It was a chilly October afternoon in the bustling town center. The temperature had dropped significantly over night, leaving the roads icy and the shop-fronts frosty, their warm, welcome glow beckoning shoppers inside like moths to a flame.
A newspaper, tossed hastily into a garbage can by a pair of frozen hands, bore the headline 'Violet's Turned Violet – Wonka Must Pay', accompanied by a photo of a young girl stood with her mother, the glamorous pair staring angrily at the camera. What the black and white photo didn't show, however, was the daughter's current complexion – an unusual, albeit unique, shade of purple.
The pages of the newspaper fluttered in the breeze as a group of mothers hurried past, their screaming children eyeing up the Candy Store across the street.
A young woman could be seen in the storefront window, her apron tied neatly around her waist and her mousy brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her arms sore from stacking shelves all morning.
Em heaved the final box of Wonka bars onto the counter and began stacking them, a little more forcefully than necessary.
Bill looked over from the till, the rhythmic 'thwack' of chocolate on wood drawing his attention. He eyed Em apprehensively, his mouth turning down into a frown.
"Em, do you mind taking it easy with those Wonka bars?" he requested, cringing at a particularly loud smack. "It's better if they're all in one piece when we sell them."
Em glanced over her shoulder apologetically, her trance broken.
"Sorry Bill, I wasn't concentrating on what I was doing," she confessed, looking back to the box of chocolate bars. The Wonka logo glared up at her mockingly and she frowned. "I just don't get why we have to sell Wonka's stuff," she groaned, resuming her work, more gently this time.
"You do realise you work in a sweet shop right?" joked Bill, coming to stack the shelves with her. "We've gotta sell the sweets for this whole operation to work."
Em looked at him dryly, rolling her eyes.
"There are other candies out there," she argued. "Wonka's not the only person who makes sweets."
Bill looked at her doubtfully, his eyebrow raised challengingly. She continued.
"Slugworth Chocolates?" she suggested uncertainly, Bill shaking his head as he smiled, Em admitting defeat.
"Slugworth's stuff tastes like cat litter and you and I both know it." He patted her on the back, returning to the till as the shop bell rang. Em heard Bill's customary greeting as she stared once again at the Wonka logo.
It had been two days since their trip to the factory. Two days of journalists and reporters turning up at their house, begging Em and Charlie to sit down and chat with them; "vultures, the lot of 'em!" hollered their Grandpa Joe from his bed, shaking an angry fist towards the front door. Two days of the phone ringing off the hook with newspapers offering good money for the Bucket sibling's first-hand account of the tour. Two hideous days of thinking non-stop about Willy Wonka, and now here she was, stacking his candy bars like he wasn't the most unpleasant man she had ever met, and she'd met Mr. Salt, so that was saying something.
The reporters seemed to have finally given up, however, their attention focused instead on the Beauregard family and the allegations they were throwing at Wonka and his chocolate factory. Mrs. Beauregard was refusing to return to Montana, USA until her daughter got 'the justice she deserved' – cue a bombardment of eyelash fluttering and pouting sadly at the camera.
Em grimaced and slammed a Wonka bar down, the chocolate bar snapping under her fingers with a woeful crunch.
She glanced sheepishly over her shoulder towards Bill and he looked at her skeptically.
"Sorry," she sighed, "take it out of my paycheck."
He shook his head.
"Don't worry about it, I'll let you off," he crossed his arms and observed her for a moment, his brows knitting together. "Wonka really did you wrong, didn't he?"
She groaned.
"Oh Bill, like you wouldn't believe."
She looked at her boss sadly, yet to divulge the full story to anyone other than her parents and grandparents.
"Don't let him get you down Em," advised Bill, making his way around the counter. "It's called the past for a reason, try and forget about it."
She hummed her agreement, turning back to her work.
"I'm just popping over to the bank." Bill grabbed his coat from the storeroom. "Do you need anything?"
"No, thanks Bill," she shook her head disinterestedly, dropping the last Wonka bar onto the shelf and folding up the empty box.
"You'll be alright holding up shop on your own?" he inquired, opening the front door, the cold winds from outside rushing in and snaking around Em's ankles.
Em glanced around the empty shop before staring doubtfully at Bill.
"Yeah, I think I can manage" she quipped, grinning as Bill rolled his eyes.
"The sass!" he cried as the door banged closed behind him. Em let out a short laugh before disposing of the empty box behind the counter.
She sighed as she took in the deserted store; with all the bad press Wonka was getting lately, no one was really interested in his candy at the moment, resulting in very boring shifts at work. Serves him right, she thought, bitterly.
She headed to the storeroom to grab a bottle of water, the shop bell ringing moments later.
