’ he says. He’s not smiling now. No one is smiling now. Not even you, I’m guessing.
‘That’s terrible,’ Kevin says. ‘I never knew.’ He blows his cheeks out. I’m guessing this is all a bit too real for him. I’m guessing he wishes he was back in my story now.
‘Still,’ Kevin says, trying to make the best of it, ‘It must have its perks.’
Patrice, and Aileen stare at him. Bemused.
‘Working with chocolate, I mean,’ Kevin says, ‘you must get to eat plenty.’
‘I’ve never tasted chocolate,’ Patrice says. I swear there’s a tear filling in his eye now about to plop down his cheek.
Sorry Aileen, am I wavering off towards melodrama? I’ll stick to the facts.
‘What?’ Kevin says. He’s shocked.
And without any help from me, not even to wipe a tear away, Patrice, who is actually only nine years old and four foot five in height, explains, ‘My job is to cut down the cocoa pods, take out the beans, put them in a banana leaf and then leave them. I don’t get to eat chocolate.’
‘And how long does it take?’ Kevin asks, ‘to make chocolate.’
He’s interested. He wants to know. He’s never like this in the classroom. His teachers would be… sorry, that’s all beside the point.
‘The beans ferment for a week and then they are dried in the sun for about ten days,’ Patrice says. ‘I have to turn them, daily. Then the beans are taken away and I see nothing more. I never taste chocolate. What is it like?
‘It’s sweet,’ Kevin says. ‘Very good. Here.’
He takes the chocolate out of his pocket and snaps a piece off.
Aileen doesn’t look too pleased.
‘Oh come on,’ Kevin says. ‘Don’t be tight. He’s never tasted the stuff, and he probably grew it.’
Aileen relents.
Kevin gives Patrice a couple of squares of chocolate and he puts it in his mouth. He tastes it. He is amazed.
‘What do you think Patrice?’ Kevin asks. ‘Good huh?’
Patrice nods.
‘See,’ Kevin says to Aileen, he’s not quite got over her earlier rebuff, ‘it’s perfectly good chocolate.’
‘I didn’t say there was anything wrong with the taste,’ she replies. ‘But look at him,’ she points to Patrice, ‘can you eat chocolate grown by slave labour?’
‘You’ve got a point,’ Kevin adds and gives Patrice the rest of the bar. ‘Here,’ he says, ‘this belongs to you really.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Patrice says, and, because he is only nine and no one has ever been this kind to him before, he does start to cry. He can’t help himself. But I want you to know that these are tears of happiness. In a way. But this is not a happy ending. It’s not even an ending.
Patrice finishes the chocolate. He licks his lips.
‘It was good,’ he says, ‘but I would rather be at home with my family, at school.’
He takes Aileen’s hand, ‘Can you help me?’ he asks.
And for the first time she looks at me.
‘Can we help him?’ she asks.
I shrug. ‘You set the rules,’ I tell her. ‘Reality you said, not fiction. This is reality.’
I confess I feel a bit mean. But if you let your adolescent characters run all over you, where will it end? I’ve got to show even princess Aileen that actions have consequences.
‘You got us into this,’ Kevin says, looking like he’s on my side for once. Maybe he thinks this is where he gets the girl, if he plays it my way. Maybe he doesn’t want the girl any more. He certainly looks like he’s gone off the idea of chocolate.
Aileen, lush, princess Aileen sniffles. Brushes away a tear. I swear she does. It’s not just me writing it. It’s true. She’s out of her depth. She knows it.
‘Patrice, I’m really sorry I can’t help you right now,’ she says, ‘but when I get home I promise I’ll do whatever I can to let people know about you and your situation.’
‘It’s a promise’ Kevin says. All it took was a girl to cry to turn him into the hero. You see. I could have got there much quicker if they’d let me keep control.
‘Okay,’ Patrice says. ‘Don’t forget me.’
‘I will never forget you, Patrice,’ says Kevin.
Aileen kisses Patrice and Kevin pats him on the head. And Patrice picks up his machete and goes back to work. Because that’s his reality. Our story hasn’t changed that.
Kevin and Aileen are left standing on the page.
‘Is there really nothing we can do?’ Kevin asks Aileen.
‘Of course there is something we can do,’ Aileen says. She stops short of saying ‘you idiot.’
‘But you said all chocolate is made by this Big Company. So do we have to stop everyone eating chocolate... I don’t think we can do that.’
Aileen takes Kevin by the hand and I think it’s going to be the ending now if not the end. We have to build up to the end you know. But this is the end of the middle and the beginning of the end. If you can follow me. Of course real life isn’t that simple. It has beginnings middles and ends all over the place. But this is a story. And a story needs an end. And this one has been going on long enough so it’s time to get to the end part.
Ending
‘Where are we going now?’ a baffled Kevin asks Aileen.
He should keep his mouth shut if you ask me, because at least she’s holding his hand. My job’s done isn’t it? Doesn’t that mean he’s ‘got the girl.’ I don’t want to be there when they go to the next stage. Some things are best left to the imagination.
But it’s not what I thought.
‘I’m going to show you a choice,’ Aileen says.
‘There’s a choice?’ Kevin asks.
‘There’s always a choice,’ I say. Ooops. Careful. Beginning to sound like a drink responsibly or just say no, or safe sex message. Time to back off. Give the kids some space to grow and develop their own ending, yeah?
Aileen is just ignoring me.
‘We’re off to Ghana now,’ she says.
I know better than to intervene with some smart-arse comment. I leave them to it.
‘Ghana produces some fine cocoa beans and the Good Company,’ she looks at me, ‘yes I know it’s not their real name,’ she says, ‘so sue me!’ Without breaking for breath she carries on telling Kevin, ‘the Good Company uses fine flavour cocoa beans which are much better than the ones Patrice is growing.’
‘Better beans and a better name, sounds… well… good,’ Kevin says. He’s as out of his depth as me.
‘Not all the chocolate in Ghana is produced by the Good Company. Many producers in Ghana sell to the Big Company,’ Aileen says.
‘Oh.’ Kevin is crushed. Will the bad news never end? When will he get the girl? And will he ever find chocolate he can eat?
‘They may not work as slaves but a cocoa farmer in Ghana may only earn £160 a year,’ Aileen says.
‘That’s a week?’ Kevin corrects her.
‘That’s a year,’ she says.
‘You’re joking,’ he says.
‘Do you think I do joking?’ she says. I’d say the tone is still withering.
‘No, not really,’ Kevin admits.
‘The cocoa markets are very volatile,’ Aileen says.
‘What does volatile mean?’ Kevin asks.
Beautiful and smart, I think. But I know better than to butt in by now. Aileen has this all sewn up.
‘The prices are fixed by the international markets and go up and down a lot. Which makes it very difficult for the producers to get a good price or to plan their harvests,’ she tells him.
‘What do markets have to do with it?’ Kevin asks. He’s feeling stupid. I can tell. I’m with him. I feel stupid too. I don’t know about cocoa markets. Do you?
‘Do you mean like farmers markets?’ he asks.
I’d say Aileen laughs. But she doesn’t. She’s pretty serious for a lush princess. Come to think of it, maybe she doesn’t even see herself as a lush princess. That’s a label we’ve put on her after all. Which wasn’t really our place to do was it?
‘No,’ she says. ‘Let me explain,’ and we both let out a sigh of relief. Go on then, Aileen. Explain it to us. Save me the job.
‘Most cocoa is sold on the “futures” market,’ she says. ‘It’s a kind of fictional market.’
Kevin looks at me, ‘should be right up your street,’ he says. Do I detect a ‘tone’ in that?
‘It’s like a fairy story,’ Aileen says. And looks at me. They’re ganging up on me again, I can sense it.
‘Seven to eight times more cocoa is bought and sold on the exchange than ever exists.’
‘How can that happen?’ Kevin asks. But she’s not finished.
‘Only about two to three per cent of futures contracts ever end up in the physical delivery of cocoa,’ she says.
‘That’s really confusing,’ Kevin says. ‘Can we stick to the real cocoa beans please?’
‘Do you want some facts and figures?’ I say. ‘ I think I can find some. Wait a minute. Okay. Here they are.’
He looks at me sideways. ‘No fiction,’ he says. ‘Just the facts.’
‘ These aren’t completely up to date of course,’ I say, ‘that could never be. Like Aileen said, it’s a volatile market. Changing all the time. But according to my sources’
‘You’re holding up the story,’ he says. I can’t blame him. He’s young. He wants to get it together with the girl. You remember what it was like don’t you? Well, you know if you want facts and figures you should really read them for yourself. I can show you the way. Take you to the chocolate but… why not follow this link http://bit.ly/U0DFQR and it’ll take you right there. Just don’t forget to come back. Or if you prefer a more linear narrative (in which case I apologise for all that’s gone before) you can wait and get the link at the end of the story. I’d rather you did that actually. We aren’t at the ending of our story yet. But it’s your choice. For once.
Aileen has meanwhile told Kevin just how little the cocoa producers get for their cocoa compared to how much he pays for a bar. It’s ridiculous. It really is. Daylight robbery you might say.
‘That’s totally unfair,’ Kevin says. ‘You must be making it up.’
‘I wish I was,’ she says. ‘There’s a huge production chain and everyone takes their cut,’ Aileen continues. I could have done that but she got in there first.
‘Couldn’t they pay the farmer properly?’ Kevin asks.
‘Of course they could,’ Aileen says. ‘But you know. Profit. The bottom line. The mighty dollar.’
They are stopped in their tracks by a tall, slender Ghanaian man. My guess is he’s come to tell them to get the hell off the plantation. But no, I’m wrong again. It’s becoming a bit of a habit.
‘Hi Philip,’ Aileen says. How come she knows him? She seems to have the line between character and writer blurred here. Oh my god. I’ve just had an awful thought. Maybe I’m a character in her story. Maybe she’s writing it all and she’s just written herself as a character to totally freak me out. I don’t want to think about it. Any more than I want to think about child slaves working to make the chocolate I love to eat.
Philip shakes Kevin’s hand.
‘This is Kevin,’ Aileen says, ‘he likes chocolate.’
‘Welcome to Ghana, Kevin,’ Philip says.
Another one with perfect English, I think. I may be sulking. If I am it’s Aileen who has written me into that state of mind. Never trust a teenager. Especially not one who looks and acts like a lush princess.
‘We wondered if you could explain to Kevin how you earn a living Philip?’
‘Surely,’ Philip replies. He seems like an affable chap. Like the kind of character I’d create. A nice guy. Gentle and open and honest and…
‘We produce the best cocoa in the world and it can attract a premium. But this isn’t enough to make sure we are paid properly. You know about the markets?’
‘A little,’ Kevin says, ‘but it’s a bit over my head really,’ he admits.
Philip smiles. ‘Well, a small farmer like me couldn’t possibly earn a living on this basis. But we are lucky. We have formed a co-operative. Do you know what a co-operative is?’
Kevin has done some history, ‘Unity through strength, strength in numbers,’ he says.
‘What?’ Aileen says.
‘Isn’t that right?’ Kevin asks. He feels stupid. He needn’t. I thought it was a good answer.
‘In a way,’ Philip replies.
See Aileen, you don’t know everything, I think. Or does she make me think that? Did she make me write that?
‘This is a Fair Trade co-operative,’ Philip says.
Kevin looks blank.
But here we are. They would call this the denouement in a more traditional story. The sharp end of the stick, shall we say. What we are really talking about. The point of the story. I hope.
‘Do you have any idea what he’s talking about? Aileen asks. That’s mean. It’s clear he doesn’t. Why’s she so down on him? Is it because she doesn’t like me? That’s not his fault.
‘Don’t worry, Philip says, ‘I can explain. Our co-operative sells the cocoa beans to the fair trade producer at a fair price.’
‘And you get a social premium, don’t you?’ Aileen asks. But she knows the answer already.
‘If he wasn’t part of the co-operative he’d have to sell at whatever price a producer would pay, and they might cheat him, or undervalue his cocoa,’ I say.
I can’t let her have it all her own way. If this story is about enlightening Kevin in the ways of fairtrade, I should have a say in the matter, don’t you think? I did the research after all.
Aileen gives me a look that clearly says – no one likes a smart arse.
Takes one to know one, I think to myself.
‘What’s a social premium?’ Kevin asks. And you might have been asking that too. In which case Kevin is acting as narrator to you and you need to wonder whether you are a character in this story as well. Nothing is fixed you know. Not since the death of the author. Narrative rules are made to be broken and all that.
‘Can we stick to the point,’ Kevin says. He’s getting frustrated. He wants answers. His blood sugar is probably low. He could probably do with some chocolate. Couldn’t we all? But that’s a moot point right now, isn’t it?
‘The social premium means we get paid extra per sack,’ Philip says. He ignores me, I’m not sure he even knows I exist actually, ‘and this money is used for the co-operative, for social projects, like paying for a school,’ he says. ‘So we are paid a fair price and we all benefit from the money we are paid. No one can be too greedy and everyone wins.’
