A/N: Sorry for the severely late update but I've been having health issues. I've been in doctors' surgeries, hospital, opticians, eye clinic, a gigantic needle in my spine (lumber puncture – worst pain I've ever been in) and had to have three brain scans and they still don't know what's wrong with me. Also have rhinitis which I'm trying to treat and I highly doubt that's improving my headaches, though I think a lot of that is due to eye problems. Next stop: Neurologist.

Anyway, I really want to continue this story, so here we go.

VERUCA SALT

Wendy did all she could to make ends meet. There was her paper round, working at the shop, doing favours for housebound individuals. She even stood out in the freezing weather selling store goods and yet was determined to work until she dropped. She found herself jumping up and down to keep warm.

It wouldn't be so bad, but her clothes were so thin and her family needed money for food; they didn't have any to spare on clothes, yet somehow they managed to keep themselves warm even if it meant making themselves look foolish.

One night, frozen and fatigued, she still went all the way out to the Barratt's house with the donation for Mrs. Barratt's operation.

Shivering, she knocked on the door and waited, bouncing to keep warm.

Fortunately, it wasn't too long before the door was opened and Mr. Barratt stood there amused at the girl's antics. "Must be some very spongy snow," he joked.

"It's just so cold," Wendy laughed, despite herself.

"Please, Wendy, come in," and he stepped aside and allowed her entry before closing the door.

"Thank you, Mr. Barratt. I just thought I'd come and say hi. Where's Mrs. Barratt please?"

"Upstairs. You know where," the kindly man said before he resumed making his cocoa.

"Thank you." Wendy ascended the stairs, heading straight for the senior Barratts' bedroom. Gently, she knocked on the door.

"Come in," came the weak voice from the other side.

Wendy opened the door up ever-so-slightly and peered around.

"Wendy," Mrs. Barratt smiled, happy to see the young girl. "Dear girl, please come in."

Wendy did so and shut the door behind her before approaching the woman sitting up in bed.

"You know I'm always happy to see you," she smiled. "How have you been?"

"Never mind me, how about you?" Wendy asked, immediately shifting the conversation back. "When do you have your operation?"

"Oh, I'm fine in myself, just a bit of pain. I'm still on the waiting list. They said they'll call me when they get a free slot."

"That's awful. Why should you have to wait that long?"

"You know how hospitals are," she sighed. "Still, it could be worse."

"I suppose." Shaking her head, Wendy changed the topic. "Anyway, I just came round to give you this." She handed the bag of money to the woman, who looked at her questioningly. "We've been saving up. I think when you put the person's name on the charity box, they understand and are more generous with their money. I counted it. There's about two hundred dollars. I think that's alright for a small community."

"You didn't have to do this for me," Mrs. Barratt shook her head disbelievingly.

"We wanted to… I wanted to." Wendy bowed her head, embarrassed.

"You gave, Wendy? You don't have anything to give."

"I took it out of my pay packet. Why should someone else suffer because I was too selfish to act?"

Mrs. Barratt sighed again. "Wendy Bucket, come here," and she held out her arms to the girl who returned the friendly embrace. "You're the most generous of all; don't care if you starve, so long as someone else gets the money. Not at all like that girl on the TV today."

Wendy pulled away. "What girl?"

She'd been so busy the past few days that she didn't have time for headlines.

"The news is just starting," she said and turned the TV on.

Together they watched. Then, at the end, the major headline erupted onto the screen.

"And the second golden ticket has been found in England by one Veruca Salt," the newscaster announced, as the screen changed to an image of a mother, father and daughter, who was holding the ticket proudly in her hands.

"Veruca. How do you spell that please?" one journalist asked.

"V-E-R-U-C-A. Veruca Salt," she answered, before her father went on to talk about his business and how he came by the ticket for his daughter.

Turned out this was, yet another, badly-spoiled child.

"Not very fair on others, buying all those cases in. What a bad waste of perfectly good chocolate. A lot of people would be glad to even have a bar." Wendy seemed quite bitter about it.

"Someone like you?" Mrs. Barratt asked. That calmed her down.

"Yes. For some it's a luxury. I think that's what it should be… a treat."

"I couldn't agree more," the woman said.

Wendy sighed and stood up. "Anyway, if you want anything, you only have to say and I'll come right away," she smiled and hugged the woman goodbye. "Good luck," she said and left the room. "Bye, Mr. Barratt," she added as she descended the stairs and left. "Enjoy your cocoa."

"See you, Wendy," he called from his place at the kitchen table.

Perhaps Mrs. Barratt had cheered Wendy up. The very thought of the sick lady able to have her operation with that money warmed her heart and made her smile.

Skipping into the street out of excitement (as well as keeping warm) she headed for home, seemingly uncaring about what was happening all around her.

She had a smile on her face and a song in her heart knowing that Mrs. Barratt would have that operation and be the picture of health. There was also Mr. Barratt. She could imagine the smile on his face when she comes out of theatre drowsy but healthy.

Wendy was so lost in thought that she was completely oblivious to the sounds around her and didn't stop to look before crossing the road. She then unwittingly skipped into the path of a fire truck in service and was knocked out.

The white of the snow was the last she saw.

A/N: Well, there we go. Not the best chapter in the world, but I'm sure there's worse.

I'll try to update as often as possible, but writer's block and bilateral diplopia cause issues. I think at the moment the problem's the eyes.