"I'll be with you in one second!" she called, tightening her ponytail out of habit.
She emerged from the storeroom, a lone customer browsing the neatly stacked shelves of candy. He was dressed in a large, dark coat, a long fleece scarf wrapped securely around his neck and pulled all the way over his nose, a woolen hat perched low on his head. His heftily padded gloves fumbled with the chocolate bars, his stooped frame browsing the lower shelves gingerly.
"Can I help you with anything?" she asked politely, as he grappled with a large Scrumdiddlyumptious bar.
The man shook his head, deciding instead to grab a Slugworth's Sizzler from a small display in the window. He shuffled slowly over to Em and placed it on the counter.
"Good choice," she commended, running the item through the till. She watched as the man removed one of his large gloves, his hands slight under all the padding. "Cold out?" she queried, nodding to all his layers.
He grunted in agreement, disinterested in her attempt at small talk.
"Is that everything?" she coaxed, expecting another grunt in response.
"You're that girl aren't you, from that tour at Wonka's?" His voice was gruff and brute like. She was taken aback by his sudden interest.
"I'm sorry sir I don't know what you mean," she tried to dismiss his question.
"Yeah, you are," he persisted, his voice hoarse. "You and your brother went on that tour with the other kids, with those golden tickets –"
"I don't want to talk about it, thank you," she cut him off curtly, "now will that be everything?"
He glanced up at her, his sallow eyes hidden in the shadows beneath his wooly hat.
"Would you be willing to talk about what went on in there? I could –"
"Absolutely not," she snapped, trying hard to keep her demeanor professional. "Now, would you like your items or not?" She slammed the Slugworth bar on the counter in an attempt to silence him.
He looked taken aback at her response, eventually nodding silently in agreement.
"Perfect," she nodded curtly, "that'll be seventy pence, please." She held out her hand expectantly, the man fumbling a hand through his pockets.
"I, uh, I'm sorry," he stammered, putting his glove back on clumsily, "I must have left my wallet at home." Em watched him quizzically as he backed away, his items forgotten on the counter. "Apologies." He turned to leave, turning back to her as he reached the door, his gloved hand reaching up to his head and grabbing at the air as he bowed slightly. "Good day."
Em watched in confusion at the bizarre display. It was almost as if he'd gone to tip his hat to her, the way a gentleman would when bidding a lady goodbye. As he pulled the door open the penny dropped, her eyes narrowing bitterly.
"Hold it, one second," she called, the man stiffening instantly. "I've changed my mind, I will talk to you about Wonka."
He turned to face her slowly, his stooped body watching and waiting, the shop door swinging closed once again.
"Go on," he urged, nervously.
She smirked, leaning her elbows on the counter casually.
"The world needs to know what an awful man he is; his factory's a mess, he's incredibly rude – a deeply unpleasant man if you ask me, and don't even get me started on his poor workers. He mistreats them like you wouldn't believe, forcing them –"
"I do not!"
She raised an eyebrow at the interruption, the man in the doorway suddenly standing straight and striding over to her, the gruffness in his voice gone.
"I do not mistreat the Oompa Loompa's and you know it!"
"Way to blow your cover." She eyed him disdainfully, leaning back from the counter and crossing her arms.
Wonka looked at her in confusion before realising his mistake. He sighed and lowered his scarf in defeat, glowering at her.
"You knew it was me."
"Unfortunately," she responded, stony faced. "Now please, continue on your way." She gestured to the door before turning her back on him.
"Em, please, listen –"
"I asked you not to call me that," she snapped, turning to scowl at him.
He sighed, his eyes searching hers imploringly.
"Sorry, I mean Emily," he continued, "please listen to me, this has all just been a big misunderstanding."
She scoffed at him, unimpressed.
"It was just a test," he urged.
She looked at him in disbelief.
"A test?" she asked, incredulously; of all the excuses he could have given, this was the best he could do? "What kind of sick person puts a child through –"
"I had to do it," he interrupted her, an urgency in his voice. "I had to be sure Charlie was the right person to run my factory, and he was! He is! Of course he is! I just had to be sure!"
Em stared at him blankly, suddenly very confused. Had she heard him right? The right person to do what?
"I'm sorry, did you just say the right person to run –"
"Run my factory, yes," he nodded eagerly, a relieved smile slowly spreading across his face. "I'm sorry Em – Emily," he corrected himself. "You have to believe me, please." He removed his wooly hat, his orange curls spilling out freely.
He looked at her pleadingly, his bright blue eyes now clearly visible under the shop lights. He wrung the hat desperately in his hands as he waited her verdict.