I want to break out in a round of applause. I don’t.
‘So if you eat chocolate made by the Good Company, not only are you eating better quality chocolate…’Aileen begins.
‘Yes,’ I say, because there are some issues we still haven’t covered. ‘Good chocolate uses a much larger percentage of cocoa solids – up to 70 percent compared with Big Company’s 20 per cent.’
‘The cocoa beans are turned into butter and liquor and Good company doesn’t add any vegetable fat or artificial ingredients. You get real chocolate with Good.’ No, I don’t think he heard me. It’s okay. I’ve got all the character interaction I can handle with the others.
‘But you’re also making sure that the farmers and producers are being paid a reasonable wage,’ Aileen points out. ‘And everyone still gets their cut. No one’s losing out, really,’ she continues.
‘Is it much more expensive?’ Kevin asks.
And as if by magic, Aileen takes a bar of fair-trade chocolate out of her pocket and gives Kevin a chunk. She could have done that ages ago, I think. But it’s not my place to say. Kevin doesn’t seem to care. All he sees is the chocolate. He crams it into his mouth.
‘Wow. That’s really tasty,’ he says (with his mouth full. His manners are not the best.) ‘It must cost more than the other stuff…’
‘It all depends how price relates to your conscience,’ Aileen breaks in. ‘Good chocolate tastes better because it’s better chocolate, and because you don’t have to think about slave labour when you eat it. I’d say that’s worth paying a premium for.’
‘It’s not that much more expensive anyway, and if we all bought more of it, the price would go down,’ I point out. ‘The consumer has a big part to play in the whole thing.’
I want it to go down on record that I said this. It is my story after all. I should get some of the good lines.
Kevin is right up there with me. He’s a lot smarter than he looks. ‘And if we all bought only Fairly Traded chocolate then Patrice could have the same chance as Philip, couldn’t he?’ he says.
‘If we only bought Fair Trade chocolate Patrice would be back at home with his family, going to school and maybe even eating chocolate once in a while,’ I reply.
See, we don’t need Aileen. We’re fine on our own Kevin and me. And you of course. We need you there or we’re just talking to ourselves. You have a part to play here. You are a consumer. Of fiction. And probably of chocolate.
‘Then it’s clear, isn’t it?’ Kevin says to Aileen.
She nods her head. He takes it as a good sign.
‘Okay,’ he says, ‘I know we got off to a bad start and I know why you didn’t want to go out on a date with me. But I’d like to take you out when we get home. I’d like to take you somewhere that I can buy you a really good bar of Good Chocolate. Would that be okay?’
That’s my boy. I knew he could do it.
She smiles.
‘Of course,’ she says, ‘We could go to the pictures and share a bar?’
‘Yes. That’d be great,’ Kevin says, ‘but I’ll want to do more than that. I’ll want to tell everyone else to buy Good chocolate too.’
Yes. He’s lived up to all our expectations. Not bad for a hoodie who isn’t even old enough to shave yet, is it?
Aileen has to have the last word, of course. What else do you expect?
‘Well, next time you ask someone out, you can buy them the right kind of chocolate and spread the word,’ she says.
Kevin comes right back at her, ‘I’m not sure I’ll want to ask anyone else out,’ he says.
Sweet, Kevin. That’s got her lost for words. See. It looks like the handsome prince has won the hand of the fair princess after all. In my book that’s a happy ending.
Oops. I’ve gone too far again. Kevin and Aileen both give me a withering look.
‘ You writers are all the same,’ she says.
I don’t know what she means. I don’t think I want to know what she means. It’s clearly not true. Writers are individuals. We’re all unique. Surely.
‘Forget the story will you?’ she says. ‘This is about finding ways to tell people about Fairly traded chocolate and how good it is. Not about a story.’
Kevin agrees with her. Well, he has to really, doesn’t he. Now he’s got his girl.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘We have to inform people properly, so they can make the right choice. I know what we could do.’
‘What?’ says Aileen. That may be the first real question she’s asked in this story. It may be the first real question she’s ever asked. I still can’t warm to her. I’m glad Kevin’s got what he wants and I know she’s got the right idea about fairtrade but there’s still something. Maybe it’s the blonde hair.
‘Maybe you’re jealous,’ she says. And that’s totally unfair. She can’t have me write that. Not in my own story.
‘We could tell everyone the story of fairtrade chocolate,’ Kevin says.
‘I think we just did,’ I say.
He looks at me. Is that pity again. ‘Yeah, but like, in a real way,’ he says. ‘Not all this fictional stuff.’
‘And,’ Aileen says because she really does want to have the last word. ‘We could
invite everyone to try some Fair Trade Chocolate for themselves. It tastes good, and it does good. It’s good all round.’
And they all lived happily ever after.
Well, they probably didn’t, first love rarely works out does it? But you know what I mean. I’m the writer. I should have the last word. But really, you, the reader have the last word. You are the one who turns the action of the story into a consequence. So do it. Next time you buy chocolate, make sure it’s got the fairtrade mark on it. More and more chocolate does you know, and if you, the reader become you the consumer then we can all eat better chocolate and help the likes of Patrice and Philip. Because they aren’t just characters in a story. They are real people. Just like you. And me.
Swearwords: None.
Description: All because the lady loves (the right kind of) chocolate.
_____________________________________________________________________
Beginning
Once upon a time there lived a handsome prince called Kevin. I know what you’re thinking. Kevin? What handsome prince was ever called Kevin? Well, this one is. Because this isn’t your run of the mill fairy story. So just live with it will you?
Kevin was a handsome prince, although to you and me he was probably just an ordinary looking fourteen year old boy (with a few spots which he thinks are from eating too much chocolate and chips) and he wants to win the hand of a beautiful princess.
‘Don’t be daft,’ Kevin says. ‘I don’t want to win anything. I just want her to go out with me. She’s lush.’
You see what I said, this isn’t any normal fairy story. Have you heard of magic realism? It’s when a sort of everyday story is given a kind of fantastical makeover. Well this might be the sort of opposite of that. There isn’t a name for that kind of story because people don’t usually write that kind of story. But that’s what’s coming out of my head so that’s the kind of story we’re stuck with.
The beautiful princess was called Aileen.
‘Come on,’ says Kevin, ‘no one is going to keep reading this story if you don’t cut out the handsome prince and princess thing. They’re not going to buy it. Get real.’
