‘Thistlebloom!’ gasped Mrs Groves. She dropped to the floor and scuttled beneath the tablecloth, where she was greeted by Chester.
‘Fizzle-boom,’ growled Num-Num, and she threw Wordsworth beneath the table for good measure.
‘Thistlebloom!’ cried Olive, and she held forth an offering of a dinky doughnut.
The head waiter clapped three times. The door to the kitchen was flung open. Into the tea rooms, on a giant trolley, guided by a whole team of waiters, came a chocolate fountain. Five tiered. Of magnificent proportions. Niagara Falls meets the Easter Bunny’s treasure trove!
The string quartet stopped playing.
A hush of awe filled the air.
The chocolate fountain rolled right by Olive’s table.
‘Chocolate!’ gasped Blimp.
He dropped his half-eaten scone.
His fur stood on end.
He quivered from head to tail.
His eyes boggled.
His nose twitched.
He leapt onto the table, ripped the doughnut from his neck, sprinted across the egg sandwiches, kicked four strawberry tartlets aside, hurdled over a date scone, sprang off the prongs of a fork, sailed through the air and dived into the thick brown liquid.
Moments later, he emerged from the top of the fountain. Jubilant! A chocolate-coated rat!
The waiters stopped and stared, eyes wide, jaws dropping.
Blimp floated, lolled, swirled in the gentle current, then – BLOOP – slipped over the edge in a cascade of melted chocolate bliss. There, in the second tier of the fountain, he did the same – lingered a little, swirled, then – BLOOP – slipped over the edge to the third tier, then to the fourth and the fifth – BLOOP, BLOOP.
Now at the widest, deepest part of the heavenly falls, he rolled onto his tummy and proceeded to breaststroke around the outer rim, slurping large mouthfuls of melted chocolate every time his head bobbed below the surface.
Never had Olive seen anyone abandon themself so completely to an experience.
Never had Blimp felt such ecstasy!
Num-Num grinned stupidly. ‘Num-Num lub choklit-coated ratties.’ Jumping up onto the table, she bent her knees and held her front claws together in a diving position. ‘Ready . . . steady . . .’
But her plunge was rudely interrupted.
‘Hit the deck!’ cried Carlos from the far side of the tea rooms.
A large red stick of dynamite, wick sizzling, flew from his hand, soared up into the heights of the domed ceiling – tumbling, spinning, sputtering – then plummeted down towards the chocolate fountain.
Whoosh!
Hissss!
Splop!
KABOOM!
Long story short, chocolate went everywhere and Thistlebloom was banned from the Brighton for life.
How utterly humiliating!
It was enough to make a grown woman cry.
But she couldn’t. Her tear ducts were blocked with chocolate.