Em simply stared at him, his pathetic display tugging mildly at her heartstrings. His apology seemed sincere, but so outlandish. Charlie was getting the factory? she thought in disbelief. An eleven-year-old boy, in charge of such a prolific enterprise? That couldn't be what Wonka was implying, could it?
She was roused from her perplexed jumble of thoughts when a large crowd appeared outside, the bright flashes from many cameras blinking off the frosted glass as excited voices yelled and cat called.
"Get down," she ordered instantly, lifting the counter top and gesturing for the man to follow.
If there were cameras that could mean one of three things; either the reporters had somehow found out that Wonka was here and were about to accost him; the reporters were here once again to hound Em and attempt to force an interview out of her; or they were following someone through the town, and she had a good idea who it was they could be following.
"I'm sorry?" questioned Wonka, not quite the response he had been expecting, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion,
"Just get behind the counter for goodness sake," she hissed. "And stay quiet."
He obeyed, scrambling forward quickly and ducking out of sight, the door to the shop opening seconds after Em lowered the flap.
"What a pleasant surprise, Mrs. Beauregard," lied Em breathlessly as the woman strolled in, the cameras waiting patiently, like a pack of hungry wolves, for her return. She could sense the chocolatier looking up at her and refrained from sending a well-earned kick in his direction.
"Can it, Bucket," she drawled, removing her sunglasses to glare at Em.
Em stared back, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Rude, rude, rude...
"And what can I do for you today?" She plastered a fake smile onto her face, willing the woman to leave.
"I'll make this simple for you," she pouted, "either you bring Wonka down with me, or I bring you both down together. Get it?"
Em looked at her blankly, her proposition taking her completely by surprise. Mrs. Beauregard's eyes examined her from head to toe, her lip curling slightly in disgust.
"I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand what you mean." She shifted uncomfortably under the woman's scrutiny.
"Oh please, it was obvious to everyone on that tour that the two of you had feelings for each other." Em felt her cheeks go red, suddenly very aware that the other person in question was currently sat at her feet, listening to every word. "I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing was rigged in the first place," the woman continued, oblivious to Em's discomfort. "You want me to keep that little secret out of the papers? Tell everyone he tricked Vi into eating that gum."
The shop bell rang merrily, the sound slicing through Em's thoughts as the chatter of the reporters floated through the shop. Em glanced to the door and spotted Bill shrugging off his coat.
"Jeeze, I don't know what's going on out there!" exclaimed Bill as he folded his coat over his arm. "I – oh, sorry," he spotted Mrs. Beauregard and Em, the two of them stony faced from their exchange. "Everything okay here Em?"
"Yes, don't worry Bill," bluffed Em, not wanting to lose face in front of her aggressor. "Mrs. Beauregard, you're asking me to lie. Everyone saw Violet take that gum from the machine, Mr. Wonka even went so far as go tell her not to."
"Oh, don't give me all that 'Mr. Wonka' crap –"
"Hey, watch your language," demanded Bill. "I'll have to ask you to leave."
Mrs. Beauregard ignored him, continuing her onslaught.
"I bet you were in on it too, weren't you? Yeah, of course, it's all making sense now," she smiled cruelly. Em really couldn't disagree more, and she could feel the chocolatier tensing at her feet. She pressed the ball of her foot warningly on top of his own, opening her mouth to retaliate; she was cut off. "Forget it, you're on his side, clearly. He's probably paid you off already hasn't he. Promised you a kiss if you keep quiet –"
"That's enough! Get out of my store!" roared Bill, taking a threatening step forward.
The woman jumped, her sunglasses falling from her hand and clattering nosily against the floor. Em sensed the chocolatier make a move to stand up and she kicked out her foot, her toes connecting with something hard, a small groan sounding from his spot on the floor.
Mrs. Beauregard picked up her sunglasses hurriedly, her high heels clicking firmly across the wooden floor. She didn't give Em a second glance as she heaved the door open and disappeared into the sea of flashing lights, the bell signaling her exit.
Em let out a shaky breath as the door closed, her shoulders slumping and her palms sweating.
"Em, are you alright?" questioned Bill, concerned, rushing over to where she stood. "What on earth was all that about?"
Em opened her mouth, about to thank Bill for intervening, but she was cut off by none other than –
"What a hideous cow."
Bill jumped back in fright as the chocolatier appeared next to Em, the man's mouth pulled down in a severe frown as he glared angrily at the door Mrs. Beauregard had just exited through.
"Who are you?!" exclaimed Bill, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Where – where did you come from?!"
Em looked frustratedly at the chocolatier before turning stiffly to her boss, all hopes of simply forgetting the man in question and moving on with her life vanishing as quickly as candy bar in the Gloop household.
"Bill," she sighed apathetically, "meet Mr. Wonka."