It’s a bit disconcerting for a writer when the characters start pushing him (or her) around, but if you speak to a lot of writers (I wouldn’t advise that) you’ll find it happens a lot more than you might think. I’m not going to fight it. I’m going to let Kevin have his head. After all, it is his story.
Kevin pulls his trousers down to just the appropriate length before he goes in for the kill. He’s been polishing his lines all morning.
‘Hi,’ he says.
Nice one Kevin. That’ll do the job.
He’s giving me a dirty look by the way. He’s not happy about being narrated. Tough, Kevin, you have to put up with it. You’re in a story so you have a narrator. This isn’t a first person narrative by the way so we’re just going to have to compromise. For the greater good of the story. Okay?
Kevin gives me a shrug which seems to say ‘as long as I get the girl I don’t care.’
I point out to him that traditionally if he’s going to get the girl it won’t be till the end of the story.
He asks me if we can’t do something about that. I think.
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘If you stop bullying me and do what I tell you.’
He looks shocked. Kevin’s not used to doing what he’s told. Then he looks at Aileen again. She is lush. It might be worth it.
‘Trust me Kevin,’ I say. ‘Stick with me and I’ll get you and the girl together as soon as it’s humanly possible.’
‘Okay,’ he says, though I’m not sure he’s completely convinced.
Now, where were we?
‘Hi,’ says Kevin.
‘Hi, replies Aileen.
It’s a good start. It’s the only start we’ve got. It’s taken weeks to get this far. Kevin even had a shower and a shave this morning. He doesn’t need to shave but he didn’t feel he could put on his David Beckham aftershave unless he gave it a go with his David Beckham sponsored razor blade . Aileen may have noticed. It’s hard to tell. But at least he doesn’t smell like a boy’s locker room, that’s got to be a bonus point. He doesn’t look a lot like David Beckham. That may count against him. Or not. Not all girls like David Beckham. Not all girls are hung up on looks. We’d better hope that Aileen has hidden depths.
‘Come on,’ says Kevin. ‘I’m standing here looking like a right prick. You’re a writer, get on with the story and give me something good to say.’
‘Now, now Kevin,’ I say, ‘you’ve got to put some effort in too. I’m not going to do it all for you. This isn’t a version of Cyrano de Bergerac.’
He gives me an odd look. Something short of quizzical. It might be pity. He can’t even be bothered to ask.
‘Here, I got you this,’ he says and thrusts a bar of chocolate at Aileen. He’d been saving it for himself for the bus on the way back home – he thought it might cheer him up when she turned him down, but following my advice he’s decided to go all out. Give her a gift. Show her she’s special. Nothing says you care like chocolate right? Normally a box, I’ll grant you, but what fourteen year old boy can put his hands on a box of chocolates at a moment’s notice. So a bar it is.
‘I don’t want it, you’re thoughtless,’ Aileen replies.
That surprises Kevin. It surprises me actually. She may look like a princess but she seems somewhat callous, dare I say even rude in her interaction with the opposite sex. Poor Kevin.
‘I can’t take this,’ she adds.
‘But I got it specially for you,’ Kevin says. It’s not strictly true but he feels like he has to say something. He’s beginning to wish he’d just got his mate Dillon to take the traditional approach: you know, the ‘my friend wants to go out with you’ one, and I feel a bit guilty because if I wasn’t writing his story and he was just living his life without me, I’m sure that’s what they would have done. Now here I am stuck with a couple of recalcitrant teenage characters who appear to want to take over the story and they’re making it more difficult for me than I anticipated.
Kevin isn’t going to let me off the hook that easily either.
‘You said give her a gift,’ he whispers at me. ‘Girls are supposed to like chocolate. What’s wrong with her?’
‘Maybe she’s got body image issues,’ I say. I don’t feel particularly well disposed towards princess Aileen I can tell you.
Kevin is ahead of me already. Unfortunately he has this bad teenage habit of not engaging his brain before he opens his mouth. That’s why he should be doing better with me in tow. But only, if as I asked him, he listened to me first. Of course given her response so far, I’m not entirely surprised he seems to have lost the faith.
‘You’re not fat,’ he says. ‘I didn’t think you were…’
Her face is enough to tell him he hasn’t come up with the right words. Not any of them. Not even in the wrong order. Nothing in his sentence and a half is right. This is going quickly down the toilet isn’t it?
‘You’re stupid as well as thoughtless,’ Aileen replies.
Ouch. That hurts. And Kevin, from somewhere, finds some self esteem. Instinctively he pulls up his trousers. It’s like a primeval reaction against attack and of course leaves him looking a lot more ‘normal’ but a lot less ‘cool’ than he thought he was. But he’s fourteen. He may fancy the pants of f this girl, but she’s not giving much back, is she. There’s plenty more fish in the sea and he’s not going to embarrass himself any further. He’s had enough.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he says. ‘It’s a gift. You like chocolate don’t you? Everyone likes chocolate. I’m doing something nice here…’
He peters out. It’s a habit he has. It shows he’s not that confident in himself. Even though he wears his trousers so his designer boxer shorts show and is constantly hidden in a hoodie, he’s still just a kid. You’ve got to feel for him. I do.
And it seems Aileen is about to relent too.
‘Of course I like chocolate,’ she says.
Zing. Bam. Result. She may even have smiled a bit. But wait, she’s not finished.
‘But do you know where this chocolate came from?’
‘The supermarket,’ Kevin replies. Girls. Why do they have to ask such stupid questions?
‘I don’t mean that,’ says Aileen.
There is a moment’s pause. I think about intervening, but Aileen looks quite able to handle herself and at this point she may have more motivation than me to move the story on. Of course only she knows whether she fancies Kevin. I can’t judge. I’m just the narrator. The facilitator.
‘Do you know that this chocolate was probably made using child labour,’ she says.
‘What?’ says Kevin. Baffled. Me too Kevin.
‘Young children, sold as slaves worked to make this, she says. ‘I can’t eat that.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ says Kevin.
‘How come I’m the bad guy here?’ he asks me. ‘I’m only trying to be nice. Sort it for me will you?’
‘Look Kevin,’ I say, ‘to an extent you’re in this on your own. That was your choice.’
‘Thanks for nothing,’ he says.
‘I just wanted you to go out with me,’ he says to Aileen.
‘You and your stupid ideas,’ he chides me.
‘Seems like the handsome prince has made a blunder with the beautiful princess,’ I say. I can’t help myself.
‘Hey,’ he says, ‘if I’m in this on my own, you keep out of it. You can’t have it all ways.
I don’t like to tell him that in point of fact I probably can have it all ways since I’m the creator of the story and he’s just the character, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to be very receptive to that. And maybe I should cut him a bit of slack after all. He didn’t choose to be born. And if I’d written him as a handsome fellow…
Hey… while I’ve been reflecting something’s happened. Aileen’s taken Kevin by the hand. She doesn’t know I exist after all. She’s living it for real.
‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ she says.
‘Maybe I was wrong Kevin,’ I say, ‘looks like she is interested in you.’
‘Would you just shove off, he says. ‘I don’t need your help.
Of course he does, but he’s a teenager so I try not to take it to heart.
‘Yes, get lost will you,’ Aileen says. I thought she didn’t know I was here. She’s smarter than the average character. Seems like they are ganging up on me. I hate it when that happens. One character being difficult is enough but this story only has two characters so far and if they both won’t do what I ask it puts me as we say in Scotland ‘on a very shoogly peg.’
‘This isn’t a fairy story. It’s real life,’ Aileen adds.
And I swear she flicks her long blonde princess hair and clutches Kevin’s hand just that little bit tighter, and smiles at him. I’m doing him a favour after all, you see. They are combined in their distrust of me. They will go off into the distance hand in hand like the Startrite kids in the adverts from my childhood. Maybe those were the characters in my mind in the first place when I started writing this. Who’s to say? It was the muse what did it.
‘Where are we going?’ Kevin asks, and I can tell he’s hoping it’s behind the bike shed.
‘Africa,’ Aileen replies.
‘Hey, now. Back up the truck,’ I say. ‘I thought you said this was real. How are you getting to Africa?’
And Aileen, pretty princess Aileen looks me right in the eye and says, ‘we won’t be needing you any more. This is our story.’
‘Hey, thanks,’ Kevin whispers to me.
‘What for?’ I say.
‘Well, you said I’d get the girl before the end of the story,’ he says. ‘Smart work.’
And that’s it. I’m out of their story and they are on their way (fictionally you understand) to Africa. Because remember, they are just characters even if everything they are about to experience is true.
I’m beginning to have a bit of sympathy with God. I mean. I made them and they are not in the slightest bit grateful. Well, okay, Kevin did say thanks, but I can tell he’s just pleased to have ‘got a result.’ That’s teenagers for you. I’m out of this. They can sort themselves out from this point.
Middle
‘Where are we going?’ says Kevin
‘Africa’ says Aileen.
‘Wicked,’ says Kevin, ‘this is better than blind date.’
He’s brought crashing back to earth (I knew it wouldn’t take long.)
‘It’s not a date, Kevin,’ Aileen replies, ‘it’s to show you why you won’t get a date with me.’
‘Oh,’ says Kevin. And I can tell he’s wishing he’d not dismissed my help so quickly. I think I’ll tag along. I could be of some use to him, to both of them, maybe, somewhere down the line.
Next thing we know, here are Kevin and Aileen in the Ivory Coast. Don’t ask me how they got there, it’s not my story as they so forthrightly told me, remember. The Ivory Coast is one of the largest producers of cocoa. That’s the plant that chocolate comes from.
‘Are you still here?’ Aileen asks.
‘Well…’ I say.
‘Look,’ she says. ‘You can tag along as long as you stick to your role.’
‘Which is?’ I ask. That’s even more unsettling. I’m asking my character what my part in her story is. That’s not right is it? Not even in magical realism. And this isn’t magical realism. Is it? I’m certainly not in control. That’s for sure.
‘Your role is information. Not fantasy. Fact,’ she replies.
Yes, she’s right. I’m the glue that holds the dialogue together. Without which this story would be a play. And you are readers not watching TV so I do have a role here. Descriptive prose. It’s not always been my strong suit. But I don’t have a lot of choice now, do I? Princess Aileen has staged a coup. I’ll give it my best shot. I feel like I owe it to Kevin. I’m still not sure how his story is going to end and I don’t think I’ve lived up to my promise to him yet that he’ll ‘get the girl.’
‘So here we are at a cocoa plantation,’ I say. ‘They produce chocolate for Big Company.’
Aileen gives me an old fashioned look.
‘I’m not doing product placement,’ I say. ‘I’m not an advertising copywriter. I’m…’ well it doesn’t seem worth going into the kind of writer I think I am.
‘They grow what are called bulk cocoa beans,’ I add. Back on track.
‘That’s the lowest quality,’ Aileen tells Kevin. She seems to know everything that girl. No wonder she’s not bothered about having me along.
Kevin takes the chocolate bar he offered her at the beginning and has a close look at it.
‘Wait a minute,’ he says, ‘this was really expensive, so it must have been better quality than was produced here.’
‘No, here it is, on the label,’ Aileen points it out to him, ‘produced by’ she gives me a snidey look, ‘Big Company Chocolate.’
‘Of course that’s not their real name,’ she tells Kevin, ‘but I don’t want to get sued.’
He doesn’t know what to say to that. I’m not putting words in his mouth. He’s on his own. Fortunately, Aileen isn’t short on words.
‘Believe me Kevin,’ she say, ‘this is where your chocolate comes from. This is where most mainstream chocolate comes from. ‘
‘I didn’t know that,’ Kevin says.
‘Ignorance is no excuse Kevin,’ Aileen says. ‘It won’t help Patrice here.’
‘Who?’ Kevin asks. He turns round as a small boy with a set of impossibly white teeth beaming out of his dark face, the colour of really good dark chocolate, tugs at his hoodie sleeve.
‘This is Patrice,’ Aileen says. ‘He works here.’
‘He’s too young,’ Kevin says. ‘He only looks about ten. He should be in school.’
Patrice smiles. I’m glad I gave him a big broad smile. But I don’t think he should be carrying that big machete. He’s far too young for that. I think I should take it off him.
He resists.
‘I need that for my job,’ he says to me, ‘give it back, please.’
He’s polite at least. And that smile. It melts your heart. Against my better judgement I give him back his machete.
‘Do you work on the cocoa plantation?’ Kevin asks Patrice.
‘Yes,’ Patrice beams back.
‘Cool,’ says Kevin. He harbours a secret dream of leaving school and getting a job. Earning some money. Being a man. But what job would he get at fourteen? Paper round? Not exactly the street cred he was looking for. Come to think of it, growing chocolate could be just the kind of job he is after… in his own mind. Like most fourteen year olds he hasn’t a clue what the world of work is like.
‘How much do they pay you?’ Kevin asks. He’s thinking if the money’s good enough he might just stay.
Patrice looks confused. ‘Pay me?’
‘Yes,’ Kevin says. ‘How much do you earn a week. After tax. Do you have to pay tax in the Ivory Coast?’
He’s running away with himself.
‘Tell him how you got here,’ Aileen says to Patrice.
‘I was sold by my uncle. My father was sick, my family had no money and they said that if I came to work here I could send money back to my family. But when I got here they told me there was no money. No wages. I must work here all the time and I cannot leave.’
His English is pretty good. I thought they spoke French in Cote D’Ivoire (to give the country its proper name.) But what do I know. It’s not my story any more is it?
‘Why don’t you just run away home?’ Kevin asks.
Patrice points at his machete.
‘If I leave they will use this on me,’ he says. He’s not smiling now. No one is smiling now. Not even you, I’m guessing.
‘That’s terrible,’ Kevin says. ‘I never knew.’ He blows his cheeks out. I’m guessing this is all a bit too real for him. I’m guessing he wishes he was back in my story now.
‘Still,’ Kevin says, trying to make the best of it, ‘It must have its perks.’
Patrice, and Aileen stare at him. Bemused.
‘Working with chocolate, I mean,’ Kevin says, ‘you must get to eat plenty.’
‘I’ve never tasted chocolate,’ Patrice says. I swear there’s a tear filling in his eye now about to plop down his cheek.
Sorry Aileen, am I wavering off towards melodrama? I’ll stick to the facts.
‘What?’ Kevin says. He’s shocked.
And without any help from me, not even to wipe a tear away, Patrice, who is actually only nine years old and four foot five in height, explains, ‘My job is to cut down the cocoa pods, take out the beans, put them in a banana leaf and then leave them. I don’t get to eat chocolate.’
‘And how long does it take?’ Kevin asks, ‘to make chocolate.’
He’s interested. He wants to know. He’s never like this in the classroom. His teachers would be… sorry, that’s all beside the point.
‘The beans ferment for a week and then they are dried in the sun for about ten days,’ Patrice says. ‘I have to turn them, daily. Then the beans are taken away and I see nothing more. I never taste chocolate. What is it like?
‘It’s sweet,’ Kevin says. ‘Very good. Here.’
He takes the chocolate out of his pocket and snaps a piece off.
Aileen doesn’t look too pleased.
‘Oh come on,’ Kevin says. ‘Don’t be tight. He’s never tasted the stuff, and he probably grew it.’
Aileen relents.
Kevin gives Patrice a couple of squares of chocolate and he puts it in his mouth. He tastes it. He is amazed.
‘What do you think Patrice?’ Kevin asks. ‘Good huh?’
Patrice nods.
‘See,’ Kevin says to Aileen, he’s not quite got over her earlier rebuff, ‘it’s perfectly good chocolate.’
‘I didn’t say there was anything wrong with the taste,’ she replies. ‘But look at him,’ she points to Patrice, ‘can you eat chocolate grown by slave labour?’
‘You’ve got a point,’ Kevin adds and gives Patrice the rest of the bar. ‘Here,’ he says, ‘this belongs to you really.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Patrice says, and, because he is only nine and no one has ever been this kind to him before, he does start to cry. He can’t help himself. But I want you to know that these are tears of happiness. In a way. But this is not a happy ending. It’s not even an ending.
Patrice finishes the chocolate. He licks his lips.
‘It was good,’ he says, ‘but I would rather be at home with my family, at school.’
He takes Aileen’s hand, ‘Can you help me?’ he asks.
And for the first time she looks at me.
‘Can we help him?’ she asks.
I shrug. ‘You set the rules,’ I tell her. ‘Reality you said, not fiction. This is reality.’
I confess I feel a bit mean. But if you let your adolescent characters run all over you, where will it end? I’ve got to show even princess Aileen that actions have consequences.
‘You got us into this,’ Kevin says, looking like he’s on my side for once. Maybe he thinks this is where he gets the girl, if he plays it my way. Maybe he doesn’t want the girl any more. He certainly looks like he’s gone off the idea of chocolate.
Aileen, lush, princess Aileen sniffles. Brushes away a tear. I swear she does. It’s not just me writing it. It’s true. She’s out of her depth. She knows it.
‘Patrice, I’m really sorry I can’t help you right now,’ she says, ‘but when I get home I promise I’ll do whatever I can to let people know about you and your situation.’
‘It’s a promise’ Kevin says. All it took was a girl to cry to turn him into the hero. You see. I could have got there much quicker if they’d let me keep control.
‘Okay,’ Patrice says. ‘Don’t forget me.’
‘I will never forget you, Patrice,’ says Kevin.
Aileen kisses Patrice and Kevin pats him on the head. And Patrice picks up his machete and goes back to work. Because that’s his reality. Our story hasn’t changed that.
Kevin and Aileen are left standing on the page.
‘Is there really nothing we can do?’ Kevin asks Aileen.
‘Of course there is something we can do,’ Aileen says. She stops short of saying ‘you idiot.’
‘But you said all chocolate is made by this Big Company. So do we have to stop everyone eating chocolate... I don’t think we can do that.’
Aileen takes Kevin by the hand and I think it’s going to be the ending now if not the end. We have to build up to the end you know. But this is the end of the middle and the beginning of the end. If you can follow me. Of course real life isn’t that simple. It has beginnings middles and ends all over the place. But this is a story. And a story needs an end. And this one has been going on long enough so it’s time to get to the end part.
Ending
‘Where are we going now?’ a baffled Kevin asks Aileen.
He should keep his mouth shut if you ask me, because at least she’s holding his hand. My job’s done isn’t it? Doesn’t that mean he’s ‘got the girl.’ I don’t want to be there when they go to the next stage. Some things are best left to the imagination.
But it’s not what I thought.
‘I’m going to show you a choice,’ Aileen says.
‘There’s a choice?’ Kevin asks.
‘There’s always a choice,’ I say. Ooops. Careful. Beginning to sound like a drink responsibly or just say no, or safe sex message. Time to back off. Give the kids some space to grow and develop their own ending, yeah?
Aileen is just ignoring me.
‘We’re off to Ghana now,’ she says.
I know better than to intervene with some smart-arse comment. I leave them to it.
‘Ghana produces some fine cocoa beans and the Good Company,’ she looks at me, ‘yes I know it’s not their real name,’ she says, ‘so sue me!’ Without breaking for breath she carries on telling Kevin, ‘the Good Company uses fine flavour cocoa beans which are much better than the ones Patrice is growing.’
‘Better beans and a better name, sounds… well… good,’ Kevin says. He’s as out of his depth as me.
‘Not all the chocolate in Ghana is produced by the Good Company. Many producers in Ghana sell to the Big Company,’ Aileen says.
‘Oh.’ Kevin is crushed. Will the bad news never end? When will he get the girl? And will he ever find chocolate he can eat?
‘They may not work as slaves but a cocoa farmer in Ghana may only earn £160 a year,’ Aileen says.
‘That’s a week?’ Kevin corrects her.
‘That’s a year,’ she says.
‘You’re joking,’ he says.
‘Do you think I do joking?’ she says. I’d say the tone is still withering.
‘No, not really,’ Kevin admits.
‘The cocoa markets are very volatile,’ Aileen says.
‘What does volatile mean?’ Kevin asks.
Beautiful and smart, I think. But I know better than to butt in by now. Aileen has this all sewn up.
‘The prices are fixed by the international markets and go up and down a lot. Which makes it very difficult for the producers to get a good price or to plan their harvests,’ she tells him.
‘What do markets have to do with it?’ Kevin asks. He’s feeling stupid. I can tell. I’m with him. I feel stupid too. I don’t know about cocoa markets. Do you?
‘Do you mean like farmers markets?’ he asks.
I’d say Aileen laughs. But she doesn’t. She’s pretty serious for a lush princess. Come to think of it, maybe she doesn’t even see herself as a lush princess. That’s a label we’ve put on her after all. Which wasn’t really our place to do was it?
‘No,’ she says. ‘Let me explain,’ and we both let out a sigh of relief. Go on then, Aileen. Explain it to us. Save me the job.
‘Most cocoa is sold on the “futures” market,’ she says. ‘It’s a kind of fictional market.’
Kevin looks at me, ‘should be right up your street,’ he says. Do I detect a ‘tone’ in that?
‘It’s like a fairy story,’ Aileen says. And looks at me. They’re ganging up on me again, I can sense it.
‘Seven to eight times more cocoa is bought and sold on the exchange than ever exists.’
‘How can that happen?’ Kevin asks. But she’s not finished.
‘Only about two to three per cent of futures contracts ever end up in the physical delivery of cocoa,’ she says.
‘That’s really confusing,’ Kevin says. ‘Can we stick to the real cocoa beans please?’
‘Do you want some facts and figures?’ I say. ‘ I think I can find some. Wait a minute. Okay. Here they are.’
He looks at me sideways. ‘No fiction,’ he says. ‘Just the facts.’
‘ These aren’t completely up to date of course,’ I say, ‘that could never be. Like Aileen said, it’s a volatile market. Changing all the time. But according to my sources’
‘You’re holding up the story,’ he says. I can’t blame him. He’s young. He wants to get it together with the girl. You remember what it was like don’t you? Well, you know if you want facts and figures you should really read them for yourself. I can show you the way. Take you to the chocolate but… why not follow this link http://bit.ly/U0DFQR and it’ll take you right there. Just don’t forget to come back. Or if you prefer a more linear narrative (in which case I apologise for all that’s gone before) you can wait and get the link at the end of the story. I’d rather you did that actually. We aren’t at the ending of our story yet. But it’s your choice. For once.
Aileen has meanwhile told Kevin just how little the cocoa producers get for their cocoa compared to how much he pays for a bar. It’s ridiculous. It really is. Daylight robbery you might say.
‘That’s totally unfair,’ Kevin says. ‘You must be making it up.’
‘I wish I was,’ she says. ‘There’s a huge production chain and everyone takes their cut,’ Aileen continues. I could have done that but she got in there first.
‘Couldn’t they pay the farmer properly?’ Kevin asks.
‘Of course they could,’ Aileen says. ‘But you know. Profit. The bottom line. The mighty dollar.’
They are stopped in their tracks by a tall, slender Ghanaian man. My guess is he’s come to tell them to get the hell off the plantation. But no, I’m wrong again. It’s becoming a bit of a habit.
‘Hi Philip,’ Aileen says. How come she knows him? She seems to have the line between character and writer blurred here. Oh my god. I’ve just had an awful thought. Maybe I’m a character in her story. Maybe she’s writing it all and she’s just written herself as a character to totally freak me out. I don’t want to think about it. Any more than I want to think about child slaves working to make the chocolate I love to eat.
Philip shakes Kevin’s hand.
‘This is Kevin,’ Aileen says, ‘he likes chocolate.’
‘Welcome to Ghana, Kevin,’ Philip says.
Another one with perfect English, I think. I may be sulking. If I am it’s Aileen who has written me into that state of mind. Never trust a teenager. Especially not one who looks and acts like a lush princess.
‘We wondered if you could explain to Kevin how you earn a living Philip?’
‘Surely,’ Philip replies. He seems like an affable chap. Like the kind of character I’d create. A nice guy. Gentle and open and honest and…
‘We produce the best cocoa in the world and it can attract a premium. But this isn’t enough to make sure we are paid properly. You know about the markets?’
‘A little,’ Kevin says, ‘but it’s a bit over my head really,’ he admits.
Philip smiles. ‘Well, a small farmer like me couldn’t possibly earn a living on this basis. But we are lucky. We have formed a co-operative. Do you know what a co-operative is?’
Kevin has done some history, ‘Unity through strength, strength in numbers,’ he says.
‘What?’ Aileen says.
‘Isn’t that right?’ Kevin asks. He feels stupid. He needn’t. I thought it was a good answer.
‘In a way,’ Philip replies.
See Aileen, you don’t know everything, I think. Or does she make me think that? Did she make me write that?
‘This is a Fair Trade co-operative,’ Philip says.
Kevin looks blank.
But here we are. They would call this the denouement in a more traditional story. The sharp end of the stick, shall we say. What we are really talking about. The point of the story. I hope.
‘Do you have any idea what he’s talking about? Aileen asks. That’s mean. It’s clear he doesn’t. Why’s she so down on him? Is it because she doesn’t like me? That’s not his fault.
‘Don’t worry, Philip says, ‘I can explain. Our co-operative sells the cocoa beans to the fair trade producer at a fair price.’
‘And you get a social premium, don’t you?’ Aileen asks. But she knows the answer already.
‘If he wasn’t part of the co-operative he’d have to sell at whatever price a producer would pay, and they might cheat him, or undervalue his cocoa,’ I say.
I can’t let her have it all her own way. If this story is about enlightening Kevin in the ways of fairtrade, I should have a say in the matter, don’t you think? I did the research after all.
Aileen gives me a look that clearly says – no one likes a smart arse.
Takes one to know one, I think to myself.
‘What’s a social premium?’ Kevin asks. And you might have been asking that too. In which case Kevin is acting as narrator to you and you need to wonder whether you are a character in this story as well. Nothing is fixed you know. Not since the death of the author. Narrative rules are made to be broken and all that.
‘Can we stick to the point,’ Kevin says. He’s getting frustrated. He wants answers. His blood sugar is probably low. He could probably do with some chocolate. Couldn’t we all? But that’s a moot point right now, isn’t it?
‘The social premium means we get paid extra per sack,’ Philip says. He ignores me, I’m not sure he even knows I exist actually, ‘and this money is used for the co-operative, for social projects, like paying for a school,’ he says. ‘So we are paid a fair price and we all benefit from the money we are paid. No one can be too greedy and everyone wins.’
I want to break out in a round of applause. I don’t.
‘So if you eat chocolate made by the Good Company, not only are you eating better quality chocolate…’Aileen begins.
‘Yes,’ I say, because there are some issues we still haven’t covered. ‘Good chocolate uses a much larger percentage of cocoa solids – up to 70 percent compared with Big Company’s 20 per cent.’
‘The cocoa beans are turned into butter and liquor and Good company doesn’t add any vegetable fat or artificial ingredients. You get real chocolate with Good.’ No, I don’t think he heard me. It’s okay. I’ve got all the character interaction I can handle with the others.
‘But you’re also making sure that the farmers and producers are being paid a reasonable wage,’ Aileen points out. ‘And everyone still gets their cut. No one’s losing out, really,’ she continues.
‘Is it much more expensive?’ Kevin asks.
And as if by magic, Aileen takes a bar of fair-trade chocolate out of her pocket and gives Kevin a chunk. She could have done that ages ago, I think. But it’s not my place to say. Kevin doesn’t seem to care. All he sees is the chocolate. He crams it into his mouth.
‘Wow. That’s really tasty,’ he says (with his mouth full. His manners are not the best.) ‘It must cost more than the other stuff…’
‘It all depends how price relates to your conscience,’ Aileen breaks in. ‘Good chocolate tastes better because it’s better chocolate, and because you don’t have to think about slave labour when you eat it. I’d say that’s worth paying a premium for.’
‘It’s not that much more expensive anyway, and if we all bought more of it, the price would go down,’ I point out. ‘The consumer has a big part to play in the whole thing.’
I want it to go down on record that I said this. It is my story after all. I should get some of the good lines.
Kevin is right up there with me. He’s a lot smarter than he looks. ‘And if we all bought only Fairly Traded chocolate then Patrice could have the same chance as Philip, couldn’t he?’ he says.
‘If we only bought Fair Trade chocolate Patrice would be back at home with his family, going to school and maybe even eating chocolate once in a while,’ I reply.
See, we don’t need Aileen. We’re fine on our own Kevin and me. And you of course. We need you there or we’re just talking to ourselves. You have a part to play here. You are a consumer. Of fiction. And probably of chocolate.
‘Then it’s clear, isn’t it?’ Kevin says to Aileen.
She nods her head. He takes it as a good sign.
‘Okay,’ he says, ‘I know we got off to a bad start and I know why you didn’t want to go out on a date with me. But I’d like to take you out when we get home. I’d like to take you somewhere that I can buy you a really good bar of Good Chocolate. Would that be okay?’
That’s my boy. I knew he could do it.
She smiles.
‘Of course,’ she says, ‘We could go to the pictures and share a bar?’
‘Yes. That’d be great,’ Kevin says, ‘but I’ll want to do more than that. I’ll want to tell everyone else to buy Good chocolate too.’
Yes. He’s lived up to all our expectations. Not bad for a hoodie who isn’t even old enough to shave yet, is it?
Aileen has to have the last word, of course. What else do you expect?
‘Well, next time you ask someone out, you can buy them the right kind of chocolate and spread the word,’ she says.
Kevin comes right back at her, ‘I’m not sure I’ll want to ask anyone else out,’ he says.
Sweet, Kevin. That’s got her lost for words. See. It looks like the handsome prince has won the hand of the fair princess after all. In my book that’s a happy ending.
Oops. I’ve gone too far again. Kevin and Aileen both give me a withering look.
‘ You writers are all the same,’ she says.
I don’t know what she means. I don’t think I want to know what she means. It’s clearly not true. Writers are individuals. We’re all unique. Surely.
‘Forget the story will you?’ she says. ‘This is about finding ways to tell people about Fairly traded chocolate and how good it is. Not about a story.’
Kevin agrees with her. Well, he has to really, doesn’t he. Now he’s got his girl.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘We have to inform people properly, so they can make the right choice. I know what we could do.’
‘What?’ says Aileen. That may be the first real question she’s asked in this story. It may be the first real question she’s ever asked. I still can’t warm to her. I’m glad Kevin’s got what he wants and I know she’s got the right idea about fairtrade but there’s still something. Maybe it’s the blonde hair.
‘Maybe you’re jealous,’ she says. And that’s totally unfair. She can’t have me write that. Not in my own story.
‘We could tell everyone the story of fairtrade chocolate,’ Kevin says.
‘I think we just did,’ I say.
He looks at me. Is that pity again. ‘Yeah, but like, in a real way,’ he says. ‘Not all this fictional stuff.’
‘And,’ Aileen says because she really does want to have the last word. ‘We could
invite everyone to try some Fair Trade Chocolate for themselves. It tastes good, and it does good. It’s good all round.’
And they all lived happily ever after.
Well, they probably didn’t, first love rarely works out does it? But you know what I mean. I’m the writer. I should have the last word. But really, you, the reader have the last word. You are the one who turns the action of the story into a consequence. So do it. Next time you buy chocolate, make sure it’s got the fairtrade mark on it. More and more chocolate does you know, and if you, the reader become you the consumer then we can all eat better chocolate and help the likes of Patrice and Philip. Because they aren’t just characters in a story. They are real people. Just like you. And me.
About the Author
Cally Phillips was born in England of Scottish
parentage. Now in Turriff, she has lived most of her life in various
parts of Scotland, urban and rural.
Cally works for Ayton Publishing as series editor and also promotes the work of “Scotland’s Forgotten Bestseller” S. R. Crockett through his online literary society, The Galloway Raiders www.gallowayraiders.co.uk
Cally works for Ayton Publishing as series editor and also promotes the work of “Scotland’s Forgotten Bestseller” S. R. Crockett through his online literary society, The Galloway Raiders www.gallowayraiders.co.